They say memories are made of scenic views and great company. But if you ask me about our 1998 trip to Mettupalayam, my memories aren’t made of waterfalls or greenery—they are made of grease, rusted metal, and the smell of burning petrol.
Looking back 27 years later, that journey wasn't just a trip; it was a comprehensive course on every single thing that can go wrong with a four-wheeled vehicle.
The Protagonist and the "New" Ride
The hero of our story is Hamsakka , a local legend who was going through a bit of a rough patch in business. To cheer himself up, he sold his old car and bought a "new" one. Now, when I say "new," I mean it was new to him. To the rest of the world, it was an ancient relic that belonged in a museum—or a junkyard.
Hamsakka proposed a trip to Black Thunder in Mettupalayam. This was back when water theme parks hadn’t sprouted up in Kerala yet, and Black Thunder was the ultimate destination. My cousin Nooru, our friend Latheef, and I jumped at the chance.
4:00 AM: Hope Springs Eternal
We set off at 4:00 AM, aiming to reach the park by 10:00 AM. The car was a hybrid of sorts—it ran on both gas and petrol, though "running" might be too strong a word. By the time we hit Palakkad, t
he gas system gave up the ghost. From there on, we were strictly a petrol-powered operation, provided the car felt like moving at all.
The Disappearing Driver
By the time we reached the Kanjikode stretch, the car developed a personality disorder. It would wheeze, cough, and stop to contemplate its existence every few kilometers. We eventually pulled into a workshop.
Hamsakka, ever the optimist, took the car for a "test drive" after the mechanic tinkered with it.
Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. No sign of Hamsakka or the car. We stared down the long, shimmering heat of the highway. Finally, we saw a tiny black dot in the distance. As it got closer, the dot split into two colors: black on top and white on the bottom. It was Hamsakka, walking back in his signature attire. The car had died a kilometer away, and he had been forced to trek back under the blistering sun because no one would give him a lift.
We had to hire another vehicle to take the mechanic to our "test-driven" disaster.
Sunset at the Gates
Our 10:00 AM arrival time came and went. While normal people were splashing in wave pools, we were bonding with mechanics. We finally rolled into Mettupalayam at 6:00 PM —just as the park was closing.
We checked into a lodge, defeated but determined, and spent the next day at Black Thunder. For a few hours, the world was perfect. We slid down water slides and forgot that our getaway vehicle was essentially a ticking time bomb.
The Ooty "U-Turn"
Flush with the success of the water park, we decided to push our luck: "Let’s go to Ooty!"
The car had other plans. As soon as the road began to incline toward the hills, the engine shut off. It was as if the car had vertigo. We’d roll back down to flat ground, and it would start perfectly. We’d head back up the slope, and click —dead silence. After three failed attempts to defy gravity, we accepted our fate. Ooty was not in our destiny.
The Midnight Symphony
The drive home was a nightmare directed by Mr. Bean. As darkness fell near Coimbatore, the headlights flickered and died. It was Sunday, and every workshop was closed. We eventually found a "mechanic" who was significantly more lubricated with alcohol than our engine was with oil. He managed to jump-start the lights, and we wobbled toward Malappuram.
Near Pattarkadavu, the final insult happened: the silencer fell off .
With no tools left, we did what any self-respecting Malayali would do—we tied the exhaust pipe back onto the chassis using a mundu . The resulting sound was Earth-shattering. We didn't drive into our village; we announced our arrival like a low-flying fighter jet.
27 Years Later
We reached home at midnight, exhausted and covered in dust, having learned more about car mechanics in 48 hours than a grease monkey learns in a lifetime.
Today, whenever I see Hamsakka, we don't talk about the business he lost or the struggles he faced. We talk about that car. We talk about the "Black and White" dot walking down the highway. Because sometimes, the best trips aren't the ones where everything goes right—they’re the ones that give you a story to tell for the next three decades.
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