Love comes in at least two forms — binding and freeing..
What we are after is the latter — the one that gives us wings, lets us soar and not clip them so we’re abundantly safe.
What about the love we give, though?
One day out of the blue, I casually told my husband that I wanted to ride a motorcycle. He didn’t get as thrilled as I did, but the same afternoon he started browsing for options and whatsapp’ed me a private trainer’s contact who he believed to be a better fit to my schedule. Overhearing our conversation, my mother-in-law chipped in and recalled how she had always wanted to learn driving a car but had never been able to, so I should straight away take these classes. She asked my husband to give me a feel of it right then by dusting an old bike in the compound.
My parents’ turn came later that evening. I calmly broke the news anticipating a stir. There was not even a split second of hesitation before they leapt into asking the need behind it and deciding there wasn’t any, that I should drop the thought. This conversation rolled-off before my jeeju(brother-in-law) and sisters, (Ok, I have a biiig family who stay in close quarters) with everyone sharing their view on what an unwise idea this was given “there was no need”.
My elder sister who was quiet this whole time said she would join me. Funnily enough, this gave my parents more distress than comfort. See, my sister is admired for many things but physical competency wasn’t among the list. And thus backed by my family’s stunningly heightened woes, we started our week-long journey with my private trainer.
I understand now why people advocate for couples to learn something new together.
I knew it would be fun although not for the reasons I had first hoped. I and my sister bonded so much in just this week where we commuted together to the grounds — dreading our initial days of holding a heavy bike on our own(two to three times our weight)or agreeing on the downside of changing gears and that we were going backward on the evolution from driving gear-less scooters to picking up geared bikes.
We laughed at our clumsiness, our trainer’s plight and his predicament, but mostly took pride in our shared progress — from lack of utter coordination to a sense of accomplishment [turning the key in to finally kick starting a bullet]
The day when we were returning from our last class , I realised half the fun of this entire ride was having my sister’s jubilant (and thin-veiled protective) company.
My parents love wanted me safe. My husband’s love supported me to scale.
Whereas my sister’s love accompanied me til the end.
