cars

Awesome dude !

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The other day, we stopped for tea.

I was traveling with a bright young man, whose verbal dexterity seemed confined to ‘awesome’ , ‘sucks’ and ‘dude’. That’s when he exclaimed, ‘isn’t she beautiful’?

My heart started beating at a faster pace than a sprint champion awaiting his dope testing results. I could have passed for a father who heard his toddler say ‘dad’ for the first time !

I looked around. Who was this beautiful woman, which caused such a sudden leap of language proficiency? There were three people, who I could see. The burly security guard. His wife, who seemed wanting to prove that she was burlier than him. And there was this chap who was serving tea.

Surely, the young man wasn’t referring to any of them. Furrowing my brow and summoning powers from all over, the focus was on finding this lady! Lucky for me, I didn’t say anything more. For in a brief moment, my young friend said more.

‘These Germans. Awesome man. They know how to make these babes….Dude’.

The pea brained Sherlock Holmes in my head, sat up. (Readers are requested to picture a laborious act played out in slow motion, of getting out of deep slumber). As far as I knew, making ‘babes’ and the rest of us, wasnt the purview of the Germans. Alone.

Which was when the eyes spotted a swanky BMW.

“But of course” I said. ‘of course’.

From whereon status quo resumed. The words that I heard for the rest of the journey, were random monosyllables with a strong emphatic ‘awesome’ ‘sucks’ or ‘dude’ thrown in every 17th second. Yes. I was keeping time.

When I got bored of it, and realising that there was some distance to go, the mind declared independence from this mundane activity. Wandering into another time, that a car became a lady. Of sorts.

This banner had appeared somewhere close to where I live. I thought of this Nitin guy as having got lessons from a Warren Buffet or someone.


A quick look and a quicker conclusion later, I was so happy, that you could have spotted my yellow teeth from three miles. Here was a guy, who I thought, was providing customers with a car to get to the beauty parlour and back. This was the mind. My own mind.

Don’t fault me. My own tryst with a beauty parlour is to ferry the missus to one, and sit in a bookstore until she gets her job done! Quite obviously I thought there was a market that this Nitin guy had thought of.

Nitins business acumen wouldn’t have been ephemeral in my mind, but for his English. It started with wondering what was ‘Teflon Coting’ ! What would they do in a beauty parlour that would warrant the cot to get made of Teflon ? You know where that train of thought would lead a pea brained Sherlock Holmes sitting in a corner of the mind.

Not to forget ‘Intirior Cling’. That sounded like love potion !

The world of marketing ! ‘Garage’ marketed as a ‘Beauty parlour’. I know of a ‘Beauty parlours’ that was marketed as ‘Stairway to heaven’. Even as I contemplated taking that stairway, the billboard there said, ‘Stairway to heaven shifted to second floor’. It seemed to be a cruel trick. My eagerness went under the basement.

“ ‘Ossome’ isn’t it ?” The young man said with a jerk, that I half suspect he gave it a special energy to wake me from my trance. I realised that i had been in Nitins world for sometime now.

With a new found insight under the belt, that its possible to have a complete conversation with a bright young man of today, with just three words, I said,

‘Yes. Ofcourse. Ossome’. As an afterthought, added ‘Dude’.

I felt powerful.


The Red Sumo philosophy !

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The morning rush hour has slices of life to offer. Many times i wonder, why all this has to happen in the morning. To me ( only ). On a week day.


This red Tata Sumo was ahead of me today. Holding up all traffic with its confounding slow pace and a strangely meandering wobble. I thought this car had a flat tyre.

But the chap behind me neither saw the wobble or my thinking. He was seething. And i could realise that he seethed through his horn. Blaring.

The whimper of the pace of the Sumo and the madness of the honking behind, had me in a state of a juxtaposed animation. Not suspended. But juxtaposed. I swore at Murphy. And wondered if he had made unannounced plans for cohabiting with me.

Thankfully, in some time, with some dexterity (that can give me the right to claim that i too drove in Mumbai), i pulled away.

But, i was not quite prepared for this.


Later in the day, i showed these pictures around. To colleagues and any other that might care. And asked them to come up with ‘what it means’ to them.

And of course, i got well thought through answers.Ranging from ‘holistic perspective’, ‘economic spectrum’, ‘human conditions’ to ‘life cycle’.

Wonder what your mind comes up with when looking at these pictures.

Frankly. I think. People are just getting ready for the Mumbai monsoon !

Whatsay ?

Parking Full !

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One of the woes of driving in a big city like Mumbai is not necessarily in the driving. But in the parking. The good deeds that you did in the past three lives put together, determines the availability of a good parking spot today !

At least that’s the hypotheses that i am getting myself to accept. For i have consistently found that good ones don’t exist and the rest are taken. That’s been the experience. Every single time that the the tyre has rolled to get somewhere, it has rolled an equal distance to find a place to stop. Much after reaching the place!

And after an hour of driving, the struggle to park can be downright trying. Praying for mercy from gleeful parking attendants and merciless co-drivers. ( Who can seem to know how to park a Merc in a space where you don’t think a Maruti 1050 will fit ).

Just as you are all set to park, your eye spots some message written somewhere. Some messages of them are downright simple. ‘No Parking’ they scream. Others are more positive. “Parking Full” they say.

(‘Parking Full’ means the same thing : ‘tough-luck-go-around-find-another-place’ )!

And then there are those that overdo it. Like this one.


Which says, ‘No No Parking’ ! Now, What does that one mean ?

For starters, Parking is a strict No-No is a meaning it can take !

And it could also mean ‘No’; to ‘No-Parking’. Double negative. Meaning you could park here. So go ahead. And try teaching double negative word play to the Mumbai parking lot attendant. May the forces be with you.

And then there are those that seem to symbolically convey this


Methinks a ‘No Parking’ board on a chair with no seat to park your back side….is a powerful symbolic message.

Huh. Thats one post full on parking full !

Naah-No gazing !

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Its been on the dinner table for some time. As conversation that is. Its been on the parliament’s table. For the same reason. And its been successful fodder to trainers and training programs : For a variety of reasons. ‘Innovation’. ‘Self Belief’. ‘Keeping a promise.’ ‘Positioning’. And an endless more.

Finally, the rubber is meeting the road. After all ! Yes. The Nano is here. You can buy one online ! But hold on. Hold on. Dont go away. This is not yet another post cooing the wonder that this is becoming ! This post isn’t about the Nano.

(You sure must have read about the cobbler and the bus conductor queueing up to buy. And amongst the many images, i am also told by a neighbour of those driving into a Tata Dealership in a Ford Endeavour to check it out for their ‘college going daughter’. It would have fit into his Endeavour as a take away from a restaurant would have !!)

Closer home, a friend’s friend, has booked 3 Nanos for the home. For the wife. For the mother. And one, generally. Monthly installments on the car, my friend supposes to range in the range of Rs.1,500/- ( $ 30 ). Suddenly, the car becomes a distinct possibility for a small man like me.

Ok. Ok. No. No. This post isn’t about any of that.

This is a crystal ball gazing post into the middle and long term future. And now, armed with the might of my incisive arm chair wisdom & a looming Monday, these are predictions of what the Nano will do.

With the rich, the middle class, the inbetweens, the pretenders and just about everyone else ( save Mamta Banerjee ) wanting to get one, Indian roads are all set to change. India too is all set to change !

Circa 2015


a. Employment Generation increases manifold : You need more policemen on the road. More mechanics. More arbitrators. More insurance agents. More scrap dealers. More driving schools. More RTO offices to grant driving licences. More agents in the same RTO offices. More road building machines. More operators of those machines …. You get the idea right ?

b. Construction industry is booming: With all the world on the road, where would you park. Of course, Parking skyscrapers are being built. And cars would be parked right up there !

Corporations across the country have made it mandatory for apartment complexes to house one more sky scrapper : The parking sky scrapper. With five cars for a four member family, you wouldnt owners to park in living rooms right ?

c. Meters’ Down : For the rest of the folks who still have resisted the revolution and chosen to go without purchasing the Nano are travelling by Nano taxis ! Mumbai no longer has Premier Padminis as Taxis. And Kolkatta has consigned all Ambassador taxis to Singur.

d. Fashions’ Up : Fashion officianados make their cars fashionable. Paint their cars with objectionable images and articulate graffiti. If some local leader, didnt like it, they scrap the paint. If it costs as much as it does to buy, it costs a fraction to paint ! Better still buy a new one !

e. And a new culture is born: There is peace and harmony in the lives of all Tata Nano homes. When other cars bump into them, they are remarkably calm. If a police officer catches them doing something wrong, they are remarkably calm. For they have in them, the right of first refusal. I mean, they hand over the keys to whoever cares in that area, and walk away !

f. Shoe sales is way up : Seriously. Now hold your breadth. Drivers, owners and brand loyalists of other cars are jealous of the Nano and its mass appeal. With a general air of irritability, they have been throwing their shoes around ! Now, a common habit ,that was introduced to them in 2009. So, shoe production is up !

Naah-No !?!

Of Potholes and Plastic

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The car itself was sold to a young, hardworking, handsome, upwardly mobile geek, with a beautiful, charming, etc etc etc wife and a playful, charming, lovely etc etc son some weeks back.

After a few weeks, he is taken for a spin. And as his senses soak up the interiors : the clean dashboard, the distinct odour of new rexine (or whatever), the super clean floor mat etc. And he sits. Forgetting the rest of the world.

It was then that he hears the rustle. It is then that the rustle of plastic on his behind was…, hmm…lets put it this way : is slightly more than a patently evident ! And with every pothole and stone that the tyre cares to caress, the collective weight of four bodies on plastic creates a sound that seems louder than the Korean engine inside the hood.

With the resolve of a Tamil film hero out to avenge the injustice meted out to his mother, his hands seize the plastic cover on his seat. To yank them away. His action would spell freedom for the seat. And peace for his ears.

It was obvious that he wasn’t prepared for ‘Don’t do that’ shriek that came in unison from his co-passengers. One of whom was his wife. ( Yes some men never learn). For all that could escape from his stunned lips was some hot air.

Like a pick pocket caught in the act by CC TV, he shrunk. ‘Let the plastic remain. The seat covers will get dirty. Let the car stay new for some more time’ they tell him. In Unison.

‘Its been five weeks. For how long….?’ he manages to mutter. Hoping to get the others aware of the futility of such efforts.

His wife shoots an unsolicited reply into the air-conditioned air of the korean car. “They will be there, as long as those plastic covers on your books back home remain. As long as those empty cartons of your perfume bottles occupy space in the cramped wardrobe…..”

In a jiffy he makes peace. He smokes the peace pipe with the flip-flop of an election time politician. The white flag waved with alarming ambivalence. And for sometime the only sound that punctuates the still air is from the air-conditioning vent.

Then in the middle of the road, the rubber says hello to a pothole. And a collective rustle of four bodies on plastic abounds. By now, he is aware that he has made his peace. And he stares into the outside world.

The potholes and plastic make him aware. Of his beginnings. Of his circle. Of his friends. Of his family. Of his country. Of its roads. And one more, much reviled, cliche: “middle class ” !!

PS : To the young upwardly mobile geek & family, with the new car, who will read this sometime : Sorry. This photograph is shared without your explicit permission. Hopefully all the adjectives showered in the opening para will compensate. OK ?)

Road Series : Spare the plate !

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What is 3 + 7 + 9 + 8 + 23 ?

hmm

hmm

Well.

I mean…I take time. Lets face it. I am slow. Ok ? With numbers especially. I have a problem with numbers. Give me words to play with. Any day. But numbers..well..hmm..you get the idea.

I mean, look at the numbers that confront me with appearance or disappearance. Like that mirage of a bank balance. Or that illusion of a 32 inch waistline. Why go that far. Take the worry around my age. Ok. Ok. Stop.

The world runs on numbers. I know that. The missus knows the number of dosas i have gulped down. The boss clearly knows the number that i missed. And how many times as well. The pittance of the shares that i bought long back, disappeared before the fanfare in the heart around their purchase evaporated. Manufacturers alter their discount percentages the day i step in to buy.

A trillion dollars is a lot of number for a bucket and a bail out ! That’s my perspective. And of course, bonus is a bad word !

Of all of these, the only constant shareable number in peoples lives are number plate on their cars. I mean, its there. Right up there for the world to see. You can have it fancy or simple. But you cant have a number on the same car that goes up and down like the economy or the bank balance.

And that has been so comforting. For a long while now, while people look at the car and brand, i look at the number on the number plates. That degree of constancy is so assuring.

And for some time now that has been under threat. Obviously i don’t like it.

Indian numerals on number plates ! And i have seen this in Tamil, Marathi and kannada scripts. And quite obviously, i didn’t study numerals in any of them. I am illiterate ! And naturally all of them seem to be forms of art to me !

I am told that this is done to demonstrate a passion for the language. Come on. Come on!

Demonstrate passion. Sure !! Write an essay. Send text messages. Speak (abuse) in chaste native. Send children to native language schools. Speak the language. Read up literature. Ok. Ok. Ok. I give in. Go ahead and watch those damn mega serials. All in Gurmukhi, Tamil, , Marathi,Kannada, Hindi…

But please. Please. Spare the number plate

I mean, if you cut the lane, jumped signal, crashed into me and drove away, and i want to file a complaint. You sure dont expect me and the rest of us illiterates take a pen and paper to do a pencil sketch. Do you ?

Wait a minute…

Was that the idea ?!?

Made in China

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Their father bought them a car. This car. This red car. With yellow wheel caps, yellow seats and a white steering wheel. At the rear, this car sported a ‘Made In China’ tag. It was a different age. China was yet to be crowned an economic giant and ‘China’ still had a positive ring to it.

Having said that, the boys were disappointed that the car was not ‘Made in Japan’ as the other cars that their father bought them did.

The car did move with a smooth whine. For a few days, it was treated very well. Dust wiped off, many times, and given prime position right under the pillow, as the boys slept.

The days wore on and all hell gradually broke loose. For the car suddenly started finding legs of tables, chairs, humans and plain straight walls in its way.

A few months passed.

The car began to take the air. I mean, it was flying about. Hurled with supreme speed , accuracy and intent, which, if information is to be believed, inspired zillions of Tata Sumos to take to the air in Tamil movies !

The car just stood its ground. Dented here and there, the windshield broken, and the odd plastic tyre, twisted, but standing its ground. And the engine still whined very well. Made in China. It was !

A few years passed. The car still whined but moved. And pretty well too.

On a day when then mother and father were away, the younger boy, with a penchant for design and art worked on it. With a sharp blade and imagination. as tools. ‘

Volvo’. He wrote. ’10’ he wrote. ‘MRF’ he wrote. Actually, scrapping the red paint. Revealing grey metal inside. And suddenly, the car seemed to have acquired a certain character.

The rally driving he saw on Doordarshan needed an outlet. And this car was right there.

The older one, not given to such talent and imagination, hemmed and hawed. And took to moaning the loss of original paint. The parents were subtly made aware with select breaches of information. And to his surprise, they gave him a look that almost told him ‘grow up’ !

Many decades pass.

The young boy with imagination is now a successful corporate type. Using the imagination to scrape out the surface and give character to projects and proposals. And by the way, blessed with a young son, who is just studying the art of making cars fly.

And yes. The car that was made in China, when ‘Made in China’ had a different ring to it, stands. A little broken and written all over, but standing proudly !

And the older son, yes, the same one who almost got the ‘grow up’ look from his parents, hopes to garner some sympathy hits on his blog through this post ! At the least, he pleads for a different ‘look’ from his readers.

In return, he promises to work on his imagination.