BEEP-BEEP, BEEP-BEEP, YAY! – (Memoir series – Story 25)

Some day you can drive my car

“It’s quite expensive,” says Mummy.

“But it’s worth the investment,” Daddy says. “It gives much better mileage.”

“I like it,” I say. It’s fantastic”.

It all started when Daddy decided to sell his old Standard 10 car, KLA 320, and got a sleek Fiat 1100D with the number plate KLE 6433.

This new car is more spacious and way smarter than the Standard 10. And the best part? It has the gear lever on the steering column! None of that awkward giraffe-neck gear-shifting nonsense!

KLA 320 was an ancient and sleepy car without spirit or sense of adventure. 

Only Daddy could drive it. It was like a one-driver-only car that would revolt if anyone other than Daddy tried driving it.

And by some miracle that no one has ever been able to explain we used to successfully travel back and forth between Kottayam and Ernakulam every week. Must be Granny’s prayers.

I am happy that we sold it. But a little worried that the new owner may bring it back to Daddy complaining that nothing works well in the car.

I’ve never been interested in helping Daddy wash the KLA 320, but this new car is a thriller. I enjoy walking around and sitting inside the car whenever I can.

So I convince Daddy that I am the car-washing genius he never knew existed. After some persuasion, he reluctantly hands me the sponges and soap.

One morning, as I finish scrubbing the car, I settle myself into the driver’s seat. And I do all my usual imaginary driving by turning the steering wheel and changing the gears. The gear shifts so perfectly and without the comedy of the gear of the Standard 10.

And then a spark hits me. Why not warm up the engine for Daddy? Daddy can just drive away immediately if I already do the engine warm-up for him. Genius, right?

I’ve noticed that Daddy always shifts the gear to neutral when he starts the engine. So I shift the gear to neutral and insert the key into the ignition.

I turn the key and press the accelerator a bit. Vroom! The engine roars to life.

Just then Daddy rushes out with half his face foamy like a runaway snowman, razor in hand.

With determination in my eyes, I declare, “Daddy, see, I can do it! I’m ready to learn to drive!”

Daddy finally shuts his gaping mouth. And his bulging eyes return to their sockets.

“Not now. Not yet”, he says. “You’re only thirteen.”

Why is Daddy such a spoilsport? I wonder.

Anyway, in a few days, I jet off for my Summer Holidays to Granny’s place in Kottayam as usual. I’ll let Daddy clean his car for two months while I’m away.

This time, I spend more time with my elder cousins in their house. They have way more action going on. Granny’s not too happy about it. She thinks I’m still a small boy who needs constant supervision.

My daily routine now includes trips to Kottayam town with Sunnychayan in his fancy Fiat.

He gets his car outfitted with all the latest gadgets and accessories from Coimbatore.

He has a classy stereo with an aerial that does a dance and windows that move up and down at a button’s touch.

The seats are plusher than a king’s throne.

Sunnychayan looks so smart when he lights his cigarette from the cigarette lighter on the stylish dashboard when it pops out with a burning glow.

Daddy’s car is missing out on all this stylishness. I must let him know this.

When in town, I hang out at Sunnychayan’s bakery.

Sunnychayan is always mingling with customers and friends. And he wants me to be at the cash counter.

It’s so much fun to collect money from customers and give them the exact amount of change.

And when the urge strikes, I sneak into the back room, where the broken biscuit tins await. These have a special place in my heart, thanks to Sunnychayan and Rajuchayan, who used to bring them to boarding school.

At noon Sunnychayan gives me a handsome allowance for taking care of the cash counter.

With that money, I strut into the Rajadhani Hotel like a king in his palace. The steaming rice, drenched in seasoned buttermilk, accompanied by curries makes your taste buds do a happy dance.

In the afternoons, my cousin Sajuchayan and I walk across to Babuchayan’s shop, where he sells electrical fixtures. We hound Manichettan, Babuchayan’s driver, with questions about driving. He has some thrilling stories about his drives to Coimbatore in Babuchayan’s jeep.

Finally, one bright evening, we charm Babuchayan into letting us drive his Ambassador in an empty field opposite his shop.

Everything about this car is like the Fiat, only bigger and with a gear that felt like it was always on vacation.

Our initial attempts resemble a comedy of jerks and sudden stops, making spectators flee to safety.

After we stumble through several such lessons, we’re itching to hit the real road. But Babuchayan cautions us about the legal aspects.

That changes one day when Manichettan has to take Babuchayan to the Thiruvarppu Panchayat Office. Babuchayan leaves us in the car as he goes inside.

Waiting in a parked car is such a waste of time. “Manichettan, can we at least reverse the car?” I plead.

With Babuchayan’s reluctant approval, I engage the gear and back up like a pro. But then, attempting to shift into first gear, the car rolls back in reverse and hits the Panchayat building ramp.

Panic! But Babuchayan stays cool. He knows a guy at the Panchayat Office. A few words, and suddenly, it was like it never happened. Lesson learned: charm and connections can smooth over even government property mishaps.

So I must practice being more charming with Daddy so that I can smooth over his reaction when he hears about this.