The Priceless Series 1 of 3: Smoke after Near Death Experience

Much ado had already been exercised about what time to go, if at all to go, where to go, if at all to go, where to have lunch on the way, if at all to go, and if at all to go. Finally it boiled down to an emotional blackmail originated from yours truly. Retaliation by the lazier ones was carried out by providing pretexts to the tune of unavailability of ‘scapegoats’ to share the car fare in order to take the bike (my demand), and negotiation yielded that we all go in a car so that everything gets solved (hello? I wanted to ride!).

Sacrifice.

So far, so good. It looks better by the minute (actually by the dozen of minutes) as the intended driver keeps calling every now and then and saying he is “almost there and will be reaching in ten minutes” for five and a half hours. He was successful in making us wait in anticipation. The original altercation resumed.

The ado about whether to go at all was back to anvil. Calculations were quickly carried out; a simulation was quickly run with soft copies of maps (with the vision, that was planted in our brains) as to guess where we would be if we started in how much time, and before much mayhem broke loose, the driver arrived with the other two teammates laden in the car.

Then we made them wait for 10 minutes as we packed our bags.

More simulations saw these items in our carry baggage:

Camera, camera, chips, aerated cold drink, camera, cake, biscuits, camera, cigarettes, camera, camera, camera.

In the much comforting and soothing sunshine of 1245 hours of an end-April afternoon, we set out, only to be lovingly asked by the accomplice who arranged for the car: “Guys, there’s no AC in here. No problem, right? We can smoke in the car that way”.

A triumphant beam shone at us, which was returned emphatically.

And so it started. All this while we were too busy handling our belongings and trying to cope with the extremely excruciating heat to notice what the driver was up to.

With (reportedly) over 20 years of driving experience, he cared for nothing on the road. Neither our car (looking at the way he wrung the steering, jostled the gear shaft, rammed the throttle and slammed the brakes), nor other cars (instead of beating, my heart was ‘attacking’ to pump blood), nor the road nor the terrain (only if I had had buttermilk before starting, I would have surely yielded some churned butter within 15 minutes of the ride).

The loyal friends they were, my compadres attempted hard to strike topics to divert my mind off the driving activity. Finally there it was – something related to ‘when is a smoke best enjoyed’ – options were: post coital, after a scrumptious meal,…

“O.H. M.Y. G.O.O.D.N.E.S.S.!” I gasped, and it surely was what I thought the end of my life.

The moment before, we were travelling at 80 kmph, behind a car in the left of the two-lane undivided highway travelling at 75, a truck coming in the opposite direction in the other lane within ZERO distance at 90, and our best friend – the steering man – decided to overtake the car.

The rush in the head subsided, which was also the sign of the fact that we were alive.

…or after a near death experience?

“Pass me the lighter please” Random Access said. The Toning Down One & I were not smoking. Random Access and The Thin One shared a smoke.

And despite being the members of the V-gang, it was unanimously decided that no matter what, a smoke after a near death experience was t.h.e. b.e.s.t.

Dilapidated taxi for a day: Rs. 1380

Cigarettes for two: Rs. 8

Validating for oneself that smoking after near death experience is the best: Priceless.