Driver, gaadi lao!

I've bought a new car and it should show up on my driveway later this week. For lack of choice, I’ve settled on a colour called wine red, but it’s actually a pretty regular maroon. If you spot a better colour, tell me. It’s not a sports car, so no yellow; it isn’t a merc either, so black is out. The shade of red they offer is just a bit too tart–like. Caribbean blue sounded promising, but I no like. And the lack of colour in these nail-polish type names they have (pearl silver) bores me. They look ancient, dull, and common. So wine red it is. I’ll put up a picture or something. Or maybe stick to offering mithai to parking lot attendants.

In other matters, I’m hooked on to Prison Break. I saw nine episodes at a stretch two days ago-- season two. Eight cons broken out of Fox River prison. Lincoln Burrows, on death row for the murder of Terrence – brother of Caroline the President of the United States. Terrence, in reality, before he shoots himself, was locked up in a solitary bungalow somewhere in Montana. Linc’s brother, Michael, is the mastermind and a once super cute architect. Exciting stuff. I’ve got dialogues and jail blueprints swimming through my head. That’s one mangy lookin’ paw ye got there, Slimy. Says bad cop to clever pedophile con who keeps smacking his lips when he sees little girls. Of course, viewer discretion is advised.

Remember the days of Star Movies when they had a two-digit figure near the logo to indicate at what ages the movie is ok to be watched by innocent bachas? Yes, so same for Prison Break. Twelve might be a good age to know about homicide.

Back to car, I might be more excited about it once I smell the insides and know they’re new. I’d rip off the plastic wrap immediately. Upholstery could wait till next month’s salary, but I could add a CD player at once, or I could let summer wear out the tapes first. Alanis lies undamaged in the glove compartment, Streets of Philadelphia and Lauryn Hill could be re-heard; All Time Greatest Movie Songs - I want to spend my lifetime loving you. Tina Arena and Mask of Zorro. At the beginning of which are sounds of Church bell gongs, swords being drawn and accelerated horse hooves.

I could get something to dangle on that rear view mirror peg; a friendly little dragon called Nessie, perhaps? We used to have teeny boxing gloves hanging on the old amby. Nothing thereafter, nothing on the white van -- that ugly breadbox with jammed rear doors, the horn of which was distinct, and you had to thumb two bleepy buttons that looked like grey Kit Kat wedges to hear it.

I improved my raw driving skills on that van. Successfully navigating the Dhaula Kuan roundabout was an accomplishment early on in first year college, the occasional times I’d drop myself to the U-special stop, and a kind parent would drive it back. Now of course, I just fly over because no roundabout remains. I’d miss my sturdy diesel engine, but new car is new car. It’ll make me go slowly over speed breaker for the first few weeks. And I’ll mourn the first scratch, and tell every friend who sits in it for the first time to say something token nice. I’ll even remember the license plate number, maybe feed it into phone book under N Car or something. And if I lived in a whiz-tech-gadgetry type movie, I could have my license plate on speed dial and if anyone tried to steal it, sirens could dance wildly, alarms would go off, my cell could ring, and I would be in the know. How cool!

I’m telling you, watch Prison Break.