Come take a ride with me

About a couple of years ago, on a cold wintry evening, I was busy at home lounging about and generally evaluating the relative merits and demerits of hot samosas and fresh rasgullas. My sister had woke up just a minute ago and was close to an emotional breakdown because she had her exams and tuition class in 10 minutes and she thought she was never going to make it in time. The chivalrious (since there was a damsel in distress) and doting (do I need to explain this?) brother therefore offered to take her to the class in time, and she hurriedly went to pack her bags with some sceptic hope on her face. We were off on a scooter with exactly 8 minutes remaining to the zero-hour, and it usually takes about 15-18 minutes to reach there from our home. It was evening time, and therefore the usual office rush hour traffic added spice to the flavour. But smooth seas don't make good sailors, and yours truly specialises in sailing out of whirlpools. So amidst the hit-or-miss traffic, wailing children, scooting dogs, over-enthusiastic buses I kept driving. My usually chirpy sister was unusually silent during this time, and I had even to check if she was still sitting behind me a couple of times --- you never know when good luck arrives ;)

When we finally reached there, I checked my watch and there was still about a minute left to the deadline. I turned my head towards my sister with a smug 'James Bond' look on my face almost expecting her to wax eloquent in praise about her gem of a brother, etc. Instead, she looked thunderstruck... and the expression on her face was simply priceless! She let out a huge sigh, and it seemed to me that she seemed to breathe after having held her breath for a long long time. I don't need to discuss the colourful way in which this was presented to my mom once she came home and the tirade that followed --- suffice it to say that now whenever she needs a ride somewhere and if she needs me to drive her there, she makes sure that she has more than enough time to spare ;)

My mom on the other hand seems to believe that scooters are made to be driven at nothing more than 20 kmph. Whenever she is pillion-riding with me, a single stretch of straight road when there is no traffic is the best place I can possibly use the accelerator: to maintain 20-25 kmph. Anything more, and she uses her hand-brake: i.e. pinches me real hard (depending on how quickly she wants me to slow down) on my stomach and I have to respond immediately. And oh, did I mention the continious running evaluation of everyone I overtake telling me why that was a bad decision? :D

But now this is America, where the minimum speeds on freeways is 60 miles per hour (yeah about 96 k.m.ph.)!! And I'll get my driving license soon... yaay!! I care about safety and all: am in fact the only person in my house perhaps who insists on riding with a helmet even when I am going nearby. But the fun is about to begin here .... *snigger snigger* Come on, people: if you feel bored or suddenly feel that the spice of life has gone away from you, come and sit beside me in a car and I promise you a wake-up call! :D