‘Do not remove that, it’s the ONLY granule of coffee in there!’ I said, stopping my colleague from removing what looked like a BUG, and we burst out in laughter. 20 rupees for a cup???
We started walking towards the car park, Mumbai was still three hours away. The Sun was out in its full glory and we were dying to get into the comfort of our air-conditioned car unaware of what can only be beheld.
People, what do you think? a rather not so interesting observation, in every crisis, there is a victim furious and helpless, a culprit scared and regretful, a by- stander curious and bitchy, and an opportunist, getting all the mullah!
We passed the first row of cars, Oh! Who is that stranger under our car? Perfect situation for the alarm bells to go off. Our walk became brisk. I realized, this borrowed driver of mine had goofed up big time.
The tourist car drivers are a different breed, they do not smile, they do not acknowledge you, they do not listen to your instructions, they chew on some sweet smelling tobacco, they think every other vehicle on the road is a nuisance and every other driver is their competitor.
Before you read ahead, a trivia, how many men does it take to figure out a diesel car from petrol? Apparently 6 men and 1 woman!
Four reminders and in your face fluorescent yellow warning- DIESEL ONLY on the oil cap did not help. Our car was filled with 20 Litters of Petrol! Hell broke.
Fireworks weren’t they. My senior colleague, whose car had just begun to go through a severe trauma, almost put all of us on GAS. With danger of sounding rude, I must confess his HINDI becomes incomprehensible with every word when he is angry. So I was defacto official spokesperson.
The crisis had mobilized me to get things in place everybody had taken up their positions and respective roles in the situation. Standing next to the car we were watching the theatricals of our hero, the mechanic. He would prance around and make a victorious noise with every ounce of petrol the car spilled out. After a grueling hour, a brief dance of victory by the mechanic the money talks began.
The pump manager, the petrol guy, driver, by-stander, the mechanic and two of us, enough to make a spectacle again. Since I was the official spokesperson, my colleague took charge of the wheel leaving me with 5 men to deal with.
The damsel in distress was on roll now, the mechanic turned pale when I said I would have been more impressed if he had lifted the car. The petrol guy gave in to my argument about how he shouldn’t allow people to light up his pants!
The war was over, our knight in shining armor had left on his scooter, the pump manager retreated to his cabin, the petrol guy had moved on to new car, the by-stander in search of another interesting episode, the driver was sitting tongue tied next to my colleague who took the wheels . The car had just been through what can be justly named 'A Hydrophobic Enema'...
I was sitting on the back seat smiling …don’t know why.
Posts
