The little circle continued to rotate on my phone, like the white cabs zooming past me. Suddenly, loud voices broke the brief evening silence, forcing me to look up. Of course, an argument was brewing between men in white uniforms over space, customers, and the bigger ego.

Ah, Bangalore’s airport taxi stand was action-packed!

As I wrestled to reason with myself whether paying the extra 500 rupees for a bigger car was worth it or not, a couple morphed beside me. Within seconds, their cab pulled up too.

Her husband got to work stuffing bag after bag in the boot. The woman balanced a bag the size of her baby and her baby as she maneuvered to the back seat. Instinctively, I held the door open and glanced at the husband. After the woman was seated, she thanked me repeatedly.

Two things occurred to me here:

1. I hoped that partners, family members, and friends out there, were paying attention to women with children. Irrespective of whether the child’s size matched the handbag, I hoped they were being treated kindly.
2. This “instinct” comes from thinking- “this could easily happen to my sister and I’d want someone to extend a helping hand.”

Hoping has nothing to do with women being capable of opening a car door. But it has everything to do with being kinder. I’d do the same thing for a man or child with their hands full, trying to get in the back seat, while holding the rickety door open with their butt.

Once on a flight, turbulence decided it was here to stay. As the plane jiggled, my stomach dropped. The strawberry cake I had moments ago threatened to reveal its ugly self. I had to think happy thoughts and that likened it to going down a slide. Just a few minutes to go. My luck was such that even watching a movie was making me nauseous. HAPPY THOUGHTS!

Finally, the plane decided to retire its dancing shoes and soar through as if nothing happened. But the tummy threat had other plans. Not for me, thank God. A child, coddled in her father’s arms in the row ahead of mine, puked. Then puked again. The smell of gurgled milk mixed with airplane food was repulsive. But also sad. The child didn’t know what was happening.

My first instinct was to tame my tummy and try not to gag. The father had it hard enough with the liquid food dripping down his arm and shirt. I found a few napkins and extended them to him. Then called for the air hostess.

Two things occurred to me (a list has to be more than one thing, I don’t always count in two’s):

1. There were 9 people within immediate reach, but it didn’t occur to anybody to help.

2. Always keep tissues and sweet-smelling anything handy.

Did people think there’s a clean-up process specifically designed for dads?

I don’t think I did something award-winning by watching a child throw up and not do so myself. No, it’s general awareness.

This awareness and consideration for strangers comes from being around my two-year-old nephew. I have seen him laugh from his belly to screaming until the tears make us his little helpers. I have seen him drive his bus towards me, then fling it across the room in a fit. I have seen him look at his mother innocently as she balanced a backpack as big as him and hold a car door open.

Aunty status gradually unlocked crowd-scanning powers. Now, I look for parents who need help with a bag, door, or photo. Because one of the other things I’ve learned is that they might not ask for help. When their child is being noisy, they try to calm them down. When their child is throwing a tantrum, they try to be stern. Most parents are aware of the inconvenience caused to others, tired because nothing seems to work or encourage the behavior. The last is the worst kind but it still costs nothing to be kind.

So, the next time you’re in a crowded place, hands-free, pay attention. There could be someone who needs help and only you can hear the words uttered under their breath.