Prologue – By autos, I do not mean the swanky Volkswagen Jetta or the Lamborghini Gallardo. I mean
this. So if you had any plans to read up an article on your dream ride, dream more about it, and then get back to coding software, this is NOT for you.
Ok, so – most of you who stayed, know how cool these rides are. And how lame city traffic would be without them. I mean which fancy car can fit in 7 guys
AND the driver, and still do a decent 70? Right. Without autos, life for us low-lives would be Zilch. Naught. Jhiro.
Anyway, once upon a time in West Bengaul (that’s how Bongs pronounce it, so relax!), autos ruled the roads. They roared, callously did wheelies, paralyzed cyclists and honked dead people deaf. And more importantly, they were Black. Black – ala
Samuel Jackson. And like Samuel fuckin’ Jackson, they didn’t fuckin’ care.
And the even-blacker drivers of these black panthers were in a league of their own. They would swivel 100 degrees towards oncoming traffic, exchange gutkha with their north-bound brothers and chew out any dissidents then and there. With
206 auto-unions (last I counted, it was actually
286) to back them, who could challenge thy manhood, Herr Jackson(s)?
However, many gutkha-covered-moons later, a great, great revolution swept the Bengaul plains, and the roads too!
A new breed of autos had emerged – Tadaa!!
C.N.G.!!
And before you knew it, the Great Class Divide was born. Green was the new
White. Black was the new… Err…
Black.
The green autos were swanky, had fresh coats of shiny paint and most importantly, were elegantly subtle while on the move. And they had a certain autocratic, cocky demeanor while being on the move.
And as was expected, it irritated the fuck out of the Blacks. They felt downright ostracized – and even more inferior than their rusted bolts could mirror. Outrage soon turned to Enrage-ment. And thus, the Never-ending Feud of the Auto-bots was born.
Now, Black autos would swivel 100 degrees towards oncoming traffic, only to exchange domestic-borne pleasantries with the north-bound Green rival, like “
tor maa ke mere gutkha kore debo” (‘I will beat your mother into the gutkha’ – Trust me, it sounded much more menacing in the native language!) and likewise, 7 screaming passengers notwithstanding.
Apparently, 7 screaming passengers is no mean deal, especially when they are all trained in
Rabindra Sangeet – hence you can imagine the amount of pent up anger the Black autos had to vent. And vent they did. Every other day, Green autos fell prey to Blacks. Swathes of scraped-off paint, headlights & rear-view mirrors littered the streets of Bangla. And, obviously, all of the said collateral damage was for the Greens.
After all, what did the Blacks have to lose anyway?
Till this very day, the bloodthirst continues.
And to top it all, like in the Black Supremacy & the Black Panther Party era, caught in the feuds of the Blacks & Whites (or Greens) were the
Asians. This class included the Black autos who got themselves painted Green to enjoy the luxuries of the Green life, and yet not get their rears slashed open by the Blacks. Turncoats you say?
Wise guys, I insist!
And so everyday, while going to work, yours truly does a 28-minute ‘sashtanga pranaam’ before the
Goddess Durga, and wears a
Kuver Kunji &
Dayal Baba’s kavach– wears war paint ala
Geronimo and walks out to the mercy of the autos. For being one of the very few ones not trained in Rabindra Sangeet, death will be pretty silent.
And boring. Yours truly certainly does not deserve that.
And off I go!
As I said, what would our life be without the Autos?!
