So , an absent spouse , a posting in the remotest island , and a car that is greying around the temples , falls under my care . I had serious doubts about my own abilities , not to mention the colour of my own hair , which , just like the car , is greying around the temples .
The car and I went along pretty well for a few weeks after the departure of the husband to far off isles . Sharing jetty walkway with seagulls , he posts breathtaking pictures upon pics , of pink , mauve and orange -yellow sunsets and ships both moored in the harbour and adrift at the sea . Red crabs and tetrapods . Coconut trees and dense forests .
Back here on mainland , car and I carried on well for some time , before the car realised that it was being driven up the precipitous slopes of flyovers of state roads and National Highways by an imposter . A usurper , who looked and smelt different from its earlier , more caring and pampering owner .
The car broke out in a series of psychosomatic disorders .
One fine summer morning , it refused to start . As I cranked the key again and again , a friendly , familiar face poked in on the window . He took the steering wheel , sliding his slight frame into the cavernous dent in the seat ( left "behind " by my better half and me ) and "jump started " the car . Meaning , whipped the reluctant car into starting .
Taking care not to switch off the ignition , anywhere on the way , I reached my destination . I switched off the ignition , out of sheer habit . The car , on the way back , stubbornly , refused to budge . Again , an enterprising gent got the car to start , forcibly . The car reached back home , as the battery shop was closed .
A friendly neighbour sent his driver and car for the purchase of the new battery . Thereafter , I triumphantly drove the car to be" inspected " by the battery wala . The owner , helpfully , advised me to get the water levels of the battery checked after three months .
The new battery was bought in the month of May , I reported in September duly, for the checking up . All ok .
My both visits to this battery seller , resulted in my sitting in the air conditioned office with a polite "Madam ,please sit inside " . I was plied with cold water and engaging small talk by the owner in chaste english . I was highly impressed with the service .
Shortly after this visit to the battery guy , the car stalled again . This time it couldn't be jump started too .
The car was stuck . Company service guys arrived in their van and opened the bonnet with complete confidence and fanfare .
The copper shaft connecting one of the battery terminals to the rest of the engine , had come undone . That was the undoing . So much for the religious trips to the battery wala . The clamp that held the battery in place was found hanging in the forest vines of cables entangled beneath .
It was a case of criminal negligence . So much for the hospitality , and "good service ." I made a mental note never to sit in any office , while my car was being tinkered with / attended to . The final glass ceiling of fake chivalry needed to break .
A certain sized nut ( which was required to tighten the clamp ) was unavailable even in the impressively stocked company van .
Solution ? Drive all the way to the company workshop , some 6 kms away , get the nut fixed , and pay the rescuer , 100 times the money that the nut cost . Not to mention the fuel guzzled in the process.
There is a row of nine cars parked in front of our block . Mine is the fourth. A sleepy guy opens up a hose of water and starts sprinkling the cars with water at precisely 0630 AM . Then he starts wiping the cars down with a rag . He begins from one end , and by the time I arrive at 0645 AM , he has done only the first two cars in the row . Others , dripping , await their turn . Nine times out of ten , I drive out with water streaming down my windshield , wipers on full blast , and spray slapping my right cheek , as if I have just escaped a hurricane .
Repeated reminders , gentle and rough , to do my car first , have fallen over deaf ears . So , now I keep a spray bottle and a rag of my own , to wipe down the remnants of the "hurricane " water spots and dust .
And finally , today morning , I had a flat tyre , front right . Luckily , I remembered a petrol station , where I was told by the air boy that I had punctures . Four of them . Two large and two small .
Counting quickly on his finger tips , he said that would cost me 200 bucks . I nodded but reminded him that I will pay via UPI . I wasn't carrying any cash . The boy appeared crestfallen . However , he did his job quickly and efficiently plugging the apertures with strips of rubber and a pink glue . Hardly eighteen year old , the boy had a younger assistant of his own , who pumped in air into the tyres , cranked the jack , fetched supplies etc .
Despite the car's repeated attempts to fall ill , the providence always put it back onto its tyres , with a pat on its back .
In the defence of the car , a stately , white Wagon R , the apple of one of my hubby's eye , ( the apple of the other eye belongs to his daughters ) , the real culprit is the pot holed road which I drive on daily .
It is the potholes that jarred the battery and loosened its connections . It is the sharp edge of jagged gravel that pierced the tyre. Hence absolved , the car has grown progressively fonder of me . It even purrs , on occasion .
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