I was about 15 minutes late to work. I snooped in deftly at 11.30 am, hoping my boss wouldn’t catch me walking in late. She didn’t. Or maybe, she didn’t give a damn and knew that my watch was beyond repair. I turned on my computer, filled in those useless time sheets, opened my lotus notes, all with the kind of pace that would’ve put any bank robber to shame. (Guys who could efficiently rob – say – a public sector bank, replete with a snoring guard and malfunctioning security cameras.) By now, it was time to go over to my boss and clarify if I was jobless today. And while I’m at it, continue behaving like I walked in an hour back.
But this time I had pushed it. A little too far, I guess. She said: “Dev, why don’t you do something you’ve never done before and write me a piece about it by the end of day?”
Well, that means just one thing. Another day of stalking random chicks on Facebook just went out of the (firefox) window. But I must admit that I had a few unconventional ideas here. Like setting the office on fire was a first that would’ve given me enough dope for a write-up. Decided against it. Thank God.
With a sense of renewed purpose, I grabbed my notebook. (Notebook as in, a notebook with pages.) I stormed out of office with the excuse of finding my story. And meet some friends for lunch. In my haste, I just remembered to forget mentioning part-2 of my plan to my boss. Remembering to forget is not such a big sin anyway.
As lunch at Wanley with Franz & Co. came to an end, an idea struck me. Why not write about eating at a cheap Chinese joint and getting my best friend’s sister, who I’ve not met in years, to foot the bill? But then, I realised that it’s not something I was doing for the first time. Damn, this first time clause is turning out to be a pain in the rear, I thought. I bid bye-bye to Franz and his sister and his brother and his pet alien, and headed back to work.
On my way back, I noticed a huge banner at the entrance of the tech park with a picture of a Tata Nano that said, “Test drive the Tata Nano here.” I must add that the text on the poster looked bigger than the picture of the car. Now really, how small is this car. I may not fit into it, but it definitely fits the bill. I’ve never driven the Tata Nano before, and so technically, it automatically qualifies as something I’ve never done before.
Contrary to popular belief, the Tata Nano is not India’s Rupees one lakh car. It is India’s 1,73,090+4845+24750+3000 Rupee car. Sorry, Mr. Tata you can’t fool us no more. Tata Nano, I heard, was Ratan Tata’s pet project. So much so, that initially the car was named after one of Ratan Tata’s pet PeRson. It was actually called the Tata Niira. Unfortunately, some marketing nonsense PRevailed and they decided to call it Nano. Well, why was this a grave error? You will know, shortly.
The road to get on to the road was a tough one for little Nano. It had to battle recession, escalating costs of raw materials, a faulty fuel-line and a scornful Mamta Bannerjee. Some of it threatened to drive the cost of the car skyward, while Mamta threatened and succeeded in driving the car out of West Bengal. But through it all, one thing was certain. Unlike other cars that were designed elsewhere and adapted for our so-called “third-world” requirements, Nano was built to weather everything Indian. The Indian politicians, the Indian bureaucracy, the Indian red-tapism, and lest we forget, the Indian roads.
The Nano is one of the most spacious small-cars you’ll ever find yourself in. Even if you’re an extremely spacious individual, yourself. There’s enough headroom to even accommodate a thought blurb above your head. The ergonomics ensures you’re incredibly comfortable even when you’re stuck with a boring financier who’s trying to sell you the idea of an EMI, like he invented it or something! It’s easy to maneuver, extremely responsive and very well balanced (So is the EMI!). At 22 km per litre, the Nano could even have the power to ensure people finally stop fighting over oil.
All in all, it’s a brilliant package. Yet, it remains a mystery as to why the Nano is finding it so hard to find its way into people’s homes, or garages. By now, I’m certain many management gurus, spiritual gurus, tantric sex gurus or the otherwise-failed-in-everything-else-now-I-don’t-know-what-to-do MBA grads have analysed, plotted complicated graphs and abused dough just to find out why the car hasn’t notched up impressive sales figures. If you ask me, the answer is simple. It all comes back to the name, again.
Imagine a middle-class customer walking into a Tata Motors showroom in interior North India. The sales chap sizes him up, and receives him with a semi-baked half fake smile.
“Would you like a car, sir?”
“Erm.. Umm.. Na, no.”
“Thanks, sir. Have a good day. Bye.”
