When we shifted a month back from what was practically a marketplace to this sprawling township where the Main Gate is a kilometer's walk in rain and sun, I asked my son to buy a car for his unearthly commute (2 PM to 11 PM) leaving our 11-year old Maruti to myself and my D-i-L.
He was demurring but my wife insisted that he buy a sedan with AC unlike my matchbox Maruti.
That settled it and the rest was Party Time.
Innumerable visits to various websites, phone calls to friends and foes, budget constraints and stuff.
After debating on Hundai Verna, Toyota Innova, Honda City and such Shakespearean stuff as dreams are made on, they decided that Tata Indigo CSL or whatever is the best buy.
Hail Manmohanjee and his Open Economy (open to saints and sinners alike) and a 9% Growth Rate, one phone call to the vendor's showroom brought the salesman, banker, dealer and everyone together in cahoots and they were begging my son to visit them earliest.
My son, D-i-L, and li'l Ishani had only to visit them once to choose the color (Royal Burgundy, unlike Henry Ford's proverbial "any color as long as it's black"); and a check for Rs 20K as imprest money brought the vehicle from Pune; and the SBI salesman was there with his Loan Approval,.
So, yester-evening we all visited (in my matchbox Maruti) the Tata Motors Showroom to take 'delivery' of the beauty child.
Everything was shipshape but the ladies insisted that a coconut should be broken to ward off the Evil Eye.
No problem: in Hyderabad, a coconut comes with the car as a free gift, along with a box of chocolates for Ishani.
One boy brought the coconut, another camphor, a third the blue ribbon, yet another the yellow Temporary Registration Sticker Blank, and my son was made to break the coconut in front of the new car to her delight...yes there was another boy with a digital camera to take group photos of all of us standing in front of the car, with My Fair Lady as the star attraction Prime Mover.
After a round of applause, I told my son to propitiate all those waiting boys with Rs 50 each, and they were all as pleased as punch, and bid us a fond farewell
I asked the Mechanic how much gas he put in the fuel tank and he said: "Enough to reach the nearest gas station" which, as expected, flourished the Banner: "No Stock".
Fortunately the next nearest did have some gas and all of them sat in the AC sedan and drove away while I blindly tailed them in my matchbox in the dark night safe enough to our new sweet home.
And then the ladies insisted that the first thing to do this morning is to drive the new car to the nearest temple and get the Car Puja done. I didn't know that it is a specialized temple service, like tonsure.
When the car returned home, I saw its Royal Burgundy Bonnet defaced with marks of swastik and rangoli in red kumkum and yellow haldi, and garlanded like an agitating Opposition politician with a string of lemons, chillis and perhaps onions.
My son and myself then drove to the Begumpet Branch of SBI in hot sun and unruly traffic to get the Loan Papers done up and signed.
And we found a No Parking sign in front of the said Bank which was nestling in the midst of a heavily guarded traffic junction.
We could either flout the sign and park in front of the bank or park it a mile away in a gully and walk back.
I asked my son to take the chance. And we walked in to the Loan Section.
Midway, there was this shout repeated aloud: "Whose is the new Tata Indigo? Whose is the new Tata Indigo?? "
My son ran out leaving his wallet on the table, which I collected and followed.
There was this Traffic Cop with his Challan Book and ball pen.
He asked my son his name (son's) , fair enough;...then he asked him his (my son's) father's name.
I recalled Ibsen's quote: "The sins of the father are visited on the son".
And he wrote: Rs 200 which I gladly paid up as Parking Fees.
And then the cop asked for the Number of the Car.
And my son told him that it has yet to get a number (48 hours time lapse allowed).
This rather baffled the beefy cop, since he could neither leave that space blank getting a rebuke from his boss nor deface the page and return the Rs 200.
As the cop was biting his nails, I suggested why not he write down the chassis number.
The chap was as pleased as a packet of Charminar Cigarettes and let us off.
On our way home, I told my son that the Car Puja is now officially complete:
“Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s”...Jesus
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