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Posted on: Jun 25, '08

Driving Satsangh with Biscuit Baba

“Aren’t we just blessed Baba?” I asked.

“Certainly we are baccha, but what drove home the point to you just now?” asked Biscuit Baba.

“Well, it’s raining cats, dogs and elephants outside and here we are, all dry and comfortable, sipping hot-hot chai and munching on bhajiyas! Except that, you are munching on glucose biscuits, of course! Isn’t that enough to make anybody feel blessed?” I asked happily.

As usual, Biscuit Baba and I were having a satsangh over chai and glucose biscuits at a restaurant. Glucose biscuits, you would know if you’ve read my previous posts, are what Biscuit Baba accepts as dakshina and distributes as prasad. On this occasion, I had taken the liberty to stretch things a bit by ordering some bhajiyas. Well, you know how it is na? If it’s raining cats, dogs and elephants outside, etiquette demands that one consume hot chai and bhajiyas!
After all, attending a satsangh is no reason to forget one’s manners, is it?

Biscuit Baba took in the cyclonic weather outside and mused “It is also a great experience to get drenched in the rain, wouldn’t you say baccha?”

“Oh yes Baba! However, afterwards, I need to be able to take a shower, get into dry, crisp cotton clothes and then sip coffee. THAT’S the way to enjoy getting drenched, if you ask me!” I replied, blissfully biting a bhajiya.

“Hmm… but with this kind of weather, how will you reach home baccha?” Biscuit Baba asked.

“Why?? I have the car na? And don’t worry Baba, I’ll reach you home too!” I said, feeling happier than before, now that there was some small service I could do for Biscuit Baba.

“Oh NO!!” I don’t know what Biscuit Baba meant, but from his face it was clear that he was in communion with nature, paying attention to some unknown cataclysmic event. His face had taken on the depressing grey hue of the over laden sky. “I don’t need a ride home, baccha, thank you very much, it’s very sweet of you to offer, but no, No, NO!!” Communing with nature must be tough, because Biscuit Baba had now started sweating also. As he wiped his face and neck with a crisp white handkerchief, however, a disturbing suspicion started making it’s presence felt in my mind.

“Don’t you like the way I drive Baba?” I asked, voicing the probability of the improbable, the possibility of the impossible and a definitely unheard of phenomenon. Not like MY driving??? From the time I first sat in the driver’s seat at the first lesson in my driving class, until date, there has never been anybody, and I mean ANYBODY, who has said anything negative about my driving. Really! Honest!! Ummm… Well, most folks whom I’ve driven around wouldn’t speak coherently after the ride, but that is something we shan’t get into right now. It was just Biscuit Baba’s repeated ‘no’s and the emphasis he put on the word that had me thinking about such unlikely things as his not liking the way I drive, you see?

“Oh NO!” Biscuit Baba replied immediately. “It’s not like that at all baccha! How can I not like your driving? How can ANYONE not like your driving? After all, you have the proud record of not having hit a cat, dog, cow, bull, buffalo, human, electricity pole, tree nor another car till now! That’s commendable! Of course it’s not that I don’t like your driving! Rest assured on that point! PLEASE!!?? I just want to be environmentally conscious and use the bus this time.” Biscuit Baba now had to wipe his face and neck again, and then wring out his handkerchief in the pail kept nearby to collect the bit of rain that was dripping from the roof. I must tell him one of these days that communing with nature doesn’t seem to be good for him. Plays havoc with his metabolism no doubt.

I watched the rain pouring down and in every other direction except up. The wind was a strong one and behaving like a drunken mill worker after the afternoon shift, but even it couldn’t manage to make the rain pour up. Gravity, magnetism, or some such thing I guess.

Watching the rain, if you’ve ever noticed it yourself, tends to make one reminisce, so I started reminiscing about the time that I drove Biscuit Baba from the foot of the hill on which he stays to town. Oh, I was so excited! Biscuit Baba had given me the honour and opportunity of driving him to town!!!

Biscuit Baba seemed to be rather loose that day. No, I don’t mean at loose ends. Just loose. Every time I started the car, Biscuit Baba somehow left the passenger seat and ended up in the rear seat. Moreover, every time I stopped, Biscuit Baba became engrossed in a close scrutiny of the windshield, going to the extent of sitting on the dash board and sometimes even splaying himself on the windshield. In addition, at every right turn he insisted on performing a superhero-like yogasana, remaining suspended horizontal outside his window, with just the tips of his fingers touching the car. At every left turn he tried to squash in to the driver’s seat. And before you ask, let me tell you that yes, we were both of us wearing seat belts. Biscuit Baba’s just stretched each time he made a study of the windshield or performed his yogasana or tried to squash in with me. Perhaps Biscuit Baba’s looseness had affected the seat belt too. Babas have the capability to influence their environs, don’t they? I did not comment on his behaviour of course. Not only do I believe in living and letting others live, I also have the deepest respect for Biscuit Baba and one does not contemplate criticism about another for whom one has the deepest respect.

Then, when I stopped to let a cow pass, I realized that Biscuit Baba must have left his all-knowing, all-prevailing vision at home. I don’t suppose any aam janta can leave their vision home, but then this is Biscuit Baba that I’m talking about. What put the thought in my mind was Biscuit Baba’s surprised and seemingly clueless question asking why we had stopped. I told him we had stopped to let the cow pass. I didn’t want to spoil my crystal clear record by hitting this one I added. Biscuit Baba looked to his left, then in front, then to the right, then turned around, kneeling on the passenger seat, and looked behind. Then asked “Where? Where is the cow?”
I pointed to the bovine in the field at the side of the road.

“But it’s grazing!” Biscuit Baba said in a perplexed voice.

“True, it’s grazing now, but it will want to cross the road soon enough and I don’t want to risk hitting it.” I said.

Adjusting his tall frame into my small car must have made Biscuit Baba uncomfortable, for he made a touchingly pained face. I had seldom seen such agony before. He then started practicing pranayam, taking in deeeeeeeepp breaths and letting them out with in a ‘whoooossshh!’ Strange time and place to be doing pranayam I though, but then, Babas have their mysterious ways.

“But baccha, we’ll be late getting into town if wait for the cow to cross the road. Besides, it may decide not to cross the road after all. How long are you going to wait for the cow?” Biscuit Baba asked after he had finished his pranayam.

“Oh I’m sure it will cross the street Baba, just see.” I said. “And don’t worry about being late. I am blessed Baba. Every time that I drive, the road becomes miraculously empty for as far as the eye can see!”

Sure enough, the cow crossed the road after some time and as we approached town, I was able to show Biscuit Baba the miracle I had mentioned earlier. We could see a traffic jam far ahead at the horizon, but as soon as we got closer, the vehicles either shot ahead, or swerved into auxiliary roads, or parked on side of the main road. We had a clear, empty road in front of us.

“See what I mean Baba?” I asked gleefully. I could get Biscuit Baba into town much ahead of schedule that day.

I sighed happily as I remembered my good deed of that day.

“Baccha, your chai and bhajiyas are getting cold” Biscuit Baba said. I noticed he had gotten over the bad effect of the communion with nature and was his usual placid self again.

“Oh goodness, so they are!” I said, eating another bhajiya and taking a sip of chai.

“Baba, something has been puzzling me.” I said.

“What baccha?” asked Biscuit Baba.

“Whenever I give someone a lift, the person just refuses to stay put. He or she seems to be overtaken by an uncontrollable desire to explore the car from one end of the car to another, usually on their hands and knees . I asked a few people the reason for this before, but nobody gave me an answer. What is even more worrying is all of them seem to catch malaria. They get in the car pink and healthy and by the time they get out of the car, they’re shivering, teeth chattering, eyes have a strange glazed look, complexion becomes pale and they are unable to speak, except chatter some gibberish which I don’t understand. Though I haven’t got malaria as yet, I had the car fumigated and fogged, but even after that the same thing has been happening.” I explained, showing my alarm.

“Baccha, there are some mysteries that are best left unsolved” Biscuit Baba said mysteriously.

“But I’m really concerned about these folks Baba!” I said, quite agitated now.

“Don’t worry Baccha, I can see into the future that not only will you have less people asking you for lifts, but also that those who do accept a lift from you will not get out of the car shivering, or with teeth chattering. They may be unable to speak for a few days after the ride, and they may retain the glazed look in the eyes, but these can’t be helped. Just trust me and rest assured that it is not malaria.” Biscuit Baba said soothingly.

“Baba, why don’t you visit Darjeeling?” I asked in awe.

“Eh?? Darjeeling? Why?” Biscuit Baba seemed confused.

“Well, if you can calm the agitation in my mind so easily, imagine what you can do to the agitation for Gorkhaland!” I said.

Biscuit Baba started doing some exotic pranayam that involved a lot of gulping and gargling. I patiently waited for him to finish, while I sipped the chai and finished the bhajiyas.

“I have another question Baba.” I said after some time had passed and Biscuit Baba had completed those exotic pranayams, then the deep-breathings ones and had even closed his eyes in what I assumed to be a brief meditation.

“What is it baccha?” Biscuit Baba asked.

“Why does there seem to be a universal opinion that women do not drive well, Baba?” I asked.

“What makes you think that, baccha?” Biscuit Baba asked quizzically.

“Well, there are all these jokes about women drivers. Like the sardar or mallu jokes. And besides, whenever I’ve been around guys driving, they see a car not crashing through the signal and say derisively that it must be a woman driver. Why???” I asked indignantly.

“Hmmmm…” Biscuit Baba pondered the question deeply. “Well, it’s like this baccha. Women drivers just don’t have the right judgment when it comes to driving.” Biscuit Baba said cautiously. “Oh! I don’t mean you of course baccha!” he hastened to add.

I wasn’t satisfied. “What do you mean they don’t have the right judgment Baba?” I asked.

“Oh! You know, the usual things! They will refuse to make use of a gap in traffic to move ahead, they will stop at crossroads even if the cars on the other roads are far away. They don’t use hand signals while turning or stopping… there are so many such things.” Baba seemed to have trouble coming up with a solid list of reasons. “The drivers who are behind or around can’t predict what women drivers are going to do next, so invariably there is some problem.” Biscuit Baba said.

“But BABA!!” I wailed. I was hurt, wounded, upset, unhappy, indignant, stung, offended, pained, distressed…oh you get the idea, don’t you? “Baba! I thought you are no longer a man!”

The cup of chai in Biscuit Baba’s somehow crashed to the floor. Biscuit Baba started a chameleon exercise. This time his face changed from beige to a deep maroon and then a rich plum.

“It’s so unfair!” I continued wailing, not having patience enough to let Biscuit Baba finish his amazing asana. “You only told me that you have evolved to a plane higher than men, and NOW YOU SPEAK EXACTLY LIKE THEM AND EVEN TAKE THEIR SIDE!!!!!”
Though I was too upset to notice it, the wind must have put in all its strength in one strong gust, because the cups, the saucers, the sugar pot and even Biscuit Baba all jumped, trembled in the air for a few moments and then settled down again. The wind had made Biscuit Baba’s receding hair stand up straight at attention, but I was too upset to point this out to him.

I rarely cry. Really. Seriously. But Biscuit Baba’s betrayal had hurt, wounded, upset, stung, offended, pained and distressed me.

To my further dismay, he started doing his chameleon exercise again. This time he went from beige to off white to pure white. And he started sweating again, thus having to bring in his no longer crisp handkerchief to work again. I really must tell him to stop abusing himself by doing all these weird asanas. They’re definitely not good for him it seems to me.

“No, no, no, no, NO baccha! You misunderstood!” Biscuit Baba said pleadingly after he had swabbed his face and neck and wrung out the kerchief in the pail. “I was merely trying to place before you the main reasons that PEOPLE consider are behind the poor opinion about women’s driving. You know that since I have become Biscuit Baba I have left all moh and maya behind. I would definitely not take any sides, bachha. Really!”

“Hmm…” I mused, a little mollified now. “Well Baba, let’s take all these points one at a time and analyze them Baba!”

“Oh!?? Must we baccha? Remember, I keep telling you that as much as I love you, I can’t spend the rest of my days on earth with you?” Biscuit Baba sounded quite dismayed.

“Yes, we MUST!” I replied forcefully. “This universal mystery MUST be solved! For starters, let us address this point about judgment. Women drivers don’t have the correct judgment you say? By whose standards may I ask?? MEN’S!!! Right??” I jabbed the table with my index finger and the two cups of chai did a short ballet in their respective saucers, no doubt cheering my brilliant deduction. “Well, how about considering that it may merely be a question of estrogen not speaking the same lingo as testosterone?”

“Who?? What??” Biscuit Baba asked. It seemed like there were several question marks in Arial Black font size 18 floating at various angle all around his head, and a question mark in Arial Black font size 36 suspended right above his head.

“What I mean to say is that men and women think differently Baba.” I explained. “So they react differently to the same situations. And THAT is what causes the confusion, NOT any lack in women’s driving capabilities! Moreover, the thing to note Baba, is that everyday there are 3-4 road accidents, but till now I’ve never read about a woman driver being involved in one!” I sat back smugly, resting my case.

Biscuit Baba took a thoughtful sip of chai. He ate a biscuit thoughtfully.
He ummmed and aaaaaed for a while. Then he cleared his throat. “Baccha, I am grateful to you for the enlightenment you have imparted today.” Biscuit Baba said softly.

I felt I had started floating 6 mm above the bench I was formerly sitting on. I gasped. Wondorously. Imagine! ME being able to enlighten Biscuit Baba?? Oh man!

The rain had stopped, so on this wonderful note we concluded our satsangh for the day.

Tags: humour

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vidyut_strikes said:
Manisha, the insight into gender dynamics and literally seeing two sides of the fence continues to astound me and leave me gaping even as I support my aching cheeks with both palms and render myself incapable of commenting from all the laughter.

Absolutely, mind bogglingly, fantabulousingly awesome!!!

August 02, '08

creativefront said:
Very nice. I liked your humourous style in which you have discussed a serious matter - on ladies driving. After all Biscuit Baba came out as a man. Reality is that driving is not dependent on gender. Men & women both may be good or bad depending on their individual nature.
Thanks for a good post but it was somewhat lengthy. It could be short. Isn't it Maneesha ?

July 28, '08

BrainyBakra said:
ROFL...ROFLMAO........... Wonderful......

Kitty,,,, you drove both baba and bakra crazy with your excellent driving.

Nice blog. Funny to the limit.

July 08, '08

ASYLUM said:
sounds better but what does it mean?

July 07, '08

solarflare said:
it'd sound better as "strias chittam deva naa jaananti"

July 07, '08

gariahatCAP said:
Biscuit Baba,Don't worry
striascharitram deva nah jananti
gariahatCAP

July 05, '08

manisha_bhattacharya said:
asylum --- now you've got me thinking too...

June 30, '08

ASYLUM said:
we'd kill to be chauffeured around

June 30, '08

manisha_bhattacharya said:
Neha -- On my part, I try my best to fulfill all requirements of a woman driver, so that invariably folks will offer to drive me around and I get to enjoy the scenery!!

June 29, '08

neha_sh2000 said:
hey....was almost missing the all-knowing biscuit baba.....:).he is back with a bang!!....so sensitive too....hilarious....

...made my day..

well have the same situation at home....kids gently putting across that i need to practise a bit....hubby suggesting ....what r drivers for...u sit back and relax....so i am doing so these days...

With b'lore traffic isnt this a luxury?

June 29, '08

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