Car-Ma

I was recently invited to speak at Princeton University. The organizers there treated me really well. I have been invited at other places too, but Princeton clearly stands out as classy. They put me up at one of the best hotels, the food was excellent, and the invitation letter and all was once again, a class above the rest. But the icing on the cake was my mom's response to something they did. Yes, a mommy post again!

Princeton got me a chauffeur-driven limousine for the 50-mile, hour-long drive from the Newark Liberty International Airport to the university/hotel (I was planning to take the train/dinky). My jaws dropped open when I read the letter. I, for one, have never been in a limo before. Forget the limo, I am used to taking the public transport, and for a good part of my life, I have lived in hostels and crashed at people's living rooms to save money during travel. The world of upscale hotels is very new to me, but the limo ride was something I did not see coming.

I was very excited, and when I told my ma, she was excited too! I do not know how much she understands cars, but based on my response, she could sense that it is a big deal. Very sincerely, she said, "This is so exciting. Is a limo as comfortable as the Toyota Innova? Innova'r thekeo bhalo gaadi?"

It reminded me of my first year in the US. G drove a Honda Pilot then, so the Honda Pilot became my standard of excellence, "my" first car in the US. As our friendship grew, my emotional connection with the car grew too. A year or two later, I got onto a friend's SUV during a road trip to San Diego and sincerely told her husband, whom I was meeting for the first time, "Very nice car. Love the Honda Pilot!" To which, I got a very dirty look and a clipped response, "It is a Lexus!"

Oh, well!

sunshine

Week 4: Giving up something comfortable

Also read other posts with the label 52 small changes

For five years in the US, I not only drove, but also immensely enjoyed it. I never saw it as a chore, something to be afraid of. I gladly gave free airport rides early in the morning. I would drive from Lincoln to Omaha to get some mutton biryani in a jiffy. I needed no nudging for long road trips, and most of them, I did singly. I drove anywhere between 300-500 miles (one-way) during long weekends, visiting places like the Niagara Falls, New York City, and Princeton during my stint on the east coast (that later became my PhD). Before I left for Germany, I had embarked on a 22-day long road trip that lasted roughly 8,000 miles, driving from Nebraska to Houston (to renew my passport), continuing to Chicago (to get a work visa) before visiting Washington, DC to say goodbye to close friends and finally getting back to Seattle where I sold my car. If I did not run out of time with my driver license, I would have continued my road trip (driver licenses expire with visa expiry).

Things changed when I left for Germany, forcing me to rewire my brain. I could no longer afford to keep a car for various reasons (including not wanting to understand road signs in German). As if on cue, I also discovered the joys of efficient and reliable public transportation in Germany. I took trains all over Europe, all the way to Denmark and Sweden in the north and Slovakia in the south. Where trains did not go, buses and airplanes did. I walked too. It was the best healing experience after being forced to sell my car and give up my driving license when I left the US.

After two years, I moved back to the US. I live in a mid-size city now with a population of about 0.2 million people. Unless you live in a big city like New York City or Chicago, most of the US has bad public transportation. I was prepared to go back to my old ways of being. I thought that I would buy a car, get a driving license, and in no time, I would be driving once again to the mountains, to the nearby cities and quaint little towns.

But in these two years, I had changed. I no longer wanted to go back to my old ways of living, especially after I had completely weaned myself off it. Although I got myself a driving license, I did not want to buy a car unless I absolutely needed it. My wish must have been heartfelt, for things evolved in a way that worked out for me.

On day one at work, I was given a bus pass that would let me ride any bus within the city for free. Next, I realized that the home I had chosen was very close to a bus stop. Then, I realized that the only bus in front of my apartment took me directly from home to work. I saw that as a sign from the universe. I decided to hold off on buying a car for as long as I could. It’s been 18 months now, and I haven’t regretted one day of it.

Why I prefer life without a car?

·       It saves me a lot of money (in buying and maintaining a car). Fuel. Insurance. Parking. Repair. Routine maintenance. Tabs and taxes. Leisure trips. It all adds up.

·       No parking expenses and speeding tickets.

·       No more whimsical trips. I used to do them a lot before, mostly to meet people who are not active in my life anymore anyway.

·       I walk more and make healthier life choices. Sometimes, I walk partially to work till I get tired and then hop on a bus.

·       Riding the bus is a social experience. I get to meet and talk to a lot of people. I have some bus buddies too, and some of the drivers know me now.

·       I manage my time better (since the buses run once every 30 minutes during the day, and once every hour in the evenings). I don’t waste time at work doing random things like spending time on social media. When I am at work, I work.

·        I don’t have to show up to places I don’t want to. It’s much easier to say no to people when you do not have a car.

·       I buy only what I need and what I can carry with me, resulting in less clutter at home. My fridge has never looked better. My grocery has never looked healthier. Often, unhealthy food choices are also heavier to carry, like sweetened beverages. The grocery store is right next to my bus stop. Not only do I get free transportation to work, I get quick access to food too.  

·       I get to take the Amtrak train more often and love the experience.

·       I drink less coffee and do not make sugar-craving induced, impulsive trips to expensive coffee shops anymore.

·       I consciously live in a lovely neighborhood where I can walk to nearby parks. It is a very pretty neighborhood, great for both my physical and mental health.

·       I look at the weather website more often. I ask for directions. I look at maps to figure things out. I carry my umbrella with me now. I take slightly different routes sometimes to get to know the city better. I plan my time and my life better now.

·       I don’t go on impulsive trips to the shopping mall anymore. I use that time to pursue hobbies like reading and writing.

·       I sometimes read on the bus.

·       I use all the time and money I save to spend more time with my family in Kolkata, and also continue my world travels to different countries. My local and domestic (within the US) travels have drastically reduced now.

Challenges of not owning a car

·       It gets pretty cold and icy in winter. They do not always clean the sidewalks properly. Walking on icy sidewalks is dangerous.

·       Sometimes, I have to work until late and buses run infrequently. If I do not want to wait for another 45 minutes to take the bus, I have to take a cab.

·       I don’t get to pursue photography as much, since I am mostly restricted to taking pictures of places I could only walk or take a bus to. No more impulsive sunrise photography trips.

Clearly, my benefits outweigh my costs. Plus, I have a license, I can always rent a car (I have only done it once during the past 18 months). More importantly, I get to experience the thrill of doing something differently and making conscious life choices. For those who think that your lifestyle dictates whether or not you need a car, maybe your need for a car also dictates your lifestyle choices. I know it because I have lived both the lives now. When I had a car, I did a lot of random things, justifying that I can do it since I have a car. The day I absolutely need one, I will go ahead and buy it. Until then, I look forward to all the new life experiences borne out of not having a car.

sunshine

Your adviser is the driving instructor

In a previous post, “working for myself,” I drew an analogy between driving and doing research as faculty. The next obvious question would be “How do I know as a faculty where I should drive to?” It is not easy to know that, it takes years to figure that out (I am still figuring out, maybe some do it sooner). A PhD training plays an invaluable role in this.

Role of your adviser

Consider your doctoral program a well-known driving school and your PhD adviser a renowned driving instructor. Their main and perhaps only duty is to teach you how to drive (do research). Sure, you can learn driving from your parents, neighbors, or the distant cousin who is visiting from Canada. But learning from a good driving school prepares you for real driving on the bumpy roads of life (getting your hands dirty with real data) and not just in the parking lot or in simulated roads on video games (made-up data we sometimes use to practice statistics in class). Sometimes, your adviser is a big-shot training instructor. In that case, other lab members such as senior PhD students and postdocs take you out for a ride to teach you those driving skills. So it is important that you have a good relationship with everyone in the lab. Your adviser doesn’t just teach you how to drive. They let you go to conferences where you showcase your driving skills in front of an audience. They write grants and get you funding so that you always have fuel in your car. They write you good recommendation letters so that other places can hire you as drivers. They advise you when your car isn’t running well or your engine is making a funny sound and you need to troubleshoot. They give you a pep talk on days when it is snowing outside and you don’t feel motivated enough to drive. They teach you life-saving skills such as changing lanes, looking at your blind spot, racing, parking on mountains, parking downhill, and avoiding drunk drivers on the freeway.

Couple of other things that happen in your PhD training

1. You take coursework. Consider courses as the tools that help you to be able to do research. If you are training as a driver, it will help to know a little bit about the mechanics, the nuts and bolts, where the engine is, how the brakes operate, how the radiator works, how to change a flat tire, and why driving in a certain way may be better than driving another way. Coursework just doesn’t teach you the skills to drive, but also the knowhow to stop, park, check engine oil or maintain the car.

2. You build collaborations with your peers and other professors. In the world of research, carpooling is way more fun than driving singly. Sometimes, you get more gas/petrol (funding) if you are able to show that if you are carpooling (collaborating), rather than taking a lonely trip from Seattle to Boston and not being fuel-efficient. Gas stations most certainly frown upon single drivers. But how do you ensure that you get along with the other carpoolers and don’t end up going for each other’s throats on the freeway? Graduate school lets you find other drivers you might get along with. Big gas stations (funding agencies) like the NIH and NSF will not even give you any fuel if you are young and applying singly or as the main driver. That’s when established professors will be on the driving seat and you in the passenger seat.

3. You identify mentors in other professors. Remember, you have the closest relationship with your own driving instructor. But sometimes, they are too busy or gone. Sometimes, you don’t get along with them. Sometimes, they do not know a skill that you need to know because driving regulations have changed in your generation. That is when the other mentors ensure that you continue to do well and your car(eer) doesn’t stall in the middle of the freeway.

Your research agenda

Your primary research agenda is usually an offshoot of your adviser’s research agenda (it could be different, but I am speaking from my experience). You spend maximum time with your dissertation data that is based on your adviser’s project and research interest. Let’s say for my PhD, my adviser trained me to figure out the shortest, safest, and the most fuel-efficient way to drive from Seattle to Mount Rainier National Park. I demonstrated to my dissertation committee that my car runs fine, I can check blind spots, I don’t get killed while driving on I-5, don’t run out of fuel, and can apply the proper gears and brakes depending on road or weather conditions. Now the fruit doesn’t usually fall too far from the tree. So after this, perhaps my own independent research could look into how to find an optimal route that connects all three national parks in Washington State in the most efficient way. I create that knowledge for other people to use. Or maybe now, I base my research on a real-life problem, for example, why do most people who take a particular smaller state freeway from Mount Rainier to Mount St. Helens after sunset get killed. If I never took that Seattle to Mount Rainier training for my PhD, I would have never figured out how to move ahead in life from Mount Rainier. I would not even have reached Mount Rainier.

And the convocation ceremony? Consider it as a public event where your adviser officially gives you your driving license. He comes wearing his driver’s uniform and you wear yours. The world rejoices, your parents fly to attend the ceremony beaming with pride and wiping tears of happiness, and some big-shot celebrity driver comes to give the convocation speech.    

I am waiting for the day I will be sitting in the main driving seat as the principal investigator (PI), my adviser and other colleagues in the passenger seat as co-PIs, and together, we will drive around the world with tons of fuel supplied by the NIH or NSF looking at interesting research problems.

sunshine

Skidding into the new year

Most people in this world started the new year making resolutions they will not keep, or traveling to exotic locales and showing off. Some did both.

For me, it was a day of miracles. I was traveling for the holidays, and was on my way back. The flight was delayed by a couple of hours, and by the time I landed at night, I saw that everything below was white. I checked the temperature to be minus 15 Celsius. This was going to be interesting.

While driving back home from the airport (60 miles away), my car skid on the ice, and spun out of control, not once, but twice. The first time was when I had just stepped out of the airport parking. I tried swerving to the left, but it swerved fully, and came to stop facing oncoming traffic. I was really surprised, as this was the first time it had happened. Quickly, I reversed the car on the shoulder and started driving. I could barely see the lanes, not just because it was dark, but because snow covered half the lanes. It was hard to tell if I was overstepping the lanes. I decided to drive slower.

The second time turned out to be almost fatal. I entered the freeway, and realizing that the speed was 60 mph and I wanted to go slower, I shifted to the rightmost lane. They had mostly cleared the snow, but not completely on the rightmost lane. During the day, snow melts, but at night, due to extreme temperatures, the cold water melts back to ice (ice offers less friction than snow). The moment I entered the rightmost lane, I felt my car spinning out of control. I made the mistake of braking, more instinctively than anything else. The car spun 360 degree a couple of times, barely missing a pole before stopping to face the oncoming traffic. It was like reliving an action movie in reality. A head on collision was inevitable.

Yet, both me, and my car had a miraculous escape, unscathed. Traffic was less, and the few cars coming in my direction quickly shifted lanes and zoomed past me. Thankfully, I was quick to gather my senses, move from the highway, and take the next exit. I was shattered. I had considerably slowed down and taken the exit, but the inner roads were worse. They had not really cleared the snow from the inner roads, and every time I tried taking a turn, my car skid. Finally, I found a parking lot, parked my car, and inspected the damage. The mudguard was caked with a thick layer of black colored snow (probably a mixture of snow and dirt). It was freezing and I could feel hypothermia setting in. I locked inside my car and howled for quite some time. I did not have the strength to drive back.

It is no use to think what could have happened when nothing happened. The skidding must have been for less than a minute, but it was the longest minute of my life. Sadly, after all this, I had to muster the courage to drive for 50 miles to get home. Emotionally, I was shattered. 

Today, I skipped work to skip driving, but tomorrow, and everyday after that, I have to drive. I do not drive rashly, do not drink and drive, do not text and drive, and do not even take phone calls while driving. I have driven for 4.5 years and more than 50k miles now, going all over the country, in busy cities and mountains. I was not even speeding yesterday. In fact, I was slower than the speed limit.

Driving is an enjoyable activity for me because I know how to confidently control and maneuver a heavy body moving at a great speed. Yet yesterday, I experienced firsthand what skidding and getting out of control feels like. Snow that has frozen into ice is dangerous, and trying to brake, even instinctively, caused my nemesis. This is the first time I have been in an accident. The rest of the 50 miles, I drove at 55 in a 75 mph zone, with my emergency lights on. It was a nightmare for me.

It's not an experience anyone should have to face, but now that I have done it, I am thankful to be alive and to be writing coherently, using correct English. Coming this close to a fatal accident and escaping unscathed makes you believe in miracles. Surely it was an interesting, although unexpected start to the new year. But like my friend says, now that you are done with it, there will not be any accidents for the next fifteen years.

sunshine

Turning Three

I wonder if it is weird to remember the birthdays of your car, your house, your blog, or of other dear but inanimate possessions. I remember the date I moved to the US, I remember the date I moved to Virginia. And I remember the day I bought my car. A private dealer in Kirkland sold me the car after a two month hunt, right after my Mount Rainier trip on a sunny summery day in 2009. I had not even passed my driving test then, and my friends drove it for me. During the initial few months, everyone except me drove my car. We took her to the Bothell temple that evening and did puja. The very next day, she had a flat tire. My mother often wonders when she will be able to sit in my car and have me drive her around. I know the feeling. No one in the family has owned a car before. Driving in Calcutta is suicidal. I usually take the metro, bus, or a cab there.

She has been a good car, and has driven with me to so many places. I hope I can take her to Canada some day. I hope that we can do a cross country drive someday. Well, Boston is not really cross-country, but at least we are going to Boston this weekend.

Here’s wishing my sunshine car a happy three years, and here is wishing us many more years of travel together. I hope we get to see a lot more of the country together.

sunshine

Social interactions inside a car

The inane and eccentric philosophies of life make so much sense while driving. For hours, I would stare ahead in front of me, the solid yellow lines on my left giving way to the dotted yellow lines, and then solid yellow lines, orange lights changing to reds and greens. It is amazing when I thought of the complex web of social interactions that happened in the confines of a car.

I am a seasoned driver pretty used to driving alone. I will often hop in my car at the wee hours of dawn and keep driving. Although people frown upon driving alone, often claiming that company in the car not only kills boredom, but also makes it safer to drive, I disagree. I often roll down the windows while driving, strong gusts of wind caressing my face and disheveling my hair. I put on my collection of favorite songs, alternating between car CDs and car radio. I listen to rock, jazz, ghazals, Bollywood numbers, Bappi Lahiri, Quick Gun Murugun, Shyama Sangeet (devotional songs for Ma Kali), and sometimes songs in languages I do not understand at all. I often shake my head when I listen to songs in Tamil and Marathi. I sometimes lift and fold my resting left leg, strum my fingers on the wheel, whistle, or sing with the music.

Things change somewhat when I have company. The inside temperature is constantly micromanaged, someone repeatedly turning on or off the air conditioning, fiddling with the vents and so on. Then, there is some rewinding, fast forwarding, or mild alluding to the mismatch in music taste. Radio channels are changed, CDs are shuffled, and there are constant complaints about the music being too fast or too loud. This is when there is just another person.

Three is even more interesting, especially if I as not driving. The dynamics of who would sit in the front passenger seat changes with the kind of relationship shared with the other inmates of the car. For example, the right to sitting in the front usually belongs to boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, co-owners of the car, people with long legs, prettier faces, people higher up in the academic or professional food chain, non-drivers who need to navigate, or simply tantrum throwing people. There is hardly any control over the conversation (especially if it is in a different language), music, or the temperature of the car. However, staring out of the window from the backseat and pretending that others did not exist usually works.

Ditto to problems with four people in a car. If there are couples, they would usually retire to the backseat, ensconced in love, sharing hushed glances, holding hands, whispering jokes, talking about their own worldly problems, about what brand of mustard oil to buy from the trip back to the grocery store, to reminding to return the phone call of Kamalamoni mashima who is visiting her daughter in New Jersey from Naihati. You drive in pensiveness, with no idea about who is Kamalamoni mashima, or why did she choose to bring a tin full of roshogolla from Nobin Chandra Das instead of chumchums or pantua. Things get pretty interesting when the fourth person in the car is a baby. Babies have the right to pee, poop, puke, spit food, or throw tantrums in the car. Of course the right to eating in car is not restricted to babies alone. Not to mention the fight over the directions, whether the GPS is right or the iPhone is right, allusions to gender-based stereotypes of poor driving, that you constantly witness as a spectator from behind.

The worst case is when there are five people in the car, and a combination of everything happens. Someone is constantly changing music (from condition two), you are sitting in the back (from condition three), there is a couple sitting beside you (from condition four), and they are either embraced in sleep, constantly snoring, and occasionally leaning and falling on you, or are in heat. For me, the worse has been sitting in the back seat, while the newly wed Mrs. Wifey was learning how to drive, controlling the steering with a shaky hand, Mr. Hubby was teaching her to drive with endearments like “Shona” and “Mishtu”, and Mrs. Sister-in-law sitting beside me in the back was constantly talking about accidents, hit and runs, and insurance coverage. Of course no one thought of asking me if I am comfortable with the situation. Why would they? I am neither a Shona, a Mishtu, a spouse, a boss, nor a baby enchanting others with her smile.

Hence I prove my point. There is nothing like driving on your own, alone.

sunshine

(P.S.: For the first time in my three year driving history, I accidentally jumped a rather innocuous looking red stop sign today)

Cross-Country

For the longest time, I have wanted to do a cross-country road trip in the US, all by myself. Learning to drive back in 2009 was an ordeal for me, but a few thousand miles and a few speeding tickets later, there was no looking back. I think I have read up all the literature blogs that exist about cross-country trips. I know some people who are crazy about bike trips in South America (A Ghost of Che: A Motorcycle Ride Through Space, Time, Life and Love by Mauktik Kulkarni being one such book based on that). Consider a cross-country trip being one such dream.

            I have often interacted with cross-country drivers, getting some very humorous takes about their journeys. A friend once called his mom on the phone and said, “I am about to embark on something and you have to promise that you will not say a no, and you will bless me”. I would be thinking that my boy has decided to elope with someone from a different race and religion and marry, and I am sure the mom thought the same too. She was delighted when she was told that it was “just a cross country road trip” and she willingly gave him her blessings.

            I have a friend who did a smiley road trip, starting all the way from Boston, dipping down to Texas, and then going up until Seattle, creating a pattern of a smiley on the US map. Then I have another friend who has driven cross-country thrice. I recently came across a travel blog where the guy decided to do a road trip, touching all four corners of the country, from Florida to Maine, to Washington, and all the way to Southern California. I could only raise my eyebrows in amazement.

            I have briefly brushed over the chances of a potential road trip, but things have never worked out. When I moved to Virginia in 2010, I decided to drive all the way from Seattle. A month before the proposed trip, I tripped and injured my left leg on the streets of Sicily in Italy. It was a miracle making it back to the US, being in a wheel chair most of the time. The road trip never happened, and I had to ship my car.

            

Come summer, I get a little jealous of all these people who move across coasts and drive there. The most I have done so far is driving as far as Rochester, a 500-mile one way trip. Surely I have driven about 30,000 miles in the last three years of driving, but a cross-country has never happened. I hope that next year this time, I have graduated, have a job waiting for me in the west coast, and I can drive all the way. Fingers crossed. In the meantime, I have been driving all over the east coast this summer, and am especially looking forward to the trip to Maine in a few weeks. After having touched the southernmost tip of the country in Florida, the northwestern most tip near Neah Bay (Olympic National Park), and the westernmost tip of Europe (near Sintra in Portugal, see picture), this might be another “cutting the corner” trip. Next week this time, I will be celebrating three years with my car, my single most expensive and dearest materialistic possession I have had so far (the next one being my camera).

            Long live summer !

sunshine

Bad Car-ma

I got off the bus late night as usual, checking my car in the parking lot like I always do before I walk the 10 steps to my door. Only this time, there was no car. My sunshine car was gone. I realized that people who breakdown hearing a bad news (usually on television) show a bad example of enacting the human emotions. When tragedy strikes, you actually feel nothing for the first few minutes. You just feel numb. When I didn’t see my car, I strangely did not panic. But deep down, I had this sinking feeling, as if someone had punched me in the belly, as if someone close to me had died. My legs felt weak. My car was actually stolen, right from my parking lot. My beloved sunshine car was gone.

Very mechanically, I dialed 911. I called the cops. I gave them the details of my car. My roomie who had overheard the conversation came out to see what happened. I think she panicked more than I did. Very calmly, I talked to the cops. Then I called the owner of the car parked where mine was that morning (we are friends). I had to know when she last parked her car at that spot. Having done that, I got my car keys and went to inspect the parking lot. It was freezing already, but I didn’t feel a thing except that heavy feeling in my chest that my car is gone. I walked the dark parking lot and inspected every car. Yes, my sunshine car was gone indeed.

10 minutes later, my friends who had parked her car came hurriedly in a panic. I was confused that while my roomie and my friends were so panic stricken, I did not feel a thing. I just waited for the cops to arrive.

The cops called back in 30 minutes to tell me that my car has been towed. They gave me the name of the towing company, but could not tell me the reason it was towed. It did not make sense. My car was parked in the paid parking lot and had the validation sticker too. There was no way my car should have been towed. However, I felt a rush of relief. At least my car was not stolen. I called the towing company, but no one answered the phone the first few times. When I finally got to talk to someone, they confirmed that my car was indeed with them and I have to pay them $125 as towing charges.

“But may I know why my car was towed in the first place?”

The guy seemed confused. He said he will get in touch with the driver who towed it and call me back. He didn’t call back. And all this while I kept wondering about the possibilities for the towing of my car. Was it because I hadn’t yet paid for the speeding ticket I got in Florida 2 weeks ago? Was it because I hadn’t changed the Washington license plate still (which did not make sense, my car was in the parking lot and it doesn’t matter the old license plate was still there)? Was it because I hadn’t oil changed and I needed to get the antifreeze level checked? All this I was procrastinating to till my final exams for over. But it did not make sense. Surely, they cannot tow my car because I haven’t done some timely maintenance on it. After 30 minutes of waiting, I called the towing guy again to know the reason. This time he just asked me to come pick up my car.

At midnight, my roomie drove me to the towing company’s parking lot. It was in one of those shady downtown areas behind the train tracks. I wondered if in an attempt to get back my car, I was putting myself out there susceptible to any number of dangers. I was greeted by 3 huge men, and don’t underestimate my sense of proportion when I say huge. Huge, bald, fat red necks about six and a half feet each, I realized if they attacked me, there was no way I was returning home alive. They looked more intimidating that they might have actually been it seems, for when I reached them, one of them smiled a foolish (boka boka in Bengali) smile and told me,

“Sorry, it was a mistake.”

I didn’t think I heard right. A mistake? You mistakenly towed my car? Your mistake made me think my car was stolen. It was due to your mistake that I was in this shady place in the middle of a freezing night.

“Are you sure? How do I know my car will not be towed again?”

“Oh it will not be. Please sign and leave your number. We will call you if it really needs to be towed again. And no need to pay the towing charges.”

So I hopped on to my car and drove back well past midnight.

I felt a mixture of emotions. Confusion, why was my car towed by mistake? Loss, that I thought my car was stolen. Relief, that it was actually towed and not stolen. How do you tow someone’s car by mistake, without any grounds? I guess I don’t have to know now. Sunshine car is back, and that is all that matters. But for one realization I had. I think my car means a lot more to me than I thought it did. It’s a vital part of my life now, like a family member. I think I’d be very miserable without my sunshine car any day. And I cannot wait for summer next year when I can start going places with my sunshine car again J

sunshine

To car, with love ...

You gave me wings. To go places. To be free. Free of asking around for help or depending on others.

A few days ago, sister woke up a sobbing me in the wee hours of dawn. I don’t really have bad dreams often, but for the really bad ones, I wake up in tears. I saw I had parked my car in Chennai (of all places, no idea why Chennai) and since it was a new city for me, I got lost. I kept looking for my car everywhere. Even the friends I was visiting in Chennai looked everywhere. But for some weird reason, I did not remember where I parked my car. I kept looking for hours, running around every corner and every street, but I did not find my car. A few minutes more and I would have perhaps found out my car. But I started to sob in my sleep and sister woke me up.

Later it all sounded a silly dream. I called up my friend to ensure my car was fine. And suddenly, I longed to drive my car. I’ve always thought being crazy about one’s car was a guy thing. Now I know I was wrong.

For as long as I’ve been in Kolkata, I have had a strange fear. I’ve feared by the time I get back to Seattle, I would have forgotten driving my car. I’ve asked multiple people if this really happens. The other night I had another dream (this time a non-lachrymose one) where I was driving and on seeing the lights go red at night, I just didn’t know how much to brake so that my car would stop just in time and just at the right place. Friends tell me I’ll be fine and driving in no time, but I have to take the steering in my hands to believe I haven’t forgotten driving altogether.

I bought my car when I didn’t even know how to drive it. My friends drove it for weeks, even months, before I slowly started driving it on my own. But once I started, there was no turning back. I fondly remember so many places I’ve been to and so many fun trips I’ve had. I no longer needed to ask someone to help me with grocery or think twice before stocking up things bought in bulk from Costco. I no longer needed to catch the last bus on time every time I went for a party. I no longer asked others to pick up my guests from the airport. It’s a different story that every time I have been to the airport, I have spent some extra 20 minutes taking the wrong exit and going round and round in circles. Once or twice is understandable, but this has happened every time.

Right now I am transitioning from job life back to student life. This means earning less, leading to less affordability of things. I am asked if I would sell off my car and start taking the bus to reduce expenses. Bus, I’d gladly take any day, but just the thought of saying good bye to my car makes me sad. I would need to compromise on my other luxuries, but would try to hold on to my car if I can. I fondly remember the numerous fun trip we have made together, to every nook and corner in Seattle, to the Coldplay concert at the Gorge, to Olympic National Park and Neah Bay (the north-westernmost tip of continental US of A), North Cascades National Park, Mt. Rainier, Leavenworth (a Bavarian village) on Christmas, Mount St. Helens (an active volcano in Washington), Mount Baker, Mount Shuksan, Deception Pass, and so many more places. I’ve never driven my car out of Washington, and on that same thought, I’m considering a cross-country drive across the US of A sometime. It’s going to be a good 3000 or more miles of driving depending on the route. I haven’t planned the logistics or the dates yet, things are very much in a ruminative state, but I’d definitely love to consider a cross-country road trip, visiting all the places I’ve always wanted to. Let’s see.

So ending on an affectionate note, I wish my sunshine car a very happy first birthday. I am sad I am not with my car on her birthday. I go back to my Science textbooks from Class 1 where I was taught how to distinguish between living and non-living things. I know my car, however nice she has been, is still a non-living thing. However, I am as attached to her as I’d be to a dear friend, a pet, or family. With that thought, I hope I can spend many more years driving my sunshine car, and that together, we go a lot many places.

sunshine

Some deep perspectives on cars and men

Reposted from last year because a friend who couldn't find this post asked me to.

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P.S.: Sensitive men with a weak heart or a huge ego should not read this post.

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Buying a car is like finding a husband. Now potential husbands should take this with a pinch of salt, especially if they are potential car sellers too. You see, the process begins with visual estimation. You go to car selling websites and put a certain number of search criteria you are looking for- make, model, mileage, and price. The same happens in a matrimonial website, or in any potential mate hunting arena- bars, friend’s birthday party, dandiya celebrations, anywhere you can find a reasonable number of men showcased to take a look. You are still looking at the same parameters- make, model, mileage and price, be it a car or a man.

Which year’s model? If you are buying a used car, you probably don’t want to go below a 2005 model. Or maybe anything beyond a 1977 model is going to be too old and age-wise incompatible for you. Just an example based on personal preference.

Make? Want to go for a big, fat, spacious SUV man? Or a flashy convertible man? You can stick to the common “sedan” man of course – boring but dependable - moderate looks, moderate qualifications, neither rich and spacious like the SUV nor flashy like the convertible.

Of course the carfax record has to be clean when you put the Vehicle Identification Number (VIN). You prefer not to have any previous accidents, fender benders, or wrecked titles. Just like you don’t want any history of troublemaking, divorcees, unwed fathers, or “only married for a few days” models if you are aiming for a new one. The carfax provides a total history of vehicles, and so does Google, sneaking into his profile in facebook or orkut without his knowledge, or finding his colleagues, common friends or ex-girlfriends and getting them talking. It is amazing how much information a search engine, social networking website, or a drunk friend can provide.

Carfax clean? Of course you know by now what the car looks like from the website. You don’t want to waste your time with profiles without pictures, who claim that they will send you pictures once they “get to know you well”. This is pretty intimidating frankly, my parents have known each other for more than 30 years now, and they could vouch for the fact that they still “don’t know each other well”. For all you know, the person at the other end whose voice turns you on might be a bald, huge man in need of a facial plastic surgery and contact lenses.

The Kelly Blue Book (KBB) price is a different ballgame altogether. Certain features like power windows, the presence of sunroofs, and the music player system add value to the car. Similar attributes add up to the guy’s profile in the KBB – IITian? Doctor or computer professional? Works in the US? Owns a condo or drives a Ferrari? Single child without the hassle of dealing with dominating moms or interfering sisters in the family? This goes a long way in escalating his KBB value in the market.

And then you meet for the first time, and visual appraisal (or checking out) happens. The first date is like the test drive. Look for the slightest, weirdest sounds in the engine, no matter how much the owner claims otherwise. Look for tiny glitches, look for the weird things he does. Maybe he picks his nose while working on an analytical problem. Maybe he doesn’t have sexy, dependable hands with well trimmed nails. Maybe he is trying to be a cool smartass which he is far from. Maybe you spotted that little patch of baldness he has been trying to hide all this while with his hair neatly combed. Maybe he doesn’t share your sentiments with equal fervor when you say you are passionate about animal rights or babies or appears bored while you explain to him why pink is your favorite color. Maybe he talks a lot about his mom. You have every right to “check him out” for these glitches. Remember, once you decide to go for it, it is safe to assume you would be stuck with him for a good chunk of the rest of your life. The moment you commit, your own KBB value has gone down.

The mechanic check is like going on subsequent dates when you get to know the person more thoroughly. Test drive as much as you want. Act indifferently. See if the seller is too eager to sell it. Look bored when he says he went to school in MIT. Yawn when he talks animatedly about his research focus. Drive him and push him to the limits. Text your friends pretending not to listen while he tries to make conversation. Let him pay if he offers to. Don’t call him for the next 2 weeks. Chances are he will end the conversation with an “It was nice meeting you, call me sometime” catch phrase. Chances are your acting difficult will turn him on. Who knows what these men like?

Make a list of compulsory criteria that he must absolutely have (looks, height, chivalry, a US degree, a sexy smile) and a list of secondary criteria that are not necessarily deal breakers (can’t think of any right on the top of my head). Depending on your budget, see if you want to compromise for certain attributes. These are secondary of course. You prefer the car is red with a sunroof. You prefer the guy can dances salsa or play the guitar. You prefer a V6 engine guy instead of V4. You decide on the trade offs of having a high maintenance versus a low maintenance man. Scan the market and go for a model upgrade if possible.

Look for mileage. Ask cryptic questions to see how many relationships he has had in the past and why they did not work out. Look for previous owners- how many women have driven him before. Get in touch with them and compare notes. Okay, not that far maybe, but still.

Look for how well it is maintained. Regular oil changes, 90k plus servicing. Is the man well maintained? Does he gym regularly and do yoga and meditation classes? Does he hog like a glutton or eats sensibly, especially after he is 30? Look for the kind of food he orders on a date.

Of course if you are divorced, previously taken, or above 35, chances are more you will end up with a lemon (a car/relationship that can die in the middle of the road any day). And remember, we usually end up buying “used” cars. Finding “new” cars is hard and expensive. If it is a 1972 model but still a “new car”, he is either not straight, or has been a social embarrassment in the past.

Some deals are very suspicious and too good to be true and need to be flagged right away. These are the ones where the in laws claims they will give you all their jewelry and property back in India once you agree to marry the lad. A background check confirms that he is not straight, or has had a child from a previously annulled marriage. These are highly fraud deals.

Usually Japanese models are very reliable and run forever. German models are on the same lines. American ones are shitty in terms of efficiency. Bengali models are usually reliable as long as you can live with the fact that his mommy is the best and mommy will always come first, even before you. South Indian models are reliable as long as you accept that these will all be computer engineers who think they are the most culturally inclined species and will not communicate with you in any other language. Marwari models tend to go high on dowry. Stereotypical and racist, I know, but true nevertheless.

But beyond all these comes the most important factor- The kind of insurance you can buy for the car. See what kind of insurance the man is willing to offer. See if he is committing to marry, or giving you funde on the bliss of a live-in relationship. If you still find his matrimonial profile up there in public even after the 6th date, if he says he needs more time to figure out things (and does not specify how much time) or is hesitant to make you meet his parents, consider yourself uninsured. For a non-committal relationship where the guy doesn’t know what he wants or shows clear signs of commitment-phobia, prepare to live with the knowledge that your relationship is going to be totaled any day something hits it. Start looking for another car before that happens to you. Dump the car before the car dumps you. Euphemistically said.

Push. Bargain. Negotiate. Don’t be afraid to go for the attributes you are looking for. And no matter how much friends, family, or well wishers advice for or against a particular model, go with your gut feeling. It is you who will live with it. Drive him (insane). Feel his attitude. Don’t be afraid to explore the expansiveness of the relationship. Sometimes, everything right does not sum up to feeling right overall. Sometimes, one look and you know that this is the one. Judge. Use brains instead of emotions. Play hard to get. Car hunting and mate hunting is as much of a process as it is an outcome.

sunshine

Chamat-car (A Miraculous Transaction Story)

The economy is making people do crazy things. Or so I think. Simple things are no longer kept simple. Lets say I want to buy a car. Or maybe a home. Not buy a home but maybe rent an apartment. I go look up the web for advertisements on people selling their cars or homes. After spending umpteen number of hours, I finally shortlist a few I like. Something that goes with what I want and is also compatible with the price I want to pay for. Sometimes I stumble upon something I really like. So I email the person or leave a message. Expectations are building. I really like the color of the car and would love to own it. The apartment seems bright and sunny and I would love to go take a look. I wait for a reply expectantly.

Almost always, I get back a reply like this. It seems the owner would love to make business with me. But work, poor economoy, or a harrassing wife has taken him away from me. He was living in Seattle even last week, but now, he lives in some Godforesaken place in Europe, Kenya, even Timbuktu. But is this not to deter me. It seems my dear friend still has an internet connection, and is eager to make business with me. So he starts with a description of the car or apartment, with newer features added to tempt me. He promises things like “doesn’t need maintenance”, “is all insurance covered” or “will not be damaged even if you beat it up against a mountain”. He then shares his personal sad story, about how his wife left him or his boss fired him, or his wife left him for his boss and the boss also fired him, that brings him to Timbuktu now.

However, much to my good fortune, he is willing to work things out. So he has hired this external company, usually eBay, who will be handling the transaction henceforth. What this means is I send all the money to ebay, and he claims that ebay will send me the keys to the car or the apartment, or ship the car itself which is sitting somewhere in Idaho at the moment (why???). There is a 5 day money back guarantee. So at the end of 5 days if I decide not to keep the car or the apartment, this gentleman claims that I can send back the keys and I will get my money back. I don’t get to see the man whose car I will be driving or whose house I will be living in, I do not get to test drive the car, but things are in such a seemingly spotless conditions that it seems there is no need to test anything.

He further claims that the process is risk free. And yes, I am also supposed to reveal my name and my address. I don’t know if he wants my social security number yet. It seems everything will be handled and taken care of from there. So here is how I see it.

I am lazing around a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon, sipping my tea when I hear the doorbell. Suddenly I am reminded that 5 days ago, I had made a payment of some 5-6 grands to a person and an agency I know nothing about. I open the door to see a bright red toyota camry 2 door coupe, complete with sunroof and power controls and a V6 engine smiling at me outside. I rush to hug the car, in the process realizing that this is probably a shade darker than my favorite red. I scratch my chin for a while, finally asking ebay to refund me. In 2 days, I have my money back. In case it is my favorite red, I hop onto it, the tea cup I am holding already forgoteen, hit the gas, and am on my way on a long drive to the XYZ national park, showing off my newly acquired car.

I have one simple question. Since I already like the car and am thanking my stars for getting such a masterpiece for half of what I would have spent, who exactly I direct my “thank you” note to?

sunshine