The Car Blocking the Driveway
The wife woke me up early morning today and asked me to go get milk before the Mother-Dairy runs out of stock. Another downside of living in a third world country; you cant get milk around the clock.
So i took the car keys and headed out to finish the crucial business. The Mother-Dairy is about 800 meters away from home, but walking down would be so middle class. Besides, i am Punjabi. What use is the Honda City if the world doesn’t know about it.
But there was a problem. Somebody had parked their car bang in front of the driveway. Our car was blocked.
Somehow when Indian people sit in their cars, their IQ levels seem to drop down to Ekta Kapoor soap levels. The British introduced us to automobiles, but the snarky rascals didn’t bother teaching us how to drive.
Unfortunately the Indian economy did well and people have since managed to buy progressively longer cars, with not much idea what to do with them. Or how to park them with consideration to other less-important fellow men. I won’t be surprised if the third world war originates in a Delhi colony, over a parking dispute.
Anyway cutting back to the present, i wondered what to do.
The car might belong to someone who had come to the park for a morning walk. Checked inside, and the only people in the park were 4 kids smoking near the fountain. Kids these days start early. 8 am in this case.
The car wasn’t theirs. The neighbor confirmed that they didn’t have any visitors, so that option was also ruled out. Which meant that i had to endure the walk of shame to get today’s milk.
But someone had to pay for my misery. I peeped inside the car. The still-in-place plastic covers on its seat announced proudly that this was a brand new Hyundai.
I evaluated the options.
Keying the side to leave a long, deep scratch would be a constant reminder to the owner not to mess with others again. But suddenly the vision in my head changed to a gang of 20 hefty men running towards me with hockey sticks and a few cricket bats, the next best use sporting equipment is put to in our country.
Something advised me against doing this.
What if i call the police? Bah. They will likely not even pick up the phone, and then what are the odds they’ll just bundle me into their van and take along as a return gift?
What if i just break one of the lights? The 20 men came running back, and they seemed even angrier.
Go with the threat i have seen outside many houses. “Unattended cars will have the air of their tires removed.” This time the 20 sportsmen were running in slow motion. i think i even saw Nana Patekar in the group. For some reason he was killing mosquitoes as he ran towards me. With his bare hands.
I reminded myself of the message of the great Mahatma. Violence is never a solution, unless you have 20 hefty hockey wielding men on your side.
I shouted at the wife to get me a bag, and walked to the Mother Dairy.