The powerful growling car had no seat belts - the dashboard was covered by a strip of grey furry carpet - I could have been in a black Mercedes, with 300,000 kilometres on the clock, on my way to Taroudant -
A rosary was suspended from the rear view mirror - a strange effigy of the Virgin adorned the windscreen -
Our driver drove with ferocious sullen verve - headlight beams raked the interior of the car whenever we overtook an auto rickshaw -
The windows were half open - this was no air conditioned prissy beast - the scent of dust, diesel oil and spices filled my nostrils - the mad hooting of vehicles dinned in my ears -
I imagined myself, driving north west to Ooty, undaunted by the thirty six hairpin bends -
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