“Why do all good things come to an end? “, ever heard that song? Nelly Furtado? The rest of the lines in the song are written in some drunken stupor, about a dog howling in the moonlight. And it makes no sense. But this line- it is golden. Because, almost every good thing in life, comes to an end. And that is the blatant truth, to accept it or not is your choice!
One of those things that I am extremely possessive about is my car- a Chevy spark. It was a gift from my dad on my 21stbirthday. Blood -red, vibrant and full of life. She complemented me perfectly. Together we have journeyed across thousands of miles, seen many a setting suns. Chased many a moons, just like the dog in Nelly’s song.
A couple of weeks back my dad unexpectedly dropped a bomb on me. He said it was time to sell the Chevy. With a heavy heart I had to agree. The truth is that she was three years old and I had covered pretty much covered the entire Indian subcontinent with her. However, it was just too difficult for me to accept that our time together was over.
More than the agony of separation it was a nagging fear. Who else will understand my feelings, my needs, and my recklessness? She knew my mood swings better than me. Every day, happy or sad was complete only if I had taken my Chevy for a ride. Who else will soar with me with just the press of an accelerator, yet be so under my control. I have achieved the unachievable, surpassed the unsurpassable with her. I have seen rivers and mountains; man and animal just zip past by. Yet, every trip has been meaningful .Every kilometre has been well spent. All the riding alone was never lonely.
It took me a week to reign in my emotions , nurtured by the cancerian ego within me. The girly part of me wasn’t helping either. I decided I needed one last trip with her, one last long distance drive to make peace with myself and her.
This Independence Day extended weekend I took the last drive with her, I decided to drive up to Bangalore. The distance by itself is close to five hundred kilometres. It would take me close to six hours. Yet I decided that I had to close this chapter on a high note. So on the 13th of august, the bags were packed, the boot was closed the music was on and it was just me ,my car and the expanse of the highway ahead!
I know the route pretty well; I must have done it at least a dozen times. Trichur to Coimbatore is usually a pretty decent drive. Two hours tops. Green ghat roads, winding and tortuous, some are even notorious like the Kudhiran range. Once you cross Palghat, the green turns into the blueness of the unreachable stretch of the Nilgiri range.
The Coimbatore by-pass is a dream. Larsen and Turbo have constructed one of the finest and oldest six lane-d bypasses. It has been there since I was a child. The toll-gates are state of art, where-in you need to pay only once at the beginning of the highway and at the rest of the toll-gates , your number plates are pre-read before you reach and the gate automatically opens if you have payed up for the whole stretch of the bypass.
Come Avinashi and the road becomes a night-mare. Due to some technical errors in the upper rung , there is a segment of the highway some twenty kilometres which does not belong to L & T nor is it a part of the golden quadrilateral which covers the rest of the highways in Tamilnadu ,Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh. This segment is un-tarred and zigzagging. And all you can drive at is some twenty odd kilometres per hour.
Till then my player was playing tracks marked “the blues” and I was driving at spinal level. Suddenly I sat upright in my seat; traversing such roads needed more than a hundred per-cent concentration. I was on gear two, slowly winding with the bumpy road.
Suddenly, disturbing my peaceful reverie was a screeching annoying honk-honk. I checked my rear-view mirror. A grey Ford-Figo. Impatient, like a bull charging towards the matador in some Spanish bull-fight, the Figo came charging towards my red spark. He narrowingly avoided kissing my bumper, and vroomed past me.
One word struck my mind- Dashing! The ultimate modern highwayman!
I never race on the highways at all. Mom has prohibited me, her logic being that the other driver, who invariably will be a male, will feel taunted if I overtake him and will follow me and might lead to unnecessary complications.
But at that moment or I should say nano-second when the Figo overtook me there was an irresistible urge to take the bait and race him. And I listened to my heart.
What followed was, an exhilarating adrenaline charged ride straight from one of those Vin-Diesel Jason Statham movies, across two hundred kilometres till Salem. It was a tough race. Especially all the pit stops at the toll gates, where I had to play the “who- gets- the –coins- out- faster” game.
We reached the Salem junction, halted at the traffic lights at the very same split second. He indicated that he was taking the left turn and heading to Madurai. I had to head straight towards Krishnagiri.
If we were on horse-backs , I guess it would have been the time to tip our hats and say goodbye. I rolled down my window, Mr. Figo rolled down his window too. We did the modern “cheers-salut thing “with our hands. The signal changed I sped towards Bangalore city.
I should say that it was the most phenomenal trip I had ever taken with my Chevy. The best part was she never let me down. If I have to be un-biased, the Figo has a better pick up than the Spark. However that dint matter, in my heart she will always be the Queen of the golden quadrilateral.
Two things I was uncertain of became clear that day, firstly, your first car is like your first love… perfect, but never meant to last forever. And secondly, my next car is going to be an all male Ford Figo!
Note: I gave my spark to my cousin brother in college, so that she would be around a little longer.
Here is the link to Nelly’s song via Youtube : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=in-sZ20G3F8
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