There`s a 62-year-old woman in the ER,” I got a call, just as I was leaving for home, after an exceedingly active day. “She was sitting pillion on a two-wheeler, when she lost her balance and fell backwards. The back of her head slammed the road,” the physician in the emergency told me quite casually, in contrast to his gruesome description of the fall. 

In the matter of seconds, I had already imagined in my mind a fractured skull with brain tissue splattered all over the road. I cancelled the dinner I was supposed to go out for, and was wondering—for the umpteenth time—why pillions don’t wear helmets. “How is she?” I asked to verify if my imagination matched the reality. “She’s absolutely okay!” he said, probably wondering why I sounded so edgy. “She’s fully alert, quickly obeying commands, moving all limbs well, and her pupils are briskly reacting to light,” he said, giving me the low-down on her neurological examination. I promptly uncancelled the dinner in my mind, replacing it with an image of the spare ribs I was so looking forward to.