If the women at home sleep well, that's good. If they have deep sleep, that's good, especially if their sleep remains unfazed by the chinks-and-clinks of the door's keys. If you have a car at home, that's good too, as is if you're awake at 1 in the morning. It's all silent and you can hear yourself think. Oh yeah, if you have the keys to the car and those of the house, there are a few things that money can't buy. And this situation is one of them. Also, if the car at home is a little quick, nothing like it.
So you tip-toe out the door, take the stairs to escape the 'ding-ding' of the lift's doors opening, and as long as you don't have stray dogs sitting around in your parking area, you'll get to your car without Big Brother knowing. I have dogs in my parking. The watchman was asleep, and as a result, the building's gates were locked. Thumbs up. *ting*
What all you're put through for a little nightly trip. So I woke up the sleepy fellow, who's supposed to be guarding my building folks from the outside world, got him to to open the gates. Poor fellow got up from his Sunny Leone dream and opened the gates for me.
I got into my car and drove away into the dark. And straight into a traffic jam. At 1 am. I must be dreaming! Nevertheless, I endured the grind. No, I didn't do the world a favor by practicing patience, but just saying. Thankfully, within 200 metres, things cleared up, gears going 1 through 5, more smoothly and swiftly than I'd realized. Which again is good. Up ahead lay the highway which, for tonight, was my way, and just a left turn away.
Again, it wasn't the cleanest stretch of road I'd seen in my life. The traffic was even more annoying given the time that was blinking on my car's dashboard clock. Such remained the case for another dreary three-odd kilometres. Then the road ahead cleared, virtually each car ahead going left, leaving the entire right lane free for me to hog on. Down went the right foot, and the nearly 120 horses galloped away, "Thug-duk", "Thug-duk", "Thug-duk", "Thug-duk"!
I'll tell you something. If you get behind the wheel of a car, with any number of existential issues floating in your head, show the car an empty stretch of road and weld you foot to the firewall, your issues will evaporate straight out of your car's tailpipes. That's true even in the case of a Maruti Alto 800, as long as you don't switch on the AC. Quick little city hatch, that.
I of course was behind the wheel of a car whose predecessor is the stuff of every Indian auto-nut's dream. I'm sure you've guessed the car. Okay hint? It's not the Zen.
Honestly, my ride wasn't as quick as I expected it to be. I'll take a big part of the blame for that though, as my gear shift-timings weren't spot on. It's also because how smoothly the creamy engine gathers speed, and then you look at the speedo and say, "Oh shit!"(with a wide grin on your face). You never get a jolt of acceleration that you'd usually receive in a modern diesel Volkswagen or Ford. It's like the difference between sprinkling your food with black pepper and extra hot habanero sauce. The black pepper hits you somewhere towards the back of the throat and makes you feel all warm and cozy. The habanero sauce burns your tongue and has you skipping floor tiles on the way to the kitchen for the sugar box. My car's the black pepper.
It's the small dose of brandy that makes you feel that everything's gonna be all right. Not the little shot of tequila that makes your insides screech "It's BURNING!!" "It's BURNING!!".
It's not racy in any sense of the world. It doesn't pretend to be either. It's attractive enough to justify the number of people who buy it. It's lithe enough to let you exploit a reasonably free road and is honestly, very forgiving to drive. The best bit? I get to drive this lady every morning. Yes I would have liked her in a duskier colour, the wheels could have skipped the Atkins diet and the looks could have done with a little less "look-at-me" factor. But if perfect's what you're looking for, go back to dreaming like the night watchman.
So you tip-toe out the door, take the stairs to escape the 'ding-ding' of the lift's doors opening, and as long as you don't have stray dogs sitting around in your parking area, you'll get to your car without Big Brother knowing. I have dogs in my parking. The watchman was asleep, and as a result, the building's gates were locked. Thumbs up. *ting*
What all you're put through for a little nightly trip. So I woke up the sleepy fellow, who's supposed to be guarding my building folks from the outside world, got him to to open the gates. Poor fellow got up from his Sunny Leone dream and opened the gates for me.
I got into my car and drove away into the dark. And straight into a traffic jam. At 1 am. I must be dreaming! Nevertheless, I endured the grind. No, I didn't do the world a favor by practicing patience, but just saying. Thankfully, within 200 metres, things cleared up, gears going 1 through 5, more smoothly and swiftly than I'd realized. Which again is good. Up ahead lay the highway which, for tonight, was my way, and just a left turn away.
Again, it wasn't the cleanest stretch of road I'd seen in my life. The traffic was even more annoying given the time that was blinking on my car's dashboard clock. Such remained the case for another dreary three-odd kilometres. Then the road ahead cleared, virtually each car ahead going left, leaving the entire right lane free for me to hog on. Down went the right foot, and the nearly 120 horses galloped away, "Thug-duk", "Thug-duk", "Thug-duk", "Thug-duk"!
I'll tell you something. If you get behind the wheel of a car, with any number of existential issues floating in your head, show the car an empty stretch of road and weld you foot to the firewall, your issues will evaporate straight out of your car's tailpipes. That's true even in the case of a Maruti Alto 800, as long as you don't switch on the AC. Quick little city hatch, that.
I of course was behind the wheel of a car whose predecessor is the stuff of every Indian auto-nut's dream. I'm sure you've guessed the car. Okay hint? It's not the Zen.
Honestly, my ride wasn't as quick as I expected it to be. I'll take a big part of the blame for that though, as my gear shift-timings weren't spot on. It's also because how smoothly the creamy engine gathers speed, and then you look at the speedo and say, "Oh shit!"(with a wide grin on your face). You never get a jolt of acceleration that you'd usually receive in a modern diesel Volkswagen or Ford. It's like the difference between sprinkling your food with black pepper and extra hot habanero sauce. The black pepper hits you somewhere towards the back of the throat and makes you feel all warm and cozy. The habanero sauce burns your tongue and has you skipping floor tiles on the way to the kitchen for the sugar box. My car's the black pepper.
It's the small dose of brandy that makes you feel that everything's gonna be all right. Not the little shot of tequila that makes your insides screech "It's BURNING!!" "It's BURNING!!".
It's not racy in any sense of the world. It doesn't pretend to be either. It's attractive enough to justify the number of people who buy it. It's lithe enough to let you exploit a reasonably free road and is honestly, very forgiving to drive. The best bit? I get to drive this lady every morning. Yes I would have liked her in a duskier colour, the wheels could have skipped the Atkins diet and the looks could have done with a little less "look-at-me" factor. But if perfect's what you're looking for, go back to dreaming like the night watchman.