After an abridged jungle safari, a refreshing hike to Irpu falls and a thrilling ride down the white rapids of Laxmanteertha, the rest of the group headed back for Bangaluru to attend to Lord Ganesha.
I was to visit Belur and Halebeedu (Halebid) and I had rented myself a Jeep.
Jeeps have been a perennial fascination for me. I remember Bollywood actor Dharmendra as a forest ranger drive one with a collapsible windscreen in the motion picture Shikar. I had travelled several times in the canopy covered backseat across the arid backcountry of Maharashtra in my uncle’s standard government issue. As a kid, I read a comic series called Commando that told and retold classic World War II stories. The comic inextricably wove the rugged vehicle into the war theatre – African prairies, Amazonian jungles, war-torn European country sides. I own a Jeep Grand Cherokee. I even evaluated a Wrangler as a second vehicle at one point in time before good sense prevailed. (Read – The wife overrode the decision).
Build along the lines of the iconic Willis, Jeep is the original Indian SUVs. They are built to handle demanding terrains. They are tough as nails and as comfortable. They are minimalistic and austere. No fanfare. No fuss. Pure business of getting from place A to place B especially when A and B is connected by brutal, unpaved roads.
As I usually end up doing, I cajoled the driver into letting me drive.
He was hesitant at the beginning though relaxed when he saw me climb up to fifth without the engine knocking. The Jeep turned out to be an extreme difficult beast to shepherd. There is no concept of a straight line drive. It seems to be continuously slipping and sliding, requiring white knuckled struggle to keep it on the road. Eventually I figured out that the steering needed to be somewhere between 10:30 and 11:00 to keep the wheels at 12:00. Built like a rock, it felt like a rock. A pothole need not be avoided unless you are unprepared for the jarring feedback that the wheel sends up the suspension, across the axle, through the steering all the way to the root of every tooth.
There is no pretense of safety. No seatbelts. No doors, unless you can hypnotize yourselves in believing the fastidiously fastened, continuously flapping tarpaulin to contain a spilling human body.
30KMs outside Hassan, I handed over the command to the designated driver. Not because the shoulder muscles were knotted. Not because the elbows were jarred. Not because mind was tired of the over steer/under steer calculations. But because of all of these.
I never got used to it. Yet, loved every second of it. I will never drive one again. And yet, I will always want to.
