On the road

I am not happy, happy… but I’m satisfied, I guess. That’s a major thing for any human, given how unhappy we make ourselves. At times like this I really don’t mind being human though. Racing down the road at 90 km/ph, Bachna Ae Haseeno playing loudly, wind rushing through my straightened hair and stale perfume.

Strangely enough I saw another car in my rearview mirror, quickly catching up with me. A group of drunk boys seeing a young woman alone in a car… maybe they got some ideas because they slowed down next to me. Jeering, cat calling followed. The press sticker on my car did not deter them. This continued for another hundred metres though I made no attempt to encourage them. When they didn’t bugger off, I raced off and shifted back to fifth gear.

It was Sheryl Crow on the iPod now. Yawn. Even with her in the background I couldn’t help but feel sleepy. Work was hectic on a good day. On a day with bomb blasts? Wow. Madness. And of course the man I’m in love with picks that day to throw a tantrum. And so I speed off from office to the outskirts to pacify him. Sigh. Maybe he wasn’t worth it. of course he wasn’t. Wait. And I hit a speed-breaker. At the speed at which I was going, my teeth nearly fell out. God knows what happened to my poor car.

As I sat there recovering, I went back to what suddenly prevented me from seeing that speed-breaker. I’m a 25-year-old successful, some may say intelligent and hot television producer. I could have a lot of men. Why was I sticking with a smart-ass who wooed me beautifully and then cheated on me and treated me like dirt…? My heart was pounding. I couldn’t hear the music over it, in fact. Shit, it was one of those epiphanic moments I think.

I would not go and pacify him. I would go home to my worried, diabetic dad and loving family instead. Who the hell would ask someone they love to drive 20 kilometres after a 20-hour shift at a news channel, just for some pacifying and sex. He could get that from one of the seven other women he was wooing.

I took a deep breath. I would turn the car around, I decided. Screw him. Well, not literally. Not anymore. Jubilation. I hoped I would go through with it. I saw the boys again in the rearview mirror. Argh. Men. I’d wait for them to pass before turning around. They slowed down near my car again. And I heard a shot. I felt a searing, indescribable pain shoot through my head. The most intense feeling ever. More than the joy when my sister got married, the warmth at my first kiss, the rage and grief when I found my lover cheating on me… more than the jubilation I felt when I decided to leave him. And I remember my last thought. I wish he knew I was leaving him. And everything went black.

This is dedicated to a television producer who died under mysterious circumstances in her car in Delhi, India. This piece is entirely fictitious. As of now, November 11 ’08, her murder remains unsolved.