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Blue Jean Baby, LA Lady

Tiny Dancer is probably a song you don’t know, by a singer no one probably even listens to these days named Elton John. I like it very much, so the other day I was delighted when some wise and resourceful DJ played it on the radio on my way to work.

My delight soon turned to rage, however, because all of a sudden, and without even letting the song reach mid-way, a woman with the sort of voice you hear in daytime advertisements for banks announcing their deposit schemes interrupted to ‘remind’ the listeners about the hazards of drug abuse. How dare she! What gives her the right to barge in on one of my favourite songs, a song which is played on the radio only once every 25 years, to tell me about the effects of drug abuse, a subject I’m sure no one’s interested in including the drug addicts. I mean, listening to her repeat the same thing at least once every half hour actually makes you want to try that stuff if you already haven’t!

All Local radio stations do this. They have the power to interrupt your listening pleasure with their irrelevant traffic reports, and none of them bother to turn off the ‘interrupt’ button when the announcement is over. They hope, of course, that you’ll be so impressed with their regular programming that you’ll continue to listen for the rest of your life. What you actually want to do is drive over and ram your car into their reception desk.

My obsession with good sound whilst driving probably dates back to my first car that I owned during my college days: a worn down Toyota Datsun that barely made it from one end to the other. Somehow I scraped enough money to install two speakers and a Chinese player; which was all I could afford then. This will give you an idea of how bad the stereo really was. Once some thief broke into it, stole a rear light and some clothes lying on the back seat, but didn’t even bother stealing the music system. Absolute gooiness. And this gooiness is why I didn’t empty all the swear words in my vocabulary into the driver of the Kia Piccanto that obstructed my way for what seemed like a good 15 kms on the way to Gorkha. The driver looked old, and it was pretty hot. So although the road was smooth and empty and no slipperier than a sheet of salty sandpaper, I knew his reflexes were not as they had once been and therefore, 30 kms an hour on an empty highway made sense. In case you’re wondering, I’m being sarcastic. Stuck on a relatively empty highway behind a lame driver is equivalent to being gifted a powerful hunting rifle and forced to turn into a vegetarian. We see evidence of this intelligence everywhere we turn.

Of course, there are still idiots who drive through the single lanes at 100 km/hr on their stupid ‘modified’ bikes, and there are still people who defy logic and buy the cheap Chinese imitations, but for the most part, all of humankind is bright and sassy and clever.

Then again, if you’re stuck on an empty highway behind an idiot in his ‘compact’ car while a resourceful DJ interrupts your favorite song to squeeze in a ‘don’t do drugs’ announcement, not really.

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