A drizzly day last week. I had nothing to do. So I decided to be a considerate husband and take my wife out for a drive. The road looked dangerously slippery. But it was cool in the car. I was happy I didn't have to waste fuel on the air-conditioner. I drove. My wife sat by me. The going was good. Till my wife noticed the car speeding away with us. "Brake!" my wife told me, waving her arm. "Break?" I asked. "Break what?" "No, no!" she yelled. "Slow down, slow down!" I tried to. A gentle squeeze produced no effect. I squeezed harder. Still no good. "Hit the BRAKES!" My wife was screaming now. I squeezed violently. The car sped on merrily. What could be wrong? I didn't get time to ponder the question. I saw another car coming from the opposite direction. The driver, seeing my daredevil approach, stopped his vehicle. So did I -- by ramming into his car. He got out. I expected him to give me a chunk of his mind. "You were sleeping?" He didn't at all sound angry. I couldn't answer. My heart was still in my mouth. His wife too got out. "Are you all right?" she asked. I took one huge gulp. No good. My heart was still stuck in my throat. An acquaintance of mine who was passing by came to my rescue. "Don't worry, sir," he told the man, taking on the role of my spokesman, "We will get your car repaired." "No, problem," the man said, smiling. "This is my card. Give me yours... If I need any help, I will call you." His wife, meanwhile, was speaking to mine. She didn't seem at all bothered about her damaged car. "You know, I am an architect. I have to reach a project site soon. Don't worry. Be cool," she said as she shook my wife's hand and left. "Nice people," my wife remarked. "They didn't beat you up." My mind was not on her words. I felt I knew the man. Where had I met him? "I have seen him somewhere," I murmured. I looked at my car. The front bumper was coming off. There was also a deep dent on one side. "Is there a workshop nearby?" I asked my spokesman. "Yes, just a kilometre ahead," he said. I started the car. An autorickshaw driver who witnessed my accident blamed it on the wet road: "You know, these newly tarred roads are very slippery in the rains." I checked the brakes. They seemed to work. I drove ahead and checked it again. They were perfect. Well, it must have been the slippery roads, I told myself. I started for the workshop. "Drive very slowly," my wife warned. The flat road led us to a slope. There was a jeep in front, moving even slower than us. It was about to stop and I slowly, carefully, increased the speed. After I was done overtaking, I touched the brakes to slow down. Without any effect. On the slope, the car gathered speed. There was a truck coming our way. "What are you doing? Slow down!" my wife screamed. "No brakes," I managed to yell before we hit the truck. There was a car-rendering sound. The truck seemed to come on and on. Luckily it stopped before it hit my nose. It skidded to the right, hit a telephone pole and came to a halt. There was silence. The front of my car was completely wrecked. I will spare you the details of what happened next. Suffice it to say that after a couple of weary hours we returned home sans the car. A little later, I took out my first victim's visiting card. Francis T D, it said. "My God, he was my senior in college!" I shouted across to the kitchen. Memories of my bygone senior in a bygone era came rushing back. Francis had been my role model when I was in college. He spoke English without the "Mallu" accent. He had already cleared the written exams for the Indian Administrative Services and was waiting for his interview call when I met him. I too wanted to try for the IAS. Francis lent me his general knowledge books, specially bought from Delhi's Rao's Institute. But in the end, despite the long preparations, both of us did not make it. The phone rang when I just finished telling my wife all this. It was Francis. "Are you George? Remember me, I am Francis... We met on the road today," he said. "Yes, yes," I replied. "It was just now that I had you placed!" "When I saw you, I knew I had seen you before. But I couldn't place you," he said. "You have changed a lot... Hey, let's celebrate our accidental meeting. We will come over this weekend!" They did. And we had a wonderful time. Now, as I write this diary, I realise two things: Rarely do people discover old friends during road accidents. And rarely do people escape head-on collisions unscathed. I managed to do both. In a span of just 15 minutes. So what does that make me? A rare human being? George Iype is back on the roads again. Beware! Illustration: Uttam Ghosh Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
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