Shamed

The question, “So what do you drive/ride these days?”, inevitably crops up whenever folk seduced by the automotive world so much so as finish uttering the requisite pleasantries. And why not? A person’s choice of automobile and colour tells a lot about him/her. The answer can foster or fester relationships. Quickly veiled smirks, diplomatic “oohs” and “hmms” are often needed to defuse the situation. "You love your lemon brand vehicle?", i quiz straight faced. "Oh because it returns gaziliion kilometres to the litre?" “Ooh, not bad!” and "it takes you from 0-60 in 2.936 seconds??" After which I candidly admit, "I must be wrong in my opinion”

Every dog has its day. And as of now the shoe is firmly laced on to the other foot, or feet. Because of which I’m pretty sore all over. It’s been raining shoes on my person. Since shifting to Mumbai I have taken hammering after hammering and then some more. As a new face and a guru-type designation that suggests hardcore auto-industry wallah necessitates that The Question rain down on me. And it happens fairly frequently. Ouch.

Once credentials are established people promptly ask, “So what is it that you drive/ride?” and are ready to use my answers as a touchstone for their own auto-knowledge by following that up with, “Really? What average does it give? What’s it really like?” and so on. The first question is enough to turn the tips of my ears a deep shade of crimson. I vaguely mumble, “ Nzzzing Rileay”, while pretending to check an sms on my flip-phone. “What?”, asks my assailant once more; not really sure whether to trust his hearing or in plain disbelief. More coherently I say, “Nothing really..” From thereon the spark of respectful admiration that had featured in my interrogator’s eyes is extinguished in a blink. A whiff of ice shimmers there instead as they coldly ask me, “Really?”

My coolness quotient is busily chattering in the sub-zero levels it has been subjected to as I feebly try to make my case. Mumbai rains, the lack of any new exciting motorcycles, the need to asssimilate necessary financial resources, the beauty and precision of the Mumbai transport system are blurted out in one endless sentence. Sense, I don’t know whether I make any. I’m frozen stiff with fear. It’s so cold that I feel like I’m searing all over. Fires of hell need not be on the positive side of the temperature scale. By now I know zero Kelvin, really well.

Thus, distraught with (undeserved) shame I just hope and pray that (Hero)Honda launch some thing quick and good. Fast. I’m willing to spend all my cash, take as many loans necessary, just to be able to say that "I don’t depend on public transport". Thereby proving to all the doubting Thomas’ that just because I didn’t balance myself on two wheels to work everyday in the past, or manage to showcase my skill of perfect clutch release along with slick gearshifts in the maddening Mumbaiya traffic didn’t imply that I don’t know how to. But, the problem is I’m still bussing it to work. I frequently throw my face up to the skies and mutter, “Dear God, please help the Japs launch something worthwhile, soon!!” But the Gods are busy elsewhere and things are not likely to change until Diwali. Even my skin’s not thick enough to last till then...

Have mercy, I have learnt my lesson well!!