Burns and Bikes and Baby Chicks

Somewhere around the age of 6… we acquired two chicks.

Not two young women. No.

Two actual chicks.

We call them choozas in hindi (I can never really get over that word – always makes me laugh :))

The chicks were exactly like those powder puffs that mothers use to powder little babies tushies after their bath… except instead of being pink – they were a shade of sunny yellow. And I DID NOT use them to powder my nose or anything else. I was more of a dog person.. I still don’t know how or why those chicks came to be in our house.

Right about that time my Dad owned a Yezdi and as the only member of the family short enough to qualify – I rode sitting in the best seat in the house. On the fuel tank in front of my dad.

One day we reached home after a long ride and usually my dad would pick me up bodily and set me down safely on the ground but that day I wanted to get off the bike myself. He told me – no…let me set you down. You will get hurt.  But with that stubbornness that comes naturally to children – I insisted.

So he shrugged and I lifted one leg over the tank and tried to slip off the bike. As I slid off I felt a searing pain so terrible that even the scream froze in my throat….

The engine was scalding hot and the skin on my left calf was toast. Dad got off the bike – picked me up and set me down in the kitchen sink. We poured ice water over the wound and though he didn’t say a word – I knew he felt terrible. My mother threw a hissy fit when my father gave her the explanation – “She wanted to get off the bike herself. I warned her. She wouldn’t listen. This is how she will learn.” I still rag my dad about it and he looks completely unapologetic… 🙂 My mother still throws him dirty looks whenever the subject comes up.

Anyway bottom line – the pain gradually decreased but  the skin over the wound wrinkled up and darkened and formed blisters and like all burn wounds leaked colorless fluid for a week. It sounds much worse than it actually was and it is a good thing we don’t live in the US – child Protective services would have had a thing or two to say about my dad and his methods.

This is where the chicks and the wound come together. So while I hobbled about the house like a one legged jack in full on self pity mode… these two chicks would follow me about. And now and then when the mood struck them they would jump up and peck the damn wound. I would yell and run after them to catch them and they’d run for cover into unreachable corners and bide their time until I stop looking for them. Then they’d come back and start over.

This went on for a week and I’d curse the little bastards every single day except not in those many words. A six year old’s vocabulary is rather limited on that count.

Eventually though I got used to them and it was a little game for us… I named it ‘peck the wound if you can’. And I would run up and down the house with two yellow puffs running after me. I would be the good girl and they the villains.

One day both the chicks were playing in the garden and a shadow came and swept one away. Only later I was told it was an eagle or a hawk or something… The second little chick lasted much longer and was growing up to be a sturdy little chicken when the whole family went off on a trip… when we got back we were informed by the maid that a cat ate it. I suspect the maid was the cat. But never mind.

My stubbornness left me with a scar on my left leg that has slightly faded with time but is still clearly visible. But every time I look at the scar I remember the lessons I learned and the following thoughts flash through my mind in this order.

1. Karma apparently applies to chickens as well. I always think they would have survived longer had they not been so mean to keep torturing me 😉

2. I remember that stubbornness is a harmful quality and I try to control it though I fail several times.

3. I also think about my dad’s unique teaching method.. seemingly cruel but extremely effective. I am forever grateful.

4. I also have learned that when someone says no – to ask why  before being pig headed and insisting on rebelling.

5. But most of all every time I look at the scar  – I feel hunger pangs. Mostly for Chicken. Very shallow. Very Very Shallow. I know.