Rear Wheel Should Thrive - From The Archive

What’s not to like about cars these days? Safety and finish have improved by motorway miles; we’re finally feeling some oomph in the engines and seeing technology drive the gaadi engineers. It’s a good sign because the Indian consumer has become more informed and manufacturers have to think twice about skimping on the essentials like power windows and music systems.

I’m glad to say it may be time the 0-96 km/h time of a car should become a standard measurement like how it is most of elsewhere. After all, cars these days are able hit centuries without taking a tail-light year to do so. Maybe the 0-60 km/h measurements could be restricted to our economy-focused motorcycles. Too bad our driving hasn’t improved as well, but that’s a whole other story. It still has to be said though that we still have a long way to go because we still don’t have an affordable rear-wheel drive sports car that can drift around a race track corner to comfort the crying enthusiast baby.

Somehow being seen trying to power slide your fifth generation Amby or Fiat around a corner just seems a teeny bit wrong. Do it when no one’s looking. But seriously, try it with a current affordable car and all you’ll get is understeer which is a little, ahem, boring because they’re all front-wheel-drive. Ah, rear-wheel-drive. I like the oversteer. I like the prop-shaft tunnel inside the car. I like to be pushed rather than pulled.

Image source: www.favcars.com

 

I’m waiting for the day we see more ads like the Honda one that used to air on T.V. during F1 season some years ago, the one with the Honda S2000 powersliding in the dirt in slow motion with the driver correcting the drift. Man, that kind of stuff gives us enthusiasts goose bumps and sends a cool shiver down the rear scaffolding. It’s rubbish that some people dislike ‘stunt-heavy’ advertisements? Is one supposed to dislike a trapeze artist just because what he does is dangerous? It converts people into actively involving themselves and taking pride in their driving. I’m not saying try drifting on public roads between traffic, I’m saying try it on blocked-off roads late night. Getting the government to allow such fun seems as improbable as getting it to legalize late night drags on cordoned-off roads. But that’s another whole story. Maybe I’m not too good at sticking to one story…

But it would really be nice to see experts from overseas oversee oversteer competitions when power and rear-wheel-drive become an affordable cocktail. While I puff away at my cancer stick, think about this. While we wait for the sports car for the masses let’s start organizing more car shows and similar events. I know, there goes my business idea. Not just the annual classic car shows and drags, but events for modified and customized cars as well. After all, the car artist is a neglected individual with no social skills as yet.

Talking about social skills, I recently went up to a guy in Bangalore who had a decent mod job for his Swift and said, “Nice car you got there.” He lifted his chin, looked down at me and muttered something. It certainly wasn’t a nice “Thanks dude”. He must be a shitty driver.

 

Igno Ramus

Ignorant drivers in the mountains are often entrusted with ferrying around excitable passengers. Slow trucks crawling up characteristically narrow ghat roads at single-digit speeds invite risky passes by even initially patient drivers. Blind curves are usually met with a lead foot instead of a light boot.

Those behind the wheel might do well to curb this over enthusiasm, since traffic around bends is visible only at the last instant. It is truly miraculous how bikers especially manage to retain control and skin texture during forced forays into the gravel. Also, riders need to make it a point to have their helmets strapped on, or be prepared to have them bounce off in the event of an unexpected impact. Close shaves and near misses are shockingly habitual to these unprotected road users.

Image source: www.trekkerboy.com

We might do well now to not just pry over spilt brains, but ponder seriously over this blatant disregard for common road sense. Thick-skinned attitude towards safety is now an even bigger epidemic. Accidents in the hills are adding more and more to the ever-escalating and ever-disgracing 150,000-odd annual road accidents-related death toll.

Driving schools are meant to school, not fool.

Nil Spill Hill Thrill

A young friend of mine, Ghosh, from Bangalore visited me up in Kodaikanal recently. I was pleased he wanted to learn how to drive in the hills despite being a newbie, because once you get accustomed to the hills, other driving becomes easier. So what we did was take turns driving amidst Kodai town in our family four-speed Maruti 800, with me talking through my driving and pointing out his mistakes.

Kodai roads are narrow and with steep inclines for the most part, so many times there isn’t room for trucks or buses to go two abreast. This often necessitates stopping and starting from an incline. I found that Ghosh would continually roll back and was in danger of getting the Maruti Service Centre’s finance manager rubbing his hands in glee.  “Use the handbrake so you won’t roll and release it only as you feel the engine power kicking in through the clutch,” I told him. “It’s a blessing we have handbrakes now." A far cry from the nostalgic Fiats and Ambassadors that required a hand stand to get them to work.

While driving around, unfortunately missing out on the pretty girls, Ghosh’s gear changing was obviously not suited to hill driving. He would shift up the gears too quickly into top gear just like changing in flat terrain, and I cringed because the car was struggling. I told him to downshift to a lower gear, third, because it was a moderate straight uphill gradient. He argued that the car would ‘drink’ more fuel, which is true to an extent, but I explained that a little more fuel consumed is much better than the long-term damage on the engine. After all, changing two gears, even three, uses far more fuel in reality, instead of choosing the right one initially.

After traversing a bit in town, we picked up some dinner and a couple of Kingfishers for the night. I drove the way back. Going home, mainly a slight downhill slope, required going down to third gear, not fourth (or fifth gear like some unknowingly persist doing). He asked why and I explained that it was to save the brakes, since rolling down a hill in a high gear using the brakes to constantly slow down allows dangerous brake fade. He was also a little bewildered to know why I was being so ‘nice’ and giving room to climbing vehicles at the narrow sections. "Uphill traffic always gets right of way." That night though, he showed me who was boss on the racetrack, on the world's greatest driving simulator, Gran Tourismo. Maybe it was the beer that caught me off guard. Ahem.

Image source: Unknown

 

The next day, I thought it would be nice to do what’s called the ‘ten-mile round’ in these parts for more driving practice for Ghosh. The road here winds through some lovely scenery and popular sightseeing halts. He was at the wheel and leaned on the horn when we got stuck behind a tourist bus. However, an experienced hill driver will tell you that you only need to toot to let the driver know you’re behind in a faster vehicle, and a thank-you-toot when he gives you room to pass. But Ghosh insisted on overtaking. “You can’t see more than a few feet ahead of you since the road is winding, dude, so don’t," I thought.  Needless to say, suddenly two cars appeared from the opposite direction and we narrowly avoided a metallic spill.

I took over the wheel, and we carried on down the road. Ghosh wanted to go a little faster, but before I did, I told him that this is when you have to be extra careful, especially during the day, since there are no headlights to warn you of an approaching vehicle, especially if the driver doesn’t toot his horn.

 

As part of the gear changing lesson, I accelerated a bit, and since most of the turns were pretty sharp, I told him you should always go down to second gear for sharp turns (as is true for most moderately powered cars), the first reason being the extra torque which helps the car grip the road better and prevent it from running dangerously wide towards oncoming traffic. Most accidents in the hills happen because inexperienced drivers are in racetrack mode and cut neat across their lane. The other reason for a gear change is so that you don’t lose power during the turn and hold up traffic behind you while you wait for the car to gather momentum again.

Later that day Ghosh left, after bargaining for three tons of homemade (or should I say home -mad) chocolate and eucalyptus oil, and caught the bus to Bangalore after an evening dosa. I hope he returned home a better driver.

Duster Myth Buster – From The Archive

Maybe it’s time we all went back in uniform to the blackboard. A trustworthy source says that this Ren is no average Martin, despite being based on the Logan. Sales seem to be stagnating, however. These days, we are a people very caught up with media, opinions, fires, grease, brands, LEDs, and not internal combustion and engineering appreciation. Authorised service centres should provide authorised service, right? Fact is that Dusty remains a mode of transport that seems like its waiting to be given the green signal.
 
What’s not to like? Praps the upward facing ‘C’ character line on the lower door areas is the only thing that’s a bit boggling because it puts on a certain sag that must be negative in several design books, since these sorts of lines usually go the opposite way with much less fervour. It’s good that line is subtle but. Pins on points, the rear seems to derive some flak but let’s get clear about something important, Renault’s baby SUV sure ain’t scared of taking some earth, wind, and fire.

Image source: www.newupcomingcars.com

 
What’s to like? We think the flat underside is truly an engineering marvel that will allow it to become a very mean rally machine. The stability of the airflow under the vehicle will add value to the squat and wide proportions that don’t stabilise sexiness alone. Turn to someone and ask him or her if a Renault is cool. They’d probably reply with ‘Ya, Duster man!’
 
She’s a beaut with regard to both form and function, and it’s great to see chrome, solid colours, chunky (not er, clunky) proportions take life in these Diamonds on the tar. That’s just what they are, accessible 18 carat diamonds, that, with a little TLC (read Tender Loving Customisation) can quite easily transform into 22s that outweigh most SUVs on earth, let alone in this country. Too bad India doesn’t have that as yet, but we’re getting there quite rapidly.
 
Pointing on, the Dusty is obviously a very, very good piece of machinery. If you pick out all reviews written about this very important Frenchy, you’d be hard pressed on the misty window to spot real faults. It’s European, it’s tough, it can be quick if you drive it right, and girls look real swell in them too. One size fits all, so let’s dust our fikars aside, and see what Renault can give us if we support them. If you are waiting, they are too, let’s not forget that.
 
Renault also builds tough cars tough, and we Indians could do with some stalwarts that can take the dust without a fuss. If this report sounds raw, it was meant to.
 
Sincerely and faithfully,
Santosh Rajkumar.

 

Bob

I once knew a man named Bob

Who kept going with a low paying job

He probably had no education

But his songs touched any generation.

 

I often stopped when happy and high

Leaving the pub when night was nigh

We’d chat, I’d ask for ‘Proud Mary’.

He never let me down, e’en for a penny nary.

 

He was a singer and lyricist

He gave his songs a little twist

This went on for quite a few years

Till the manager said, “Your retirement nears”.

 

“But surely I’ve done no wrong

Have my grey hairs grown too long?”

“No Bob, you’ve been really great

But this generation say you outta date.”

 

He tried other cafes and bars

“Gone are days of acoustic guitars.”

“You’re crazy. Songs with meaning?”

“The blues, hah! You must be dreaming.”

 

                        Illustration by the author

                     

So Bob lost his small apartment

His only two rooms of sentiment

Forced to sing near clubs on the streets,

He lived on change thrown at his feet.

 

But Bob never stopped to sing and play

His charged voice was heard from far away

He didn’t know which day was which

But still entertained all, the homeless and rich.

 

We left the pub last Saturday night

Spent money on too many a pint

We walked over towards Bob’s chair

Struggling with our jackets in the chilly air.

 

We neared where Bob sang round the clock

But didn’t hear his big voice around the block

A different soul was using his chair

“Bob?” He looked to the sky, “There.”

 

I could’ve done something for him I knew

But he’s in heaven getting his due.

My heart sank and I felt a shiver

Humming “Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river”.

Dark Nights And Fresh Starts

Two autorickshaws can take a lot of luggage. Without too much effort, around eight wisely packaged suitcases and bags were carefully loaded into them with room to spare. We were also spared the hassle of change and sulking taxi drivers, and instead found two friends in the men steering handlebars. In essence, they helped us move house, with Ma’s two ‘strollies’ and my six cases to the boarding point in Bangalore, before our onward journey to Kodaikanal.

Our steel rims arrived on time and we got loud help to move this small mountain of stuff, much to my delight and Ma’s relief. When the big wheels began turning and we settled into our cramped first row seats, I mistakenly figured our seats would be comfortable enough to accommodate my exhausted mother and my rather long limbs. I was wrong to some extent.

My nicotine angel came this time in the form of a glowing butt flicked from the driver’s seat. Key was to get to his side now. The opportunity came in Hosur, an hour away from old Bangalore, as the commercial wheels turn. We who frequently use buses on this south route know these things; I knew it earlier as a relief point. Whisky is risky, like an old friend says.

I jumped out of our driven with the enthusiasm of a gazelle at the Olympics and quickly tried ‘drinking’ the cigarette, but the man in charge cordially invited me to finish it in the driver-companion cabin. I accepted gratefully, and went back to my aisle seat upon completion. I promised to join him for one more at Krishnagiri, a business and mango town an hour down. My medication makes me drowsy so I couldn’t keep up that promise, and instead gated myself to the surrounds of my reclining seat, passing out before I could yawn. Good thing I did, because the movie was quite disturbing with bleeding camels and bikini clad women rolled into one disturbing blur. The volume was not as intrusive, so good sleep was thankfully the essence.

Bright lights shone all around suddenly and Salem predawned on us. Ma was still asleep, and I was rather tired too, but nicotine has outside effects as well. Stepping out of the bus was a bit of an exercise as it was for trade workers loading boxes. A pile of rather large concrete bricks were waiting for some form of transport too, glowing grey in the fluorescent light.

We moved again and stopped five minutes later at a tea and snacks shop, where a row of around eight pilgrims were seated for nourishment before their undoubtedly arduous walk ahead. A foreign couple alighted too and one of them got into a conversation with a constable on his rounds there. We were soon shooed off by the law, and I thought I might use this moving opportunity to have a chat with our driver.

Bright lights sped past on the other side on the highway, with a few on our side as well. The mood was quite sombre in the cabin with some loud spiritual music playing. How the adolescent cleaning boy slept was quite a mystery since there was a purposeful slapping sound from the glove box as well, that did no part to keep with the beat of the music.

Off beats aside, it turned out our large chauffeur was not quite the average talker. I tried getting him into a conversation about the gearbox without too much success, as his answers were rather blunt. It had a seven-speed box restricted to a top speed of 80km/h to slow down safely in the event of an emergency. Additionally, the bus obviously did not have ABS and also needed the torque to safely climb around fifty kilometres of a rather unforgiving ghat section that precedes our mountain destination. Add all that to an almost three-foot high load on top and suddenly the drive doesn’t look so appealing.

The priestly man at the wheel told me about his need for music to stay awake as he was the only driver allocated to the 450km journey. He kindly allowed me to interrupt his playlist with some guest musicians from my mobile phone. I chose some techno carefully, since the last thing one needs to do is play the wrong song here, lest conversations and concentrations become strained. It would be wrong not to add that the Nokia speaker did only occasionally struggle against those six cylinder boys firing with all plugs blazing.

With no blare but still glare, Ravi ‘Surya’ exchanged our personalities in brief. I told him I was an out-of-work ‘twelfth pass’ with far less pride as he told me he was from Mandya, Karnataka. The mood did lift, however, when after some cajoling, asked him if he followed cricket. Ravi smiled it off and boomed, “Carrom”! He warmly also added that Kabbadi was a much loved sport in the town. It was quite evident there was some deep sadness inside him, with his bipolar-like manner of speaking.

I had had three of my rollies now and sleep was hitting again, so I took his leave quietly and went back to the comfortable confines of my reclining seat, and was asleep without much further ado or don’ts. The journey was smooth and we didn’t wake till we reached the outskirts of our town. That lovely flying bus feeling that one gets when looking out of the windows on the right side was a gentle, sunlit alarm that only home can provide.

The tired wheels turned into its resting place for half a day before private transport became its calling again. The kid on the bus helped us with our belongings again, while the driver took a breather in his seat in the cabin. Drenched in the clean air and positivity of veedu[i], it was good being home after so long.

---

[i] Tamil for ‘home’

Bitter’s Sweet Symphony

Visit a new country and more often than not will you end up sampling some of the local brews, either at a host’s home, during a night out, or even as a free accompaniment to your steak lunch. Being a beer glugger comes in handy since one is able to break the ice more easily with the locals; an exchange of friendly banter usually ensues over a pint of lager. This was true of the two years I spent in Australia for university, where people don’t really need a reason to get tipsy on the froth.

Of all the beer I sampled there, a personal favourite was Victoria Bitter, or ‘VB’. It was a no-brainer really, since it was the mainstay of liquor consumption of all the Australian friends I had in Brisbane. Yes, the misconception of Fosters being the biggest brand there is quite common; one hardly sees even tiny instances of the aggressive marketing campaign they exercised for India.

Although the name suggests a sour taste, Victoria Bitter actually has a more crisp and commercial flavour that obviously appeals to the majority of one of the biggest beer consuming countries in the world. VB has been around since the early 1900s, originally brewed by Thomas C. Moore of Melbourne, Victoria. The brewing process of the beer today is said to involve the most hops and barley of any Australian beer, supplied by the best producers of the country for a long time now.

Moore’s creation has seen some startling statistics of late, including being the only billion-dollar beer enterprise Down Under. ‘Vic’ has been the largest selling ale for over 20 years now: it moves off shelves twice as fast as any other full strength Aussie beer. So much so, that a carton of VB is sold every second! Victoria Bitter was also the first Australian company to sell beer in a can, after research showed that a can could cool far more quickly than a regular bottle. Interestingly, in bottle form, Vic is sold in brown bottles that are more resistant to damage from sunlight.

 Image source: www.seeklogo.com

VB is available in an assortment of packaging, beginning with 250ml short, stocky bottles known as ‘Grenades’ or ‘Throwdowns’. I’ve once watched a classmate chug down at least ten of these continuously at a student party. It was quite a sight indeed, though I won’t discuss the sounds of the experience.  ‘Stubbies’ and ‘tinnies’, the 375ml varieties of bottles and cans respectively, are probably the most commonly drunk size of VB. This renowned beer is also available in 750ml ‘long neck’ or ‘tallies’ versions and half-litre cans called ‘Lunch Greens’. Apparently just enough to quench the thirst of trade workers during their lunch break!

In addition to the full strength version of VB, which has an alcohol percentage of 4.6, the mid-strength VB Gold with an alcohol content of 3.5% has grown in popularity as a competitor to Queensland’s XXXX Gold, the national leader of middle-strength beer sales.

Victoria Bitter also plays a big role in supporting national sport, like the Rugby League and the Australian cricket team for its Tests, One Day International and Twenty-20 games. Between 2001 and 2006, this enterprise was the main sponsor of the Australian Tri-Series cricket tournament, that was renamed the VB Series during that period.

“VB – The Drinking Beer” is one of the marketing slogans that Victoria Bitter employs and by the looks of it, Aussies live and love that phrase. Judging by the 'mind grogging' capacities of pub patrons, the iconic green of the VB label will remain a much loved unonational colour for a good while to come.