I want to sense Motion

No, I don’t wish to invite the wrath of scientists and technicians who work day in and out around sources of motion. But I must make the truthful confession.

Men have varied addictions. While some smoke, others drink. Another breed is faithful to their wives … and so on. Some men even dare to dash out with their dangling organs to the nearest available prostitute. There can be many more.

Some of them get cured as they resolve to come out of it. But I have this strange addiction – to be physically part of motion and sense it.

And I don’t wish to come out this one.

Decades back, while I was crossing the street, a bicycle came charging towards me. In a fit of fantasy, my ten-year old hand vaguely attempted to stop it … but failed. A bruise on top of the palm, few visits to doctor later, I was hooked to this.

When I see something in motion, I feel to sense it. That’s the charm, in short.

Strange, isn’t it? Yet whatever little I’ve tried to control keeps surfacing back. Few years after the bicycle incident, I was riding pillion on the rickshaw that took us to school. My eyes fell on its revolving wheels. Weeks after observing those wheels, I craved to touch it.

The day came and my left foot was inside while the rickshaw was in motion. I was rushed back home. A tensed mom got my toe stitched by the physician, tetanus injection administered … and warned me to be less of a nuisance for her.

More than the agony, I was completely satisfied!

Another day, I was in the mood to test gravity and the free fall. Getting on top of the school playground jhoola, I started to look downwards. The height could be around ten feet. My mind wanted to sense the gravity.

Instantly, I jumped to ground and fell straight on my face.

The entire central incisor (tooth) from the root came out and the upper lip got badly torn. I bled profusely till the time I was rushed to the doc. The handkerchief held to my mouth started dripping blood. Stitches again … but I remained cool.

Our school principal admired my patience … little did he know that this boy's inner peace was the sense of accomplishment. There was more to come.

During my graduation, one day I was sitting with my (the then) girlfriend on the stairs of my university building. It was early evening. Needless to say, she was an intelligent company, perhaps one of the most intelligent of ladies that I met in this life. The conversation, naturally, kept going … until I looked at my wrist watch.

It was eight thirty … almost an hour after the main gate to the building is closed!

She had to be rescued out. I rushed to the first floor corridor. It was a frantic attempt to get her out of the building to try and avoid a terrific ordeal of scores of scandalous remarks from our surroundings.

And then I decided. I would jump from the balcony, land on the road in front and then rush to the security folks. Pleading them will help, since they will believe me that (only) a lady is trapped inside and they’ll open the gates.

I touched her hands … and within seconds took the plunge. A few minutes later, she was out of the building to my relief. And then she wanted to look at my palms on whose support I landed on the road below. I opened them to her.

With a sudden reflex, she moved her face away from me … palms were all smeared with blood.

It’s hard to contain. Even today, my brains tickle me when the pedestal fan starts to revolve in top speed. Or when the train whizzes past me or the aircraft rushes to fly on the runway, I crave for the motion … and wish to feel it first hand.

For one last time, may be!