Human beings in their lifetime, encounter various categories of situations. Some of them are worth remembering, and some hover for a few days, cloud our minds, before they pale away into the vast abyss of the dark reserves of our memory, never to come back. The ones which bring pure bliss are recollected with fondness.

However; the ones which are outlandish, and defy human logic, keep coming back with  questions, “Why did this happen?“, “Is there an unseen force of strong love ?“

Have you ever thought about the same love, affection between a human and a nonliving object?

Well, I may sound like an oddity at this point but I am sure, it will keep you guessing after I unfold a few of my real-life experiences. I can sharply recount five in a series and even to this date I chase for an answer.

Let me recount the the bizarre event as they had taken place…

May 1999:

One of my friends who stays in the US, had come to India and on his way back I had requested him if he could take back a gift for a close relative of mine. He graciously accepted and asked me to give something small for easy carrying. I thought a paperback edition of a book written in the Bengali language would be perfect and went to buy it from one of the oldest, busiest, and most crowded book bazaar that exists in Kolkata, West Bengal, the College street.

You can get any book in this world at unbelievable prices on the mean and broken asphalted road of College street.

This area has all the modes of transportation that you can imagine, and they navigate amid, a teeming population of college students, and teachers as reputed colleges and universities flank the road on either side. As early as six am in the morning or, as late as 11 pm, this area is always bustling. Surely, enough, after nine pm, the buses and cars tend to decrease and chances of getting a parking for my car I assumed would be easy, at least that is what I had thought.

I used to drive a white Maruti 800 DX in those days.

On my way back from my work, I visited the place. The road, which I had taken was Mahatma Gandhi Road which intersects the College Street and I proceeded to that point and turned right on to College street which makes it way to Shyambazar crossing after a mile and a half.

The bookshop I wanted to visit was on the right so I planned to keep the car on the left and was scouring for a safe place to park. I found two vehicles parked, a Jeep, and an Ambassador taxi. There was a wide gap between them and I let in my car into them and stopped. I found a roadside vendor closing his day’s sales and peeped out of my left window and asked him if I can keep the car there. He said that although it is late in the night, chances of a police officer riding his motorbike were less likely but skittish policemen are always unpredictable.

The sidewalk read “No parking”.

I did my routine checks of closing the car windows, stashing the music system in its glove box, and decided to get out. Then it all started seven successive efforts to disembark failed. About a hundred thousand times, I perhaps got in and out of my car in the last two years. The first attempt – I hit my forehead on the window seal which sent me back on to the seat.

Attempt two – I tried again, and this time the broad leather strap of the laptop bag, peculiarly encircled around the gear knob and I was pulled back in the car with the same force with which I wanted to get out.

Attempt three – I freed the laptop bag and pushed to open the driver’s door, and this time, the door refused to open. The inside lock just did not open up. Attempt four – I heaved at the door and it did open, but my left kneecap hit the corner of the bulge beneath the steering column. A sting of pain shot through the leg and I gave up. One thing was certain – I will not be able to get out of the car. 

I sat back and with utter uncertainty, kept thinking about what to do. Something told me, that this place where I was parked may not be a good spot to park .. Did the car try telling me something?

Or, perhaps not. I settled back, started the car, let in the clutch and drove away from the sidewalk, cleared the taxi in front and looked for a place. Thankfully, about ten feet away on the left, a very dimly lit narrow alley appeared in a terrible state; mud and scooped up concrete slabs littered all around. I was too tired to explore and I turned in and parked again. I tried to get out once again. This time, it was a clean one. The laptop cleared over the gear knob, I did not hit my head either. I was outside the car in seconds, locked it.

Folding my trousers, I jumped on the broken concrete and plodded across the muddy road and came to the main road from where I had turned in. 

A very unexpected scenario was in front of me. Numb with an unseen fear, I had stopped breathing. At a distance, I found a big burly police officer, standing beside his red Kolkata police bike, with a sheaf of papers on which he was scribbling away. A monster of a truck, called the wrecker, had gulped in the parked Ambassador taxi; a metal to metal clashing sound tore the nightly silence as the big flywheel of the crane was winding in and pulling the front end of the hapless dangling Jeep.

I cleared my throat and asked the officer, what was it all about. He glowered at me and said that he is disgusted with motorists who think that they can get away by parking in the night when it clearly glowed in the neon lamps that this is a no-parking zone.

I stood there, motionless, the sensation of pain had withered away. A warm glow of thankfulness overwhelmed me, as I looked at the rear of my car, tucked away in the darkness, the rear glass flashing the same neon lamps with a smirk, as if with a hint of a smile. 

What would have taken place, if I had kept the car? She would have been the third victim.

Did she have a premonition of what was to come?

I am sure, she did; did her best to warn me every possible way she could. I simply could not buy the book for which I had gone.  Tears welled up, I was filled with pure love for my dear car. She saved me a lot of trouble. I ran back, splattering mud and muck on everything. I did not care what I was doing. I have to reach my car and caress her. I am in love with her.

She has done what a fellow human would not do these days – a selfless act of complete protection to her owner.

I thanked my four-wheeler, and my stars for that night and leaped in. I touched the steering wheel, kissed and hugged her with my trembling hands skimming over the dashboard, the gear, and pressed her deep against my heart for moments I am not sure.

There was no soul in sight apart from a few stray dogs shouting away. I started the engine, her soft purring engine came to life as if acknowledging my hug, yes we are again together to drive the life miles. With every press on the gas pedal, she hummed her presence. I reversed her and came on to the main road of devastation. There was nothing. 

A nightmare turned into a dream. I gunned the engine and we both disappeared over the college street. ☺️

You can read about three more mystical occurrences, where man and machine complemented each other. This same car battled a flood at Camac Street to reach us to safety.

A Zen, that ran into a mechanical snag but never let the family down. Read the Nagarjuna Sagar dam story. Her dramatic climb backwards on a broken gradient at the Golconda fort will mesmerize you.