11:55 AM, By the roadside

So, this morning I set out with all good intentions to the library and then, en route, my car starts making this painful noise. Even as I’m pulling it off to the side, it gives up and dies.

Now, plenty of times, I had my phone do that to me. In spite of knowing that all I need to do is plug in the charger and it’ll turn back on, the one long vibration it gives before closing down with a long-suffering sigh is one of the most painful things I witness at least once every week. And that was only my phone, which, when dead, can be stuffed into my bag, out of sight. But, my car…well, I’m no Harry Potter and I don’t live in a world with shrinking charms how much ever I wished I did.

Instead I flung up the bonnet in that universal symbol for vehicular apoptosis, pretended for 30 seconds like the things under made sense to me and then, gave up and called for the tow trunk.

They said thank you for calling and please hold your horses for about the rest of your lifetime while we crawl our way over there. In slow motion.

And that’s how my morning ended with me here, by the roadside, reading the car manual like my life depended on it and realizing just how useless it is.

But, while I sit here, contemplating how all those good intentions of the morning are going up in Carbon Monoxide fumes, I find myself incredibly worried (of course) but also, incredibly sad. I’m incredibly sad because I realise I already miss my car. I miss its hot interiors that take forever to cool, I miss its charging port and mobile holder that do everything but their jobs, I miss the miniscule distance between me and the steering wheel that I need to maintain in order to be able to reach the clutch with my feet. I miss my car even though it’s sitting right in front of me with its mouth wide open. I miss it being healthy and happy and ready to move along with every one of my hare-brained schemes.

My abdomen is in knots, my heart feels heavy and my brain just can’t seem to settle down enough to use this time more constructively than verbal diarrhea. I’m finally coming to realise what I put my mother through all those times in the past when I ungratefully fell sick and kept her up all kinds of nights.

Oh dear God! I’m like a mother with her baby in the doctor’s waiting room! Sitting on her haunches, jiggling her feet and tapping her fingers in anxiety!

What is wrong with me?

Really, I mean, here’s my car, broken down and waiting to be towed, stranding me in this summer heat without wheels and I discover the maternal side I never knew I had. For a car. I’m not too sure that’s a good thing. But, at least, it offers a refreshing perspective on a hot summer afternoon and for now, I’ll take that.

Here’s to summer revelations!




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