Cars

For as long as man has walked on this good earth, he has felt the need to move at great speeds. Research has shown that Stone-Age man was an expert at running as fast as his Stone Age legs would carry him.

Which is good, because the Stone Age was a time when pretty much everything on earth possessed teeth the length of swords and wanted to eat you for breakfast.

A particularly brainy Stone Age chappie (let’s call him Oog) was fed up of all this needless running business. “Why”, said Oog one fine day, during a particularly long chase involving him and a saber-tooth tiger, “why cant we make stuff run for us? Why should we exert ourselves in this Neanderthal manner?”

Unfortunately, Oog was eaten up by the saber-tooth whilst he was contemplating this noble idea.

Which proves the following points:

1. Man felt the need to attain great speeds without too much physical toil.
2. Oog wasn’t particularly smart.

Centuries later, the wheel was invented. This was good, because now, man could use the wheel to go from one place to another. Of course, it required a bit of understanding to realize that a circular wheel would be infinitely more efficient than a triangular or square one.

Man later managed to train animals to pull chariots. During this time, he learnt the following:

1. Horses are great chariot pullers.
2. So are donkeys, oxen and yak.
3. Cockroaches do not make good chariot pullers.
4. Don’t mess with tigers.

Cut to the twenty-first century. The car has superseded other forms of terrestrial transportation modes to become the most popular form of powered locomotion.

We see cars in every possible size, shape and colour. Some, like the Volkswagen, scuttle around like beetles, whilst others like the Tempo Traveler simply bulldoze their way home. Red, blue, white, black, mauve, burgundy…. You name the colour, a car is available.

That is provided, of course, that ‘burgundy’ is a colour.

Question: Has anyone really seen ANYTHING that is burgundy in colour?

Right from my tender childhood, I have been fascinated with cars. My baby photos suggest that, apparently, my first locomotive device was a rather yellow-looking hippopotamus, with wheels and a pair of pedals attached to its legs, powered purely by strength of will and leg.

Reports suggest that I was quite the little racer aboard my yellow Hippo-mobile. Apparently, I was in the habit of dashing off at near-light speeds on the Hippo-mobile, pedaling as fast as my baby legs would permit.

With the passage of time, I grew too fat for the Hippo-mobile. Which is when my father purchased a bicycle for me. A rather smallish cycle it was, with plastic-spoke wheels and a bell which was capable of emanating sonic blasts. Many an evening did I spend riding my bicycle. Many a scratch have I borne on my knee and elbow. I loved that bicycle.

Unfortunately, with further passage of time, my bicycle was unable to sustain my mammoth weight. Which is when I progressed to cars.

The only hitch with this car thing was that, unlike the Hippo-mobile or the bicycle, a car is simply not maneuverable. I mean, lets say you are stuck in traffic. Were you aboard the Hippo-mobile or a bicycle, you could easily squeeze and slither your way through traffic and emerge at the top of the pack. Try squeezing and slithering a Scorpio through traffic. Its just not possible.

I joined a motor-training school with the intention of obtaining a valid driver’s license and also to learn this whole driving thing. The car assigned to me was a Maruti 800. Some prominent features of this car are listed below for your kind perusal;

1. The car was white in colour.
2. It had four wheels.
3. It had no back seat.
4. It had no rear-view mirror.
5. It would rear up like an enraged stallion every time I applied the brakes.
6. It would stop moving at the most inopportune moments, like on a highway. At such times, I had to use manual power to kick the car on its backside, upon which it would do a lot of soul-searching, reflect on what a bad car it has been and finally re-start with renewed vigour.

My instructor was Pandeyji, a rather smallish chappie with big ears.

How, you might ask, would I recognize Pandeyji in a crowd?

Here are some features of Pandeyji which are quite distinct:

1. He chews tobacco as if his life depended on it.
2. He sleeps while driving.
3. He sleeps while not driving.
4. He smokes like a chimney.
5. He speaks absolute chaste Hindi.

While we were on our practice rounds, Pandeyji would regale me with stories of his family. Apparently, Pandeyji possessed about a hundred aunts and close to about five thousand uncles, all stashed away in some village somewhere. These aunts and uncles had the tendency to die like flies every so often, causing Pandeyji to rush to his village at regular intervals, causing the cancellation of many a driving lesson.

On his return, Pandeyji would update me about the state of his goats and three buffalo. A favourite story of his revolved around his wedding, which apparently took place with his father-in-law swinging a heavy cudgel over Pandeyji’s head.

One problem with Pandeyji, though. With his penchant for chaste Hindi and my limited grasp of the language, we never saw eye to eye on the topic of directions. He would yell ‘Bayein taraf chaliye’ . It would take me some time to determine which of the two directions (left and right) matched bayein to the closest possible extent. At times, my guess worked and we would continue our drive. Most of the time, however, I would go in the exact opposite direction of bayein. This would normally elucidate a grunt from Pandeyji, who would swing the steering wheel in the appropriate direction and later give me a rather nasty look, similar to what he must have given his cudgel-wielding pa-in-law.

Another problem with Pandeyji was that he would never let me go above second gear. I think my grasp of bayein and dayein left him a wee bit ruffled and he didn’t want to risk smashing into a truck of some kind at top gear, owing to mis-communication.

The day of my driving test dawned bright and sunny. Pandeyji chauffeured me to the RTO, wherein a Driving Inspector, who was nearly as fat as a walrus, plonked his posterior on the front seat and commanded me to drive. Pandeyji was in the back seat, which had been specially prepared just the day before.

I passed the test owing to the fact that I was told to drive on a straight road. None of that daayein-baayein nonsense for this Driving Inspector. Drive straight ahead, honk about a bit and reverse straight back.

I am now the proud owner of a Driving License, which has proved useful as a source of identity and nothing else. For I do not own a locomotive of any kind.

I depend on public transport most of the time. Of course, I can always count on my pals for transportation. Fellow blogger Mr. Shirishkumar Shivram Shetty has taken me on many a ride through Pune city aboard his mighty motorbike Bhim. My pal Mr. Pareshani possesses a bike which he has christened Paplu. Me comrades Dr. Dan, Ms. Gauri, Ms. Pam and Ms. Ruchi all have scooter-mobiles, on which I have ridden pillion on several occasions.

I wish I had a vehicle of my own.

Wonder where the Hippo-mobile is.

Question: Which is the most dangerous part of a car?
Answer: The nut behind the wheel.