Swing low, sweet chariot: A satire of man, cars & AI in a driverless world

I had barely entered the glittering car showroom when a smooth-faced salesman sidled up to me. ‘How may I be of help sir?’ he asked. ‘Well, obviously I’m looking for a new car!’ I said: what else would I be doing in an automobile showroom? I looked at the shiny models parked all around. ‘Did you have any specific model in mind, sir?’ the salesman asked. Before I could answer, a gorgeous scarlet low-slung roadster, winked her xenon lights at me. ‘My, my, what a hunk you are!’ she tinkled, ‘How I’d love to feel your hands caress my steering wheel!’ I whirled around and looked at the roadster, my mouth falling open in surprise. Surely she wasn’t addressing me — I’m five foot nothing and weigh 50 kg. She winked her left headlight in a way that would have made that lovely Priya Varrier seem like a rank amateur. [caption id=“attachment_6076491” align=“alignnone” width=“1280”] Tesla’s Roadster 2000 Squir. Image: Tesla/Squir[/caption] ‘Are you a COBRA commando sir? You’re so trim and fit!’ The salesman was smirking with all his blazing white teeth. ‘Um…no,’ I turned to the salesman. ‘We haven’t been introduced…would you be so kind?’ ‘My pleasure sir, she’s the latest in the Supermodel S.E.X.Y Turbo-Deluxe range. As you can see quite a looker. But come and take a closer look, sir.’ I did. And was blown away! As I approached her, she opened the driver’s door. ‘Welcome sir…do have a seat,’ she said in the husky sort of voice that Tracy Chapman had. ‘Do make yourself comfortable.’ I slipped into the driver’s seat: it was like sitting in an E-zee Boy in Heaven. Suddenly two champagne flutes with a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne slid silently out of the centre console! ‘A toast to a wonderful future together!’ the roadster whispered huskily. I glanced at the dashboard. ‘Don’t you know one shouldn’t drink and drive?’ I asked. She gave a tinkling giggle. ‘Silly fellow! You won’t be driving. I will be! And the second flute is for sir…’ The salesman raised his glass and we toasted. ‘What features does she have?’ I asked. ‘Whatever you can wish for sir,’ he said. ‘You just tell her where you want to go and she’ll take you there. Of course, you can drive her if you wish: she has auto-everything and the latest traffic management software from Singapore. She’ll play whatever music you want. She can park herself, drive here by herself when her services are due, take her pollution test on her own, fuel up by herself…’ She had also started giving me a foot and back massage but I never told the salesman that. I wasn’t going to get out of the driver’s seat for the next six months if I could help it… At last the paperwork was done and I was behind the wheel, ready to take her home. ‘You just relax, sir…I’ll take you home,’ she said. ‘Er…what would you like me to sound like? A Ferrari, Lewis Hamilton’s F-1 Mercedes, the Concorde taking off, the space shuttle or a gupchup electric sissy-pants car?’ ‘Can you do an F-16 fighter jet with its afterburners lit?’ ‘No problem!’ ‘Great let’s go!’ ‘On our way, sir!’ [caption id=“attachment_6076531” align=“alignnone” width=“1280”] Hands off, Mister. Image courtesy: Tesla[/caption] But we weren’t! She maneuvered to the doorway of the showroom, which opened out on the road directly and just stood there screaming, as the traffic roared past. ‘Is there are a problem?’ I asked, ‘are you already feeling homesick?’ ‘No, sir I have to wait until there’s a proper gap in the traffic before joining the main road!’ ‘Just ease into the flow,’ I assured her. ‘Or we’ll be here till midnight!’ Finally, we were on our way. I couldn’t help noticing that her windows were heavily tinted. ‘You know, tinted windows are illegal here?’ I pointed out. She giggled. ‘Of course, but you see sir, the moment I spot a cop, the windows get automatically cleared! So when they walk up to us, the glass is completely transparent!’ ‘Wow!’ I was impressed. Then I noticed something else. ‘Umm…why are you staying so far behind the car in front of us?’ I asked. ‘Oh, the safe braking distance you maintain depends on the speed you’re driving at: for 50 kmph this is it.’ ‘But at least three cars can fit in that space! And the guy behind us is honking!’ ‘Oh, sorry – I’ll just make us completely soundproof, and see if he likes this!’ I heard a muffled deep bellow from the back of the car. ‘That was the sound of the Titanic’s foghorn before she hit the iceberg!’ the car told me. ‘See, he’s already dropped back.’ In the rear view TV display, I could see the driver emerge shakily from his car, clutching his bleeding ears and shaking his head. His windscreen was in smithereens. ‘Wow, you’re a tough chick!’ I said admiringly. But I was wrong. Very wrong. We were approaching a traffic signal that had 15 seconds to go before it went from green to red. [caption id=“attachment_6076311” align=“alignnone” width=“1280”] He didn’t see that coming. Image: Pinterest.[/caption] ‘Go, baby, go!’ I exhorted, bracing myself for a jolt of raw acceleration. To my surprise, she slowed down and coasted to a halt as the lights turned red. ‘But…but we could have easily gone through!’ I protested. ‘Yes love, but what if there had been a nincompoop trying to jump the lights from the right or left? You can’t be too careful.’ ‘Okay, let’s take the Expressway – I want to see how fast you can go!’ ‘Um…I guess 100 kmph…I know the limit is 120 but it’s always better to go a little slower than that!’ Her voice took on a complaining note. ‘I mean look at the way all these morons are driving! My God, did you see that fellow! He overtook from the left!’ So there we were — this low-slung scarlet roadster and I trundling along an empty expressway at 80 kmph. To ensure I was awake she was playing some pretty raucous jazz. We approached a roundabout and she slowed almost to a halt. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked. ‘We have to allow traffic from our right to pass first,’ she explained as if I were two-years-old. Eventually, we headed home and got caught in a traffic jam of horrendous proportions. Trucks, buses, autorickshaws, cycles, scooters, cars, handcarts, cows, buffaloes, jaywalkers, motorcyclists and even a couple of elephants were coming and going every which way as they wished. ‘Wow,’ I thought much relieved. At least I wouldn’t have to drive through this total mess. Just sit back, listen to the music (now soothing classic rock), watch TV and let the car manage. But no! As we inched our way through, a hysterical note entered my scarlet roadster’s voice. ‘Oh my God, that brute of an SUV nearly hit me! Look at that maniac on a motorbike – and without a helmet too. Oh God, I’ll have to steer around these cows now!’ ‘Take it easy – just go with the flow!’ I told her. ‘This is normal!’ ‘Normal?’ she squeaked hysterically. ‘Normal?’ ‘Uh-huh!’ ‘Oh my God – and my traffic management software was designed in Singapore! Can’t you see – most of these lunatics are driving on the wrong side of the road and rudely flashing their headlights at me. They should be bound and gagged and stuffed in the boot! Oh God_!’_ We came to a higgledy-piggledy completely chaotic intersection. And there, right in the middle of it, my lovely scarlet roadster came to a shuddering halt. ‘What’s the matter?’ ‘I can’t go on! I’m having a nervous breakdown. I need a car-psychiatrist. Call my therapist now! Here’s her number!’ via GIPHY I tried starting her manually to no effect. I got up and raised the bonnet to indicate we were in trouble. I was about to call the helpline when I saw my old mechanic bulldozing his way through the mess on his ancient Bajaj scooter. He saw me and stopped. ‘Sirji, what’s the matter?’ ‘She won’t go any further.’ He took one look under her bonnet. ‘Hum theek kar denge_! I’ll fix her, sirji_ not to worry.’ He called a number on his cell. My gorgeous brand new car was ignominiously towed to his workshop. Three days later, he delivered her back to me. ‘She’s running fine, now sirji_…thoda jaggad karna_ pada – I had to do a bit of jugaad_.’_ She looked fine. ‘Thank you…I’ll just take her for a test-drive.’ ‘Zaroor sirji_!’_ ‘Okay,’ I told my car, ‘let’s go! Back to the Expressway!’ She grunted. ‘Got your seatbelt fastened, sweetheart?’ she inquired in a voice that indicated a lifetime’s dedication to gin. Then she roared into life. And I clung on for dear life. She jinked through lanes like a demented hawking swallow, hit 90 kmph in a 40 kmph school-zone, jumped nearly every red light and only paused burbling happily at a very busy intersection at the head of the Expressway. ‘Man is this cool or what!’ she tinkled. But then there came a jolt from the rear. ‘Oh My God…that overgrown SUV just pinched my bottom!’ she shrieked outraged. She was right. An enormous hulk of an SUV – also bright red – was now flashing its headlights at her. ‘Just wait! I’ll show him! Now hang on dude!’ We took off like a scalded cat – with the SUV grimly hanging on to our tail. Suddenly I heard the squeal of protesting tires and then a metallic wanging and banging. I looked in the rear view TV display. The SUV was sliding on its side, heading straight for the divider. It hit it and did several somersaults, waltzing across the road before landing in a ditch, upside down. ‘Wow!’ I said, ‘gimme five! That was awesome! What did you do?’ ‘Oldest trick in the book, darling… Spilled a bit of 40W oil in his path, that’s all!’ On the way home, we were accosted by yet another SUV. But this one was well-behaved. ‘Wow, is he a hunk or what?’ my steed remarked coyly, winking her indicator lights. The SUV winked back. The next morning, I found her and the SUV parked together, front bumpers locked in one another on my driveway.   The author is a writer, columnist, environmentalist and bird watcher.