Shaken and Stirred

  Ever since I learnt how to drive, I have felt how each drive is a microcosm of life itself or at least a slice of it. In this series of short stories, I shall purport to portray the parallels that I perceived. I have noticed several times that when I drive, my speed and aggression on the road closely correlate to my emotional state. This is a story about driving under a great deal of stress. Swati got into her car. She was shaking all over. She had no idea why. To be more exact, she had no idea exactly why. It wasn’t rage. There was no anger, only resolve. To know the truth, one way or another. As her car shot out of the basement parking, she was on autopilot and yet driving faster than she had ever done. “What am I going to get from this?” she asked herself. Perhaps some peace of mind that she was not going crazy. That would be great after all she had been through in the past couple of weeks. Her Red Suzuki Swift was deftly responding to her every move almost before ...

Ever since I learnt how to drive, I have felt how each drive is a microcosm of life itself or at least a slice of it. In this series of short stories, I shall purport to portray the parallels that I perceived. Shift into first and gently release the clutch The first part correlates the stop-starts and hiccups in the early part of a relationship to the first time you drive and eventual smooth release of the clutch. “Damn it, I am already late!” thought Akhil looking at his watch. That wasn’t new. He was habitually, and only occasionally fashionably tardy. He was driving his flat-mate Vikram’s Honda City, navigating it through Bengaluru’s traffic. He had an arrangement where he could borrow it at a reasonable rate of Rs.8 per km. This came in handy for getting groceries, or occasionally to go to the office. However, today it was essential. Akhil was going on his first date in a long while.  “God, why did I have to wear this dress?” thought Aarti getting into the car. She had gotten s...

My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems... I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation - Sherlock Holmes Though, of late, I have been feeling that my mind rather revels in stagnation. After all, this post is a result of such an endeavour. I let you decide. Here is something for the exalted minds. I seem to have a special talent in dishing out advice to people. They seek me from far and wide to gain my valuable insights into their eccentric little problems. And, in spite of having little knowledge on the matter, I always seem to be able to give reasonable and sound Plans of Action all the same. Ashish was spending his summer vacations in the honourable regimen of updating his Facebook status message and wondering which Barcelona shirt he wants his brother to get for him from Europe. When tired of that, he would watch some mind numbing Bollywood movies to help forget the oppressive heat. While watching one of the said movies, he got a brainwave. (Qui...

Once upon a time, there lived Handsome Prince who left The Capital to go to The Far Far South. Though his friends laughed at his prospects there, he did not lose hope. He was duly rewarded for his optimism and confidence in the form of Beautiful Maiden who fell in 'like' with him. It was the calmest of nights. Prince and Maiden were walking alone when he (being a daring fellow) thought it will be really adventurous to check out a damp and abandoned shed , whose thatched roof had caved in. Once inside the two shared deep personal feelings (the ambience brought it out) and comforted each other. Maiden, quite overcome, put her head on Prince's lap. Prince was immediately struck by a strong feeling of deja vu. He recalled another intimate incident when Hot Maiden had put her head on his shoulder. Being quite young at the time and having a rather reserved upbringing, he had no clue what was to be done and all that resulted for Prince was a backache. That was the one high point ...

Somename * was very pleased with himself. He was returning to IMSc after attending to some work in Adyar. It was almost quarter to eight. He had promised his friend he will be back in IMSc in time for dinner. Somename was feeling very smug about keeping his promise. He had traversed heavy traffic on mud-sloshed roads, weaving through honking buses and stuck cars. He particularly recalled, with a satisfied smile, how he had overtaken a Toyota Camry on his rather rickety MTB Hercules, borrowed from a PhD student. As he neared the bicycle road, (which lies to one side of the very wide Old Mahabalipuram Road) he remembered that the bicycle road was submerged from the thundershower earlier that evening. Weighing his options between riding on the wrong side of the main road and taking the footpath, he chose the latter. His boisterous mood helping that decision. But there was a glitch. He would have to get off the bike to lift it on to the slightly elevated footpath. That did not feel right...

Debasish* was in a pensive mood (girl problems as usual). He was riding a bike he borrowed from a PhD student, returning from a refreshing bout of cycling. The bike, being a stylish MTB (Mountain Terrain Bike, for the uninitiated), had two sets of handlebars. Debasish was enjoying the fresh air with his hands on the upper ones. As he neared the IMSc gate, he noticed that the narrow entrance was partly blocked by a group of fellow summer interns. But in his very deeply pensive mood, he neglected his noticing this very noticable obstruction. So he carried on, unruffled. Meanwhile, the guy blocking the gate noticed the onrushing Debasish (with a very pensive expression on his face). He tried to move out of his way only to realize that Debasish, in trying to avoid him, moved in the same direction. Now Debasish swerved away and reached for the brakes. To his immediate wonder and anguish, the upper handlebars did not have a set of brakes with them. Brakes were there only for the lower ones...

Chennai has turned out to be most difficult to travel in, especially for a non- Tamilian like me. The public transport system is not really bad. There are loads of buses, and quite frequent too. But sometimes the destinations are written only in the local language. And if you ask for bus routes, using as much sign language as you can manage, one gets a queer 'all buses go there' answer. The auto-rikshaw guys here have made quite a name for themselves for their knavish tendencies. As I was forewarned, I avoid taking an auto as far as possible. So, invariably I end up walking most of the time. But walking has its limits. So me and my friends from Delhi (we are all here for the summer) try to borrow a bicycle whenever possible. Our bicycle rides have been quite eventful. Kanishk* was riding his bike late at night. It was past 1 am. He and his friends had just been to the Besant Nagar Beach. He had been dreading the ride back through the dark and desolate road from IMSc (where his...