Somewhere in the nineties I bought what I believed was the most elegant machine on the Indian road. It was the Tata Estate and I must say that vehicle looked like a dream. It stood outside my house like royalty.
It was long and majestic.
It was spacious and comfortable and it was the envy of every neighbour who walked past my gate. I confess I puffed my chest out with pride whenever I sat at the wheel. I felt I owned something that finally proved India had arrived.
My joy was short lived. Not five years. Not even one year. Five months. Five months and the trouble began. First the engine coughed like it had taken ill. Then the brakes decided they were meant only for city traffic and could not handle a long journey. The power steering felt like a reluctant bullock that did not want to pull the cart. Every trip took twice the time with me looking anxiously at the temperature gauge like a hospital attendant watching a patient who might collapse any minute.
The service centre knew me so well that I felt like sending them Diwali sweets and Christmas cake. We spent so much time together. They smiled. I groaned. And every time I sat in the car I prayed harder than I prayed in church.
I often wondered who had designed it.
What kind of engineers had put it together.
Were they chosen because they were brilliant or because they were somebody’s nephew or cousin or college mate. Was it ability or was it favour. Was it skill or was it quota.
Today as the world watches the Tejas crash and we rush to defend ourselves with an array of explanations and excuses my mind goes back to that proud gleaming vehicle outside my door. We keep boasting that we are among the top countries in the world in engineering. We pat ourselves on the back for becoming a superpower. We laugh at western reports that declare us one of the most corrupt nations. We dismiss poverty statistics. We cover up poor records in education and research. We silence critics. We admire ourselves so loudly that we drown out the truth.
But in one tragic second the world sees what lies beneath the paint. One crash and suddenly the questions arise. Are we pretending. Are we overselling. And the world is not fooled. They have seen our bridges fall. They have seen our data. They have seen our rankings. And though we will soon shout pilot error the world hears design flaw. They hear negligence. They hear mismanagement. They hear corruption.
My gleaming Tata Estate became the embarrassment of my neighbourhood. The Tejas crash has become the embarrassment of a nation that wanted to strut on the runway like a peacock.
It is time to fix the oil leak…!
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