Yes it may be this meagre four-wheeled thing which is pulled by an ‘engine’ and not an animal or a man. But I have dreamt of owning it – from God knows when!
To buy it, Sabarish and I took quite the same effort that we took to find each other!
Our purchase was quite similar to how Indian parents hunt for the perfect match for their kids now. All Non – Indians, welcome to India!
Now that surely is a lot of effort.
If you still aren’t convinced, read on
1. We went through a lot of websites short listing our choices from our budget constraints and aesthetic expectations. Read – Our parents checked out a lot of matrimonial websites, short listing our potential partners according to our preferences about looks, education, values, ethic etc
2. We read all the reviews we could find online about the 2-3 cars we short listed. Read – They asked their entire network of friends and family around the world for what they think of the prospective bride/groom
3. We Test Drive the cars so that we get to know how it behaves. Guys now go easy on this interpretation : Just read , parents let you talk to each of the nominees for a stipulated time during which you will need to understand the chemistry you share.
4. You zero in your choice of car….and the wedding bells ring.
I take the car out of the showroom, in the presence of my entire family and friends , with the showroom officials bursting crackers and blowing trumpets – Much like a wedding party!
I drive the car slowly and carefully, making it awfully obvious to all my fellow drivers that it is new and just out of the showroom, thereby they are expected to keep a 3 feet distance from it. And I reach my house. Park it onto the side of the road so that I can open my garage which is longing to take in my new car.
As I open, I notice a cow walking lazily down the road (No. I don’t live in a village. I am talking about Bangalore City here.)
This is a normal scene, I ignore it with a smile. ‘GoMatha’ (Mother Cow) has come to bless my new car.
But then she decides that she is feeling itchy. I sense it. I throw my keys, push the garage door and start running towards her, almost with the intension to scratch her head for her.
My family is yelling to the cow from within the car – shooing it. She unfortunately does not seem to understand their lingo.
I hop, skip and jump only to see her gleefully itching her head on my bonnet. My car’s bonnet – yea whatever. The pain was the same.
I hit her on the back and yell at her (am too scared to pull it off, for I still maintain my life is a tad bit more valuable than my new scratched car ). She turns around wondering what the mad woman in me is upto and continues to walk lethargically (clearly not understanding my lingo again.).
And there am left with a BRAND NEW SCRATCHED CAR, cursing and yelling my lungs out to the cowherd who is nowhere in the picture.
Damn you! Couldn’t you just pee on it instead?!
Welcome to India, where the sacred cow is perhaps the only being who can have her way with almost anything in life!