Sunny days are over!

Things were fine for the first few days. The trouble started when she seemed to confuse me for Michael Schumacher’s Ferrari. She just couldn’t bear riding below 45 kmph. Now how can one expect a 50 cc scooterette like me to cater to these demands easily. This used to strain those crankshafts and pistons and spark plugs and other what-u-may-call-its (heck, I am no automobile engineer).

I too was forced to make innumerable sudden turns and also sudden stops. Subsequently, miffed with this thoughtless exploitation, my brakes rebelled. But our ITG was one step ahead, she made a silent vow, never to use brakes unless in case of extreme and unavoidable emergencies (like if she spots Salman Khan at the crossing).

Another uncanny knack the ITG possesses is that of driving through the deepest of potholes and tallest of speed-breakers. Needless to say, a few days later, my shock absorbers called it a day and I started experiencing how a rattlesnake must feel. Due to her rough handling, my petrol tank developed a micro leak. I sensed my end nearing.

My proprietress also seems to be under the illusion that she is in USA. She keeps as much to the right of the road as against our leftover Indian tradition. One day, as usual, while driving along the right side (or the wrong side!), she banged me into a cycle. My mudguard is testimony of the inci-dent.

But this accident made her parents press the panic button. They made it obligatory to wear a helmet. Now you’ll agree a helmet, that too while riding a cute li’l vehicle like me, was bound to attract giggles and wisecracks from her classmates. And this made her blow her top and she misdirected her wrath at… you guessed it, ME. She took me to a garage and ordered the mechanic to remove my mirror and the mudguard. So naked I looked without these two. That annoyed, I drained out the petrol tank (I can do it, you know!) and she had to tug me two km to the nearest petrol pump, which pleased me no end.

Then she turned 18. Like a queen bee, she announced that she was fed up of me and would rather use the PMT to commute. When her mother and brother refused to comply, she, like any pampered younger sister, cutely took the demand to her dad who so susceptible to her babyish cajoling, succumbed to these demands and promised her a new scooter.

Thus I have been relegated to the dark corners of her garages and am rusting in peace. Life is hell, but better than when she was in the driver’s seat.

PS: If I have moved your hearts, dear ITGs, please treat your two-wheelers with care and compassion.