the gps

 

In my family, the “Gopal” Positioning System, has long been in practice ever since the modern day GPS Navman or Tom-Tom or whatever you use to get around, has been in effect.


Not only is it a crude and ancient piece of technology, but it's miraculously accurate and annoying to the point where you just want to ignore all requests to turn left or right and

just speed forward into a brick wall or off a cliff...


I speak of course my beloved Indian Parents. More in particular my mum.


Learning to drive wasn't too bad until I realised that Dad was going to be the one teaching me. Of course being the only child, I wouldn't be taking driving lessons from Dad unless mum was also in the car with me. Her theory, morbid as it was, is that if I was going to die in a horrific car crash while learning to drive, then it was no point of her living as well.
So just like the Indian movies, Indian parents were just as melodramatic.


 

"Of course being the only child, I wouldn't be taking driving lessons from Dad unless mum was also in the car with me. Her theory, morbid as it was, is that if I was going to die in a horrific car crash while learning to drive, then it was no point of her living as well.
So just like the Indian movies, Indian parents were just as melodramatic.”

 

The funniest thing is part is when they want me to go towards a particular direction so they feel the need to yell at me. All the yelling eventually led me to develop several different types of anxieties and not to mention an unclenched butt since 1997.


The funniest thing is when they yell turn left, but they point right. This developed my great reflexes 10 years later. Which is why I’ve never been in a serious crash – yet. I have a feeling, my first serious crash will be the one where my mum rides shotgun.


Indian car rides are a bit like Indian movies. There's several similarities.
 

Conflict. Where mum and dad arguing about which side of their family I get their lack of hand eye coordination from. Also listen them threaten to murder me if I dare talk back to them. I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of times I yelled, “I’ll crash this car, I swear to God!” with them calling every bluff.

 
Philosophy. Both parents wondering what possible reason there was in my birth.

 
Resolution. Briefly stopping to get gas, so Mum and Dad had to behave in front of white people, so they don't think we're nuts.

 
Climax. Nearly crashing into cars in parallel lanes because both parents decided at that exact moment to give me directions and then argue about who I should listen to, because one loved me apparently more than the other.

 
The Ending. When through no fault of my own, some idiot prangs us from behind, leaving us all in hospital suffering from whiplash. Yet they both blame me for it.




So, 25 years onward, while I'm supposed to be in the twilight of my life, there is only one thing that I fear.

 The sound of mum’s voice in the car.

 I wish I was in a white family comedy sitcom.

The Daily Hassle

Laughs on the go.