The woman who sold her Ferrari

That woman is me and I sold my car. 

That much is all true. But the car wasn’t a Ferrari. I lied. 

It was actually an old model, so old that they’ve stopped manufacturing it these days apparently. And besides, it was, what would euphemistically be termed as a pre-owned car, or second hand in plain English! 

So, I sold it off in anticipation of getting myself a new vehicle! Yet, when I watched it trundle out of the front gate one last time, with a stranger at the wheel, it was with mixed feelings. I felt like I was saying goodbye to a trusted old friend. 

That car – I learnt how to drive in it. I went for practice rides with my dad beside me in the front passenger seat, patiently guiding me as I negotiated narrow lanes, steep slopes and dangerous curves, just as he’s been guiding me in life. Then a few years later, both my boys learnt to drive in it as well, with me next to them this time around.

As the years passed by, we kind of outgrew the li’l ol’ car. It had served its purpose and served it well and it was time to move on. And move on I did – to a newer, shinier and snazzier model and it seemed as if the world stopped to look as I drove it slowly and cautiously out of the show room onto the road.

Our first stop was our neighbourhood temple for the customary vahana puja. There we discovered there were several others with the same plan as us and the road leading to the temple was choc-a-block with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, and their proud owners! At that moment, the priest seemed to be the most wanted man in town. I stood next to my vehicle waiting for him, with my puja thali in hand; quite like in the movies where Jaya Bachchan stood at the door of her mansion, puja thali in hand, waiting for a dashing Shah Rukh Khan as he sprinted across the lawn. Meanwhile, the venerable old priest sprinted from one vehicle to another and … finally it was our turn.

“Open the bonnet.” He instructed and I dived into the car and fumbled around for the lever. Where was the damn thing? It had been there the last time I had looked, but you know how it is, you don’t find things when you need them in a hurry. And moreover, in my defence, I was driving automatic for the first time and I was pretty intimidated, as it were. 

I looked at the husband, he looked back at me and the priest looked at both of us, tapping his foot impatiently. When the situation still didn’t change, he peered through the window and pointed, “There it is! Just pull it.” And I looked and the damn thing was right there, next to my foot! 

“Oh yeah!” I said, giggling nervously and pulled it. The hood opened like a crocodile opening its jaws and the venerable old man chanted incantations and did his thing and then he said, “Start the engine.” And of course, you guessed right. I couldn’t. I turned the key this way and that, but … no show! By now the crowd had kind of increased and advices and suggestions were flying thick and fast, but it all sounded like Rocket Science to an already nervous and sweating me. 

The priest rose to the occasion yet again and between the two of us, we managed to fire up the thing and it jerked forward like a toddler taking its baby steps. I beamed round at my audience, feeling as proud if not more than the ISRO guys. 

They might have sent rockets to the sun, moon and stars, but it’s a bigger challenge on earth, you see. While rockets have a clear path ahead of them out in space, down here we have to forge our path through bad roads, unruly traffic, insane driving, road rage, parking issues and God knows what else.

It’s no wonder the monk sold his Ferrari!

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