Skip to main content

Van Life

 I have had some experience with van life, and have even mentioned it in my "Different Saumyas" post. No, I'm not talking about selling my house and living in a van like recent social media trends might have you thinking, I'm simply talking about commuting to school and back in a van.

Like I said in the post linked above, it definitely contributed to my personality. I am not the kind of person who would just not say anything when somebody attempts to be rude anymore.

It has also given me a few of my fond memories.

One very rainy day, the streets had flooded and the van stopped on the road. The driver (who was the worst out of all I had during my van life) simply stepped out of the car and went into some unknown abyss out of our sight without saying a word . This lack of concern for us was not uncharacteristic of him, more on that later. The van currently had a girl my age, a boy a couple years junior, and of course, me. All was fine and well and we continued chatting.

Suddenly,
White smoke appeared,
coming out of the engine,
right beneath our feet.

As any person that age would do, we freaked out, yelled, and got out of the car. Our shoes and socks, were fully drenched.
Luckily, the place we were had some trees and they also had a circle of cement around the soil in which they were growing in. We hopped on the platform it provided and I think even "climbed", more like hopped onto the tree for a few seconds.

Then the driver came back, rang up the phone and a new van came and dropped us to our homes.

The second story also starts with van seemingly malfunctioning. All was fine and dandy when we all undeniably started smelling something burning. Concerned, the van driver, (not the one from the previous story, I doubt he would have even stopped the van if he was in this place) stopped the van and started looking for something. All of us kids were on the tiny little footpath one the end of the road. After a few minutes, and the driver repeatedly telling us he cant find anything wrong, we realized, it was not the van, it was the road beside us being built giving the smell of coal and tar.

A third time the van stopped, we started climbing on the boundary of the house (with no intention to climb over it) which was beside us. After we noticed the house had CCTV, we all hoped the owners weren't home.

So here they are, a few mildly interesting stories from my van life.

About the worst driver- he frequently used to stop near a pan shop frequently. We all used to chat and didn't really pay any attention to where he actually went once he stepped out. One time we did pay attention, we discovered that he actually went to a liquor shop nearby and clearly walked out with a flask in his pant pocket. With the way his driving was, it was not too far fetched to assume he was drinking and driving. He promptly got fired. So that was weird.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Journey Back Home

 The journey back home begins with a sigh of fulfillment followed by a thought of determination. Armed with the metro card which brings me immense convenience, I walk briskly and quickly from the college to the metro station, eager to reach the comfort of my home, to my lovely mother and her delicious and nutritious food, to my cute dog which demands pets, to my  bed which seems to call me with great appeal.  Although the destination is fated and the end always provides huge relief, it is not without obstacles and temptations. The surroundings also provide amusement.  Ignoring the appetising aroma of the bhel puri, momo, and ice cream and refusing to join in with the crowds relishing in their taste, I walk further to climb the stairs in a little effort to maintain my fitness. Quickly taking my bottle out of my bag before putting it through the security scan, and getting scanned myself, I head upstairs, wondering whether the sound of the metro is the one I have to sit...

Babaji

 In this post I'm going to recount a few fond memories with my paternal grandfather, Babaji. Most of these are of the time when he used to pick me up from school for a few months in fourth grade. He used to pick me up from the front field of our school and we walked back to the car, often holding hands. I often found a small stone to kick along the way. In the car, there would be always waiting for me a pillow and a bottle of cold water. It felt no less than luxury. He asked me eagerly what I learned in school. I remember one time I told him I had learned a new word- unique. He asked me what it's meaning was and I said different. But that's not an exact synonym, and he explained the nuance in the different meaning of the two words. I remember, earlier he had explained to me the same way how the Hindi words बाल and केश differed from each other. Since he used to pick me up from the field, where a lot of my classmates were waiting to be picked up too, I often asked them how ol...

Slam Book

 6-year-old me enters a book shop, mesmerised. Surrounded by book shelves filled with the things I love, I quickly ran up to one that interested me. It said Slam Book at the top, whatever that meant. It was filled with different questions. How interesting! You could answer the whole book filled with different questions on every page, and it could be like an encyclopaedia about you! Or so my self centered brain thought. Turns out, it's just the same questions repeated again and again, and  other  people are supposed to fill it, like your classmates when you're leaving school so that you can look back on the MeMoRIeS later on. My disappointment was immeasurable and my day was ruined. Four years pass. I get an idea. Why not fill a slam book, but you answer the questions intended for each person yourself, with a regular gap in time between them, so that you can see how you change over time? Like a diary for lazy people. I followed through. Wrote every month. But only two time...