Jalali Baba bought this dilapidated Pontiac, against his humble servant's sound advice, and promptly fell in love with it - the Pontiac that is. Half the things in the car did not work, but that still did not change the fact that the electronic seats moved eight ways, and that your hand landed right onto the gear stick if you rested your arm on the arm rest. What was also of consequence was that the hood of the car alone stretched a foot or two longer than his whole Daihatsu back in Karachi. It did not matter that the transmission was totally messed up, and would have to be overhauled anytime soon, nor did it matter that the automatic windows did not roll down on half the doors, I forget which ones. He was not even bothered by the fact that the air-conditioning unit's efficiency was inversely proportional to the altitude of the mercury.
It was high maintenance, there was no doubting that, but it was low priced. He was happy with it. I, on the other hand, pitied him. American cars have been so outdone by their Japanese counterparts here in the Middle East that the idea of buying a second hand American car is often ridiculed. For one thing the only air conditioning that seems to have any answers to the oppressive Middle East temperatures seems to be under the Japanese hoods - yet he was happy, the seats went eight-way, and the hood was larger than the Daihatsu. It was late in the year, and mercury was only taxiing before its imminent take-off.
Off and on, he kept discovering the wonders of the car, and would make a point of calling me up and letting me know about them. Like the time, he found out that the car came with a computer built in, a computer that when plugged into would give a detailed break up of what was or was not wrong with the car. He was not perplexed by the so many things that were wrong. He was amazed you could tell it all in a jiffy. Understandably, I got the call.
Then, he had this Patrol (a Nissanic cousin of the Land Cruiser) clip his bumper rather harshly. He was all worked up that day because he had been in Al-Ain with family, and the outing was destroyed. But, the next day he was delirious. He had been to the mechanic who had told him that the casualty in the accident had been this layer of protection fitted after the bumper to absorb any impacts headed chassis way. What brilliant engineering, he remarked. Again the reason to celebrate was not that the chassis had been spared in the accident, but the fact that the car was sophisticated enough to be equipped with such a crucial mechanism.
Once when he was going back from Sharjah, with the family again, this rock flew off the truck in front of him, and landed on the front seat next to him after going right through his wind shield. That was at around 2 a.m., because that was the time I got the call from him. Called me right when he was arguing with the truck driver, and told me the whole story, including the dialogue he had had so far with the driver. The ordeal finished a couple of hours later, and he went on to terrorize the insurance company as well the mechanic appointed by the insurance company for a complete over haul of the wind shield. Of course, I got every minute detail.
He had rightly nick-named it Saab Ki Gaadi (SKG). SKG was a multi-purpose term. It told you at once that the car was high maintenance, that it was not for the lowly scum to own or drive around - alluding to yours truly, that Baba could afford it, and that Baba was Saab - short for Bada Saab. He could choose to be humble too when it suited him, but the car would still be called Saab Ki Gaadi. In those rare moments of humility, he would plainly remark that he was these days looking for Saab. Essentially, the car was royal stuff, and an association with it was royal in nature. Effectively, Saab Ki Gaadi accorded royal status to Jalali Baba.
SKG showed at a couple of occasions though that it was gifted with the trait of "Mardam Shanasi" - the art of deciphering men for who they are, and provided ample evidence of its own good up-bringing in the process. This it did by showing immense respect to yours truly. Remember those windows that would not roll down, well half of those that did not roll down, one in all but numerical representation can sometimes fail to underline the magnitude of an eventuality, miraculously rolled down when yours truly's index finger dropped a rather not-so-subtle hint. At another occasion, when the same finger was fiddling with the controls, SKG revealed a pleasant attribute hitherto not known to Saab (Jalali Baba) himself - SKG was fitted with fog lamps, and they could be lighted. Jalali Baba was unaware of either of the afore mentioned facts, and hence was pleasantly surprised, slightly impressed with yours truly, and quite amused by SKG's concern for the feelings of the under-priveleged - the latter an allusion once again to yours truly.
Alas! SKG was sold last month. Jalali Baba is still in denial, and goes into a melancholic, meditative mood every time a Pontiac passes by him on the road. He has yet to reconcile himself with the fact that there is life after SKG. For now, he almost got thrown out of a Toyota Showroom for trying to find a computer under the hood of a Toyota Echo, for trying to move the Toyota Corolla's three-way moving seats eight-ways, and for almost breaking the Land Cruiser Prado's arm rest for its inability to connect his arm to the gear stick when the said arm was rested on the mentioned arm rest. Word has gone around the market, and quite a few showrooms are seen sporting Jalali Baba not welcome signs at their entrances. On the other hand, people at GM, Chevrolet and Chrysler have made Jalali Baba an integral part of their ad campaigns, and continue to implore Jalali Baba to endorse their products. They have actually offered to gift him their top-of-the-range cars also, but he has declined such offers after careful deliberation. Sure, the seats move eight ways, the hoods are all larger than Daihatsu Charades, and the arm rest and the gear stick are strategically fitted to suit his preferences. But, they fail only in one department - on all their cars, all four windows roll down at the touch of respective buttons. What is an automobile without Pontiacic imperfections? For now, Jalali Baba travels by taxis, and his favorite pass-time is dissing the taxis he rides in. Often, he has had to walk home.
How did he come to be called Jalali Baba? Now, that's another story. One that shall have to wait.
