“It had a dashboard scratched by many dogs, and leather seats that had probably been torn for access to the hidden coke vault.”
I put the key in, pressed the clutch pedal and turned the key to ignition. The 6 cylinders fired up and idled on a rich baritone that sent shivers up my spine. I revved it a little and the exhaust blared out it’s tuned music. Outside the car, it was so loud that my mom who was sitting in the living room got scared. And she got even more scared after she came to know that I’m the only one inside the car all by myself.
Ever since Jeremy Clarkson got fired from BBC, my perfect world of automotive journalism and abstract literature crashed. Suddenly my favorite magazine didn’t have my favorite people in the column. Suddenly it lacked the flavor I looked for. And the thing called ‘flair’ was missing.
⚙️nce upon a free period in a noisy classroom, a group of friends in open collars and loose ties were briskly chatting about the kind of life they hoped to have. The discussion slithered along topics like the first job, first home and eventually plopped on to ‘the first car’ …
I hear the explosion above the pistons as they try to imitate the execution of a punch …
At times I wonder if I’m still on the path that I should be on. I have fallen hard in places where I couldn’t afford even the slightest slip of traction. But there I was …
So every time I saw a belle, I took a snapshot in my mind, came home and drew a box on two wheels. Eventually those boxes developed curves and became more detailed …
