The pumpkin coach

We were a motley group of middle class women, in our late 20s and early 30s with a healthy disregard for propriety, status or position as we sat huddled cheek-by-jowl in the close confines of a Matador van. As teachers we rode the same 14 km to and from college, five days a week for almost five years. Drivers drooled, drove and dumped us. Kumar, Aziz and Anbu were the Amar, Akbar and Anthony of our automotive escapades. The carriages we rode in, graduated from a barely-held-together contraption on four wheels to a plush and roomy mini van. The change reflected our growing needs and desire for creature comforts.

The first few months were spent in familiarising ourselves with the landscape and the route. Once we figured who got in where and when, we shifted our focus to the internal landscape of trust and shared confidence. As the comfort levels grew so did the noise levels. Like a Mexican wave, there would be a cheery ‘Hi’ and ‘Bye’ with every entrance and exit. An entrance into the hallowed forum would be punctuated by personal comments — “Is that a new sari?”, “What perfect accessories!”, “I love that shade of lipstick!” There was never a hint of malice or a shade of jealousy in those exclamations. It was just pure, unadulterated ‘girl’ time.

Cholis, necklines and what lay behind them were topics that were dealt with casually. There was neither embarrassment nor reserve. Our naughty asides and innuendoes would have made Victoria with her little secrets blush! In fact, a certain van regular would engage in an adorning and unveiling ritual everyday. As soon as she had perched her delectable seat on the edge of the row, she would dig into her bag, a magical treasure chest, from which jewellery flew out and found their mark on fingers, wrists, ears and neck. ‘‘Saves time,’’ she would say. We understood perfectly but that didn’t stop us from knighting her with several immodest titles.

‘The van gang,’ as we christened ourselves, soon became synonymous with joint ventures. We had parties to celebrate events and milestones and went to the movies, weddings, funerals and sales! In time, the van became a space for transformation and renewal. It was fascinating to see how we shed our prim and proper garbs as respectable mothers, wives, daughters-in-law and became high-spirited girls who giggled, guffawed, grimaced and groaned. When we reached our destination we swiftly arranged our professorial airs about us and readied ourselves for business.

Most of us are in the driver’s seat now; our vehicles, symbols of our upwardly mobile careers. When we see each other at events, we slip into gear and take a nostalgic trip down memory lane. Each meeting ends in a flashback of our journeys of simple pleasures, pure joy and sheer delight. The van was truly our creative space to be and become. There hangs a fairy tale with no prince, just women with magic in their hearts and a pumpkin coach.