ON RIDERS AND COMMUTERS . . . . . .
His eyes sparkled. It communicated bliss. The air hit his face, and felt his kiss. He was smiling, his lips kissing the ear lobes.
Bud Bud Bud Bud … …
It was music to his ears, symphony at its best, with just air and metals. Who wants Rahman and Ilayaraja?
The white clutters in his mouth fully visible. It was a grin. He was a happy man.
Heaven.
Oh my God! I am God.
And the God was riding his Bullet
Period
= + = + =
“I hate her. I envy her. I feel like ramming into her right in the middle of the road. Bitch.
And he. Let him cross me just once. I will ram him as well. Damn!
He comes near me, with traces of happiness, at times. He comes inside me slowly. (Goodbye happiness). Where have the smiles gone?
There he smiles. He is looking at her. That bitch again.
Ever since he was with her for a week, he loathes me. He loves me, atleast used to.
What does he get from her which I am not offering?”
From the diary of a Commuter’s Car titled “A bitch called Palio GTX”
= + = + =
A vehicle is just a vehicle. It helps you travel from place A to destination B. Whichever does it with least harm to your wallet, is the one to go far.
So they said.
If only we never tasted spices and sweeteners, we would still be content and happy with boiled rice and raw vegetables. After all we eat only to live, and not vice versa.
But, are we missing something here?
The journey is as important as destination.
No body can refute the fact that people traveling from Ambala to Shimla enjoy the Train Journey (the slowest) most than the Bus or Car Journey, simply because of the traveling pleasure it offers. Pleasure not in terms of comfortable seats, but of the fantabulous view of heaven that the hills offer.
Journey is not a means to an end. It is an end in itself. It may not sound like a purpose, but it is. It helps us think. It tests our sense of proportion. It tests our judgemental abilities. It probes our abilities to manage tough situation. It helps us concentrate. It will do more, if, and only if, it engages us.
The autowala may the perennial scoundrel in our minds, but they have admirers from foreign shores. Foreigners visiting India would swear by the utility and functionality and the beauty of the Indian Autos. To most of them, it is an experience of a life time.
Probably sensing the inability of many firangis to make a trip down to the Deccan and a terrific business opportunity, the British have imported our own Bajaj Autorickshaws into the London Mainlands for touring around. All for that unique experience.
A vehicle is for more than just commuting. It is an identity. It reflects the tastes, desires and qualities of the person owning it. It is a reflection of a persons mind and also his liking.
Invariably, two persons with similar tastes, likes and dislikes, (with money being no constraint), would buy a vehicle that will also be similar. A mile muncher would prefer anything that is large scale.
The question is, are we taking the journey as seriously as the destination? The answer is a big no. We believe in destination pre–40, and destiny post–40. We dream of big things, desire of the best in the world, and when we are on the threshold of realizing that dream, we seek, not pleasure, but compromise, because to seek pleasure is vulgar!
We have killed quite a few good vehicles by simply refusing to look above the funda of functionality and utility. Pleasure is the last thing to look out far.
From RD 350s, RX 100s to Palios, Mondeos, Lancers, which would any day beat their rivals hands down in terms of sheer quality and driving pleasure, have been mercilessly butchered by the Indian customers in their preference for the frugal commuting box on wheels, which rattle at the slightest bump. If the alternative were really pleasurable to its owners, there is no issue, as each one has his own taste.
But the truth lies in the pain one endures, when he sights on his or her first love, the lost love. The result of compromise.
And Commuters compromise.
Comments