Buying a Car

Lucknow, seven in the morning.

Day had just broken, and Dipti had already been standing downstairs from the apartment building opposite the University of Lucknow for twenty minutes.

She still wore yesterday's white shirt, her hair tied in a low ponytail, with a faded cloth bag at her feet. Dipti had packed two changes of clothes, an old towel, a notebook, and a photograph of her grandmother inside.

Dipti had not slept well the night before and could not suppress a yawn.

At seven sharp, a yellow-and-black auto-rickshaw turned the street corner. A string of old brass bells hung from its canopy, jingling as it moved.

Dipti did not see Aditya sitting in the back until the rickshaw stopped in front of her.

Aditya climbed out in a white shirt and dark trousers, his sacred thread showing outside his collar.

Aditya first glanced at Dipti. She looked a little better than yesterday.

Dipti's face was still very pale, but her eyes were not as dull as they had been yesterday. Her hair seemed freshly washed and was not quite dry, a few loose strands clinging to her temples.

The white shirt was a little thin, and a line of poetry came to Aditya: The jade mountain rises high, its twin peaks cold.

Aditya took only one look at the jade mountain before hurriedly averting his gaze.

"Senior, how long have you been waiting?" he asked.

Dipti shook her head. "I only just came down."

Aditya glanced at the cloth bag at her feet. "Is that everything?"

"Yes."

Aditya bent to pick up the bag.

Dipti stepped forward and said quietly, "I can carry it myself."

"Get in." Aditya held the bag in his hand without giving it to her.

The rickshaw driver turned his head. "Where to, sir?"

"The south of the city, Mahindra Car Dealership," Aditya said.

Aditya had long since had enough of India's traffic. Now that he had money, he had already made his plans: first, he would buy a secondhand car to drive. Otherwise, once the textile factory was built, wouldn't it be a joke for its owner not to have so much as a means of getting around?

Dipti sat on the inside and Aditya on the outside, with a fist's width between them.

The rickshaw jolted and set off.

Lucknow had not yet fully awakened in the early morning.

Black iron woks stood at the tea stalls, with pakoras bubbling in the oil. White steam rose from the large copper pots used to brew milk tea, and the vendors wrapped black cloth around the handles as they poured into clay cups.

A few men squatted beside the road, breaking pieces off naan and dipping them in chickpea mash. A white cow ambled through the middle of the street, with bicycles and rickshaws steering around it.

A little flower girl cradled strings of jasmine, chasing after people hurrying on their way and calling softly, "One rupee a string, sir."

Although he had seen scenes like this many times already, Aditya still found them novel.

Watching it all, he silently thought, India really is a magical place. How did I end up being reborn here?

It's hard to imagine that here in Lucknow in 1992, I'm actually sitting in a battered rickshaw, smelling diesel mingled with jasmine, with a woman beside me whom I only truly got to know yesterday.

Dipti kept her head half lowered, her arms resting on her knees and her fingers gripping the cloth bag's straps.

Aditya glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. This girl had stood at the Bureau of Industry for two hours yesterday just to wait for a form. If he had not come today, she probably would have packed her bags herself and returned to her village to marry a Vaishya man she did not know.

A university student who ranked first in Luckzi University's accounting department, with no job, left with no choice but to keep cow-dung accounts for her in-laws. What a heaven-defying country. Luckily for you, you met me. Just behave yourself and be my workhorse! Even as Aditya thought this, it still felt like a dream.

After traveling for a while, they passed a sugarcane juice stall. Dipti glanced at it, then quickly looked away.

Aditya said nothing. He knew the girl was probably hungry.

By the time they reached the dealership in the south of the city, the sun had climbed into the sky. Jeeps in varying states of age lined both sides of the road, their windows reflecting white sunlight.

Before the rickshaw reached the main entrance, Aditya had the driver stop by the roadside. He climbed out carrying the cloth bag, then turned to wait for Dipti.

Dipti swayed as she got out. Aditya reached out to steady her, but she blushed and dodged his hand.

"My uncle got here first," Aditya told Dipti. "He came at daybreak and has already had a look around."

Dipti looked up. "Your uncle?"

"Yes, my blood uncle. He stayed at the hotel with me last night. He came over after five this morning."

Aditya walked toward the dealership entrance. "My uncle should know a little about cars, so I had him take a look first."

As he spoke, Madan emerged from the dealership's side entrance, wearing an old light-brown shirt and dark trousers, with a narrow waistcloth tied around his waist.

He saw Aditya first, then Dipti behind him, and paused.

Madan neither pressed his palms together nor nodded. Standing at the dealership entrance, he glanced at Dipti, then looked at Aditya.

Madan asked, "Who is she?"

Aditya explained, "Uncle, this is my senior from Luckzi University. Her name is Dipti Gupta. I want to hire him as the textile factory's accountant. She ranked first at the University of Lucknow's business school."

Madan glanced at Dipti again. Her head was lowered, her fingers pressed against the bag's straps, as though she were standing at someone else's door.

Madan gave an "Mm" and paid Dipti no attention.

He looked at Aditya and said, "I've checked the cars. Three are worth negotiating over, one isn't. Look at the white one first. It's in better condition than the others, but the owner isn't honest. He talks in circles."

Aditya knew perfectly well that his uncle Madan was not very pleased.

Madan had nothing against Dipti. It was just that a young Brahmin man suddenly bringing a low-caste girl along to conduct business would not sound good if word got out.

But Madan could no longer read this nephew of his. Still, he trusted him very much now and would not oppose anything Aditya did. Of course he would not embarrass his nephew.

Besides, Aditya was now the one in charge of the Mishra Family. Although Madan was his uncle, he too listened to Aditya.

"Let's look at the white one first," Aditya said.

They walked into the open parking area behind the dealership. Three old jeeps stood in a row. The white Mahindra in the middle had been polished the brightest, its front facing the sun and its paint gleaming.

A salesman came out from an inner room to greet them. He was around forty, with dark, ruddy skin and oiled hair slicked flat against his scalp. He looked first at Madan, then at Aditya, before finally sweeping his gaze over Dipti.

"Back again, sir?" he said to Madan with a smile. "Take another good look at the one I told you about. We bought it from a tax official last year. It's never been in an accident and hasn't been driven much."

Madan ignored him. Aditya walked over to the white jeep, lifted the hood, and said, "Start it up. Let me listen."

The salesman pulled open the door and turned the key. The engine started with a slightly shaky sound.

Aditya stood three meters away and listened. He had driven many cars in his previous life. With an old jeep like this, a few seconds of listening were enough to tell whether the engine had internal damage. He walked over and rested his hand on the hood.

"Step on the accelerator."

The salesman pressed it once. The engine revved with a vroom, then settled back down. There was a faint clack-clack, as though something inside had come loose.

Aditya had his answer. There was a problem with the car. It had been repaired, but the repairs had not been done properly.

He circled around to the rear and crouched to inspect the rear axle and chassis. Then he walked to the passenger side, pulled open the door, and examined the welds beneath the doorframe. One patch of paint was the wrong color. It seemed to have been repainted, with body filler applied as well.

"This car's been hit on the side."

Dipti stood behind him. Her eyes were not on the car, but on Aditya.

Aditya straightened. "What's the mileage?"

"Fifty-eight thousand," the salesman said.

"Fifty-eight thousand," Aditya repeated, then asked, "The weatherstripping's worn right through. Would fifty-eight thousand wear it down like this?"

The salesman smiled ingratiatingly. "Sir, it's a used car. A little wear is perfectly normal. If you really like it, we can still negotiate the price."

Aditya pointed at the engine. "There's a clacking noise. This car's been repaired, and not well. It's been repainted beneath the doorframe. The side's been hit."

The salesman's expression stiffened. He gave a strained laugh and replied, "Sir, you can't just say things like that. We're a legitimate dealership."

"I'm here to buy a car. I'm not interested in whether the dealership is legitimate. All I care about is whether the car is good," Aditya said. "I can buy one that's been hit and repaired. But you can't price it like a car in good condition."

He turned to Madan. "What about the gray one?"

Madan lifted his chin toward the side. "The gray one hasn't been in an accident, but the engine leaks oil. There's another one in the warehouse, but its paperwork is incomplete. I had the owner open the warehouse, but I haven't had time to look yet."

Aditya said, "Let's look at the one in the warehouse."

"This one will definitely meet your requirements."

The salesman followed, his mouth never stopping.

Aditya ignored him.