the dent

Every dent has a story to tell...

‘Thud’ the door was slammed. ‘What the hell’ I turned behind. For a minute I felt I was sitting in infront of a bout when The Undertaker choke slammed Batista and ‘thud’ there was a sound. God damn, this is a Getz, not a 1970 model ambassador, I wanted to shout. The more I seemed to love my car, the more I am confronted to such incidents.

I clucked the seat belt and shifted to the first gear, disengaging the clutch. I just had a glance at the rear view mirror when I saw something dark move, real fast. What’s that? I have never seen a thing move so fast. It was in my car’s rear seat. I looked behind. There’s nothing, I shrugged my shoulders.

Damn f@#king alcohol. My eyelids were too heavy. I can still manage to drive. It’s only a matter of 50 KM. Still swaying under the influence of Johnny Walker, I was driving along the Karimnagar highway towards Hyderabad. The roads were pretty empty. 30...40...50... the indicator slowly crossed one mark after the other.

Just then I was blinded by a dipper from behind. Alcohol in the blood and with more and more adrenaline being pumped, I am a tough customer to deal with, particularly on the road.

I took a deep breath and a fresh intake of oxygen by my lungs slightly negated the alcohol effect. “I see you,” I said as I stepped up the gas. The red indicator upped from two to five on the tachometer which reads per 1000rpm. Still in the 4th gear, my car raced from 50 to 100 KMPH in five seconds flat.

Holding the wheel with my left hand with my thumb locking the groove, I lifted my right hand and showed my index finger, the McDowell’s way and said, “I like it my way” still looking at the rear view mirror triumphantly with a raised Jack Nicholson’s devilish brow.

But to my horror, two pairs of eyes were seemingly watching me and gaining on me. The headlights of which flashed on and off, the Urban Legend style. I turned behind to warn him when I saw a dark silhouette holding an axe and dashing towards my car.

A drop of sweat meandered through the dusky beard and in that moment of trepidation, the alcohol effect faded out and I was back to my senses.

Why the hell is this black car guy following me? “Oh shit... damn shit...” I just remembered what happened a few minutes back.

Returning from my friends B’ day party, I was trying to overtake a vehicle when I saw a lorry coming in the opposite direction. I had to either brake or accelerate further overtaking the black car on my left. The lorry was almost 300 metres away when I swerved in the path of the black car. He had no choice but to swerve further left to avoid a collision with my car. And the next moment he was off the road into the fields.

I wanted to apologize but at this time and in this condition, a definite ‘no’. All I saw was a thick trail of dust in the direction where’s he gone. No, where he’s forced into.

And now, I see he’s coming back for me. This unprecedented action of mine has provoked him. With a clenched fist, I hit my chin. “I brushed against some rogue criminal. He’s having an axe in his hand and right now, he’s behind me,” I called up my friend. “Keep driving. Don’t stop. I will inform the police,” he said.

“Keep driving, my ass,” there was a pause for a while. “Man, he can drive,” I thought, wondering how he must have come back onto the road.

I have almost reached the cantonment road and my engine was already rattling at this speed. And suddenly there was a jerk and I was pushed forward. “Damn...he rammed into me...” I thought as my head whipped against the headrest. I gripped the wheel firmly before ‘thud’. Once again. This time he hit even more forcibly. The tyres screeched like a Beethoven’s high pitched Quartet and my car swerved before I finally managed to balance it.

I looked at the rear view mirror. He was approaching even faster this time. I was prepared for the worst when I saw an Army truck coming in the perpendicular direction, ram into the black car behind me, a scene straight out of a Hollywood flick.

Then I noticed that I was crossing a + junction when I dint notice the red signal. I was lucky enough to cross the road but he wasn’t. I had a good mind to stop my car and help him out. But something sinister inside me held back my nerves and I reached home in a few minutes.

The whole night I had a disturbed sleep and I was troubled by the fact that I was responsible for the accident. The next morning I raced to the same place where the accident happened. There were no signs of any wreckage nor any burnt marks of the tyres on the road.

“Bloody f@#king shit... I just saw it yesterday night,” I told my friend. “Shall we check out with the police?” I asked. “That will pose a problem to you,” he said and I nodded.

I was back at my home and completely forgot about this incident and was browsing through the net. Just then a Pop-up window appeared from nowhere. Must be one of those f@#king porn promos, I thought as I was about to close the window when the photo of a truck caught my attention.

“Shit...” A chill ran down my spine and the window gave me the scare of my life. Two years back, a black car was hit by a speeding Army truck at 12:30 AM on 11-April. I looked at the date today. It’s 11-April.

I immediately ran a Google search for the same and the news archive from The Hindu confirmed the same.

Many questions crisscrossed my mind. Hadn’t the black car hit me twice, I would have been dead like him. Did his ghost come and save me? Is he caught in a time warp and he’s trying to save me or any other soul who’s coming in this way? What about the dent?

I totally forgot about the dent.

“Damn,” I pushed the reclining chair and dashed downstairs towards my car. I almost froze in fright when I saw the rear portion of my car badly dented. I neared the car and ran my fingers through the dented bumper and then looked at them. They were smeared with a black paint. My Getz is a blue coloured one. That means I must have been hit by a black coloured car. A ghost for real? And I trembled.

My sister and brother, almost 10 years younger to me, listened to this narration holding their breaths even as I showed them the dent on the Getz. There was silence for a while before my dad called out my name.

“The black car guy who’s dashed your car is here. Get the matter settled soon,” he said. And I looked at my sister and brother who were staring fiercely at me. And I knew it’s my time to get dented.