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It was the 8^th of May. I had reached Cochin the previous day. I had some spare time and thought I would just go around. But Kochi traffic can be… intense. That morning, though, I was in a surprisingly good mood. Yes, I was tired. It had already been a long day on the road. I had dealt with rain, traffic, and the usual unpredictability that comes with motorcycle travel. But I had finally checked into my hotel, dumped my luggage, and was now riding light. And more importantly, I was on my way to see my niece and her two affectionate kids. (Honestly, they can’t called be called kids, but adorable teens). The tiredness remained, but it had softened into quiet happiness. I was looking forward to seeing them.

I was waiting at a traffic signal when I suddenly heard a loud call.

“HELLO!”

I turned instinctively. Two policemen were slightly behind me, on another two-wheeler, trying to get my attention. I almost froze. Now here’s the truth. I am a little scared of cops. No dramatic backstory. Just one of those fixed notions many of us quietly carry. So, when I heard that sharp call, my heart skipped a beat. Did I jump a signal? Did I violate some traffic rule? Documents? Helmet? Something else? Their tone, initially, felt stern.

And then I turned fully. Something shifted. Perhaps it was the silver hair. Perhaps the beard. Perhaps I just looked less like a reckless offender and more like an ageing traveller trying to survive Kochi traffic. Their expressions changed. There was amusement now.

Then I understood. They weren’t stopping me to punish me. They were trying to protect me. Some loose packing straps meant for my luggage were hanging dangerously from the bike. In heavy city traffic, that could have gone very wrong. A wheel could have caught it. Another vehicle could have snagged it. A perfectly happy day could have turned into something ugly.

Instead, two policemen noticed. And cared enough to stop me. It was a long signal. I was frantically trying to find a spot where I could park the bike and mend the problem. They reassured me that it was ok to stop wherever I was. I mended the problem. I gave a huge smile with a loud thank you. I rode away feeling unexpectedly grateful.

But the deeper ride happened inside. How often do we react not to reality, but to our assumptions? A uniform became a threat in my mind before a single fact was known. My reaction came not from the present moment, but from an old story I was carrying.

And isn’t that true beyond traffic signals? How quickly we conclude. How confidently we interpret. How often we are wrong.

Maybe self-awareness is simply this: Not believing the first story our mind tells us.

Because sometimes what looks like confrontation… is protection.