Couple of seconds near the end of the usual route, the view curtained out into a long wishing scenic place called 'Shaker Village'. Slim stretches, green patches fenced in Victorian wood, decrypted ranches, spirited gliding galloping horses, colorful brick walled houses, and the reflection of the sun setting right in front of me, made me throttle harder. Except the momentous shift of the right hand re-playing ‘Anbe Enanbe’ from Dhaam Dhoom for the umpteenth time, the fingers were tight. The opposite traffic whizzed analogous to swarming bees, my cars axle was tested to its maximum. A new sign came. 25 mph sharp right and instantaneously, the accelerator was cut off. 90 to 60 took more than a couple of seconds as expected. The knee rolled out and forced the feet towards the brakes. But the feet was tightened at the ankle and it waited, it waited for the hands to grip out stiff, and the eyes tangentiated the yellow solid center line along the wheel's circle enforcing Schumacher wide turn tip.
Half way successfully through the turn, the car was sitting at its edge. There, my pupil dilated, fingers ironed out, ankle yielded to push the brakes and above all, hair goosebumped – the coyote/small wolf just stared at my cars lights. Brakes had its purpose of slowing the rate of arrival at the coyote’s grave, but instead of decelerating, the tires swept across the road with a screech into a slide. He evaded the scene before the crimed murder took place and jumped across the fence. I veered the wheel the other way to avoid a slide into the shoulderless grass patch and hit the fence and flip out. One small crevice in the road, and the car fulcrumed into a lever backfire. The CD’s from the sun screen pouch frisbeed onto my forehead, the juice at the back seat just threw itself off towards the front seat, the stumps at the trunk banged the rear glass and worst of all, the momentum made my seat belt get taught. It hurt my injured chest. My eyes tried to cringe, but the adrenaline was already doing its duty to keep my pupil dilated and eyelids stretched out.
A strange feeling hit me. I knew, this is the point of no return, no correction, no way to escape the fear of death. Time stood still, thoughts of an option to find a solution blanked out, and the whole world seemed to run backwards. There weren’t questions, not doubts, not the dreams, neither was the destiny, nor were the achievements, and so not were the permanent memories and not were the incorrigible blunders in life. But a few faces, foreheads folded, worried about something projected into my sight. Either my mind went into a state of shock so deep enough that it provoked a hallucination so realistic, that I felt bad, unhappy and guilty for making these faces get apprehensive. “Not even a safe crash would assure my existence. The nearest emergency hub is at least twenty miles off the snaky sweeping roadway” and I spiraled back to the micro second I was fighting to live my options with.
Instincts are perspective of experience disguised as a blessing of trust. The fingers opened out yet arcing a mesh of airy grip around the wheel, while the foot over the brakes yielded soft. Inertia did its job. The momentum brought me back into the battle field. One more correction was vital and my thoughts were blocked to find the adjustment required at this crucial moment. The strangest thought/memory/face/event/doubt/blunder hologramed into one ‘indescribable feeling!’ The whole body synced into a single weapon and it defined the path to defy death. One microsecond later, the world spun faster, and the cold air hit my face and I realized that I am still alive. A nodding smile came broad into the curve and I reasoned out the feeling. I knew I would never see the answer, but I tried hallucinating one. It proved probably improbable.
My mind started going into the questionable paralysis. I decided, “Now or never” and chased faster than before. Thirty minutes later, after overtaking almost a dozen cars, twice patching up a pack of 4 wolves nearly avoiding a honk from the oncoming traffic, I slowed down. A new question added up to the armory of my troubles. “Who Cares?”
About five years earlier, I walked with a bandaged right shoulder into my class room and told the truth of sliding purposefully from my bike against a blinded Tata Sumo, just to save an unattended child from getting killed by the Sumo. Everybody laughed, assuming a fake story. Now, whenever I see the scar, I laugh to myself – that was then, now I am this, one who drives to the level of nearly missing suicide by a micromile/hour speed. Why do I do that? ‘I don’t know! That’s what I am trying to figure out’
A Humble Note: If (it’s a big ‘if’) by some mishap or misfortune, I end up dead from a road accident (in which I drive), please don’t curse my dead body over my recklessness or pity the way I died. Coz, if this is the way I see the gates of heaven (or hell), then this particular path I chose, would have definitely given me the satisfaction to smile and die the way I am truly made in my life. No regrets on that part. And finally, I’ve had my license signed for organ donation, and so please keep at least a few parts of my body alive by filling up someone’s need and then submit my corpse to my parents and friends. They will understand.
PS, I spoke what I felt from the heart. So please don’t assume that I am in some kind of trouble or am feeling bad about life and similar bullshit. I just escaped the abysmal hell and there is no way I would be sad about my life. ;) :) :D