People are reborn when they really want revenge. Since I haven’t interacted with any of the ilk this information is from the movies.
But cars, whether you are into anthropomorphising or not, I tell you, come back for love. The still-flowing love from living people.
This was distinctly the reason in the case of the new Tata Sierra. Definitely my love for sure. It came in early 90s and moulded manliness – what underwear does today, unfortunately – till production stopped during 2000s. I drove one for a while during a busy career phase – working as subeditor with a newsweekly and dating somebody from office. Both of us happening, promising, journalists. We were away for the weekend, I remember, and Monday morning she had violin classes before work. Though resigned to missing it, I could see she was bummed. She loved strings attached. The instrument, I mean.
I drove fast, over different terrains, through big and little towns, peopled places and traffic. Just like in the ad featuring the sexy devil Rahul Dev. We reached with a minute to spare. I still play on my mind the look she gave me – an eye kind of proposal. Or, maybe she was happy.
Like most cars of the era, when compared to those today, it was a plodder alright. But a magnificent one at that: the curved-over rear window was a head-turner. Admittedly, with a three-door design it was a cumber to get into the backseat. Then, when you are single who needed an expansive second row anyway! It had many features that made it a premium SUV at the time like air conditioning, power windows and a tachometer – all of which are normal today. Before I stop tom-toming the OG features, I must tell you that it was a 4-wheeldrive. The reborn has reneged on that. Told you, it was love not revenge.
Then when you get the opportunity to take the new Sierra – honestly, any car for that matter; let me make it anything with an engine – out for a couple of weeks through some very mean terrains, courtesy Tata themselves, you don’t baulk but begin with the christening itself. Right from my first Raleigh bicycle in school (not very imaginatively called ‘Rally’ ridden with a lot of wheelies, hops and endos – you get the drift) to my current motorcycle (‘Silver Bullet’, an Interceptor) and Thar Roxx (‘Jose Sir’, my dad, whose Mahindra jeep I remember giving me my first goosebumps eons ago.). The new flaming yellow (formally called ‘Andaman adventure’) Sierra I named ‘Yellowstone.’ It also helped that I am in love with Kelly Reilly, Beth of the eponymous series. Slightly protruding teeth is the new raunchy.
While the new Sierra has many hark backs to the OG, including a large part of the exterior, most of it is keeping up with modern trends – even upping it in many places. The welcome and goodbye lights spark a smile, gets you in the mood. Door handles are flush – and lit, usefully – I, personally don’t mind a bit of inconvenience for the looks. Once inside, the triple screen setup made me go whoa! at first. Maybe from an older generation of drivers, I initially felt this was an overkill; to be privy to these kinds of consoles you had to be Han Solo. Then, call of the times.
The drive
Right after Covid. When we all wanted to do everything we ever wanted to. And more. I motorcycled from Delhi to Srinagar in one day despite not one, but two punctures. I reached Dal Lake with 15 minutes to midnight and posted an ill-lit, shaky-res, shoddy-tired photo on socials. Though I so wanted to do an encore, I decided to leave it for the return leg. Delhi to Pathankot would do for now.
Yellowstone was delivered to the hotel where I was staying, freshly polished, gleaming like rolling sunrise. For somebody who was still in love with the OG, this was déjà vu. While the new Sierra doesn’t have the massive, curved windows due to new safety requirements, this distinguishing feature has been imitated by painting the area over the rear window and quarter glass with black finish. What if it was optics, my love was acknowledged. That was not all, the B-pillar design, the high bonnet and boxy wheel arches – the similarities were almost genetic. Was Humbert ever stumped by little Dolores’ looks? I was.
Though I would have loved the company rep to take me through the features first, guess excitement got the better of me. I just did the last item on my new car initiation ritual – walk around the vehicle getting an idea of the space outside the driver seat.
Delhi to Pathankot is about 450 km of multi-laned smooth highway. My speedo inched well above 170 with gusto – another social video post. On my return when I did Srinagar to Delhi in one day, I hit well above 180. To say, there was nary a jitter. With music and the mood lighting, you are in a sort of trance capsule, little stars shooting past. Yellowstone had a well-tuned suspension which ensured highway stability, body rolls were practically non-existent. With a firm grip on the wheel, mode set to ‘Sporty’ almost all through the drive, I felt rooted and confident. The balls continued tingling long after.
Next day to Srinagar and onward to Leh was pure powertrain play. The OG had a naturally aspirated 2 litre diesel engine, 91 hp, and a 5-speed manual gear as standard. With Yellowstone, though with only a front-wheel drive, I had 160 hp from a 1.5 litre turbocharged engine and a 6-speed automatic transmission. The Tata coordinator told me they didn’t have a manual version. They don’t. For the record: I like to change my own gears; I have a whole lot of analogies for someone else shifting gears for you which might be inappropriate to publish. DM me, let me enlighten you.
The route had traffic regulations permitting only one-way vehicular movement. I had special army permits for going in the other direction. The route was tricky for both narrow lanes tracing crags in stretches and mounds of ice and sometimes moraine on the road. It didn’t help either that truckers coming from Leh drove like they owned the road which they technically did that day. I was the trespasser. But Yellowstone was responsive to the hilt; the dedicated Terrain Response with Normal, Wet, and Rough modes, were quite handy. Zoji La on the way is actually more treacherous than Khardung La, but lesser than Umling La where I was headed. Just another day.
‘Call me once you reach Leh,’ said the lieutenant while issuing the special pass. I scoffed silently when he said it, understood why he said that while I drove, and later I did what I was told.
Leh to Hanle and Umling La
Acclimatisation wouldn’t be the same if it wasn’t Leh. While your kidneys produce more erythropoietin or EPO, a hormone that provokes the bone marrow to produce more red blood cells boosting the blood’s oxygen-carrying capacity, you saunter through the main market coffee shops and traditional Thukpa joints and watch people. The people. While I am unsure about tourists, the locals are a marvellous lot – with a ready smile and eagerness to assist, their sing-song pace of living is infectious. Ambition and targets make way for joy and meaning. There is rapturous badinage at every corner. Dandyism is in the veins.
Silence occupies your thoughts, and music fades along the 253 km to Hanle winding through friable mountains freckled with snow over crevices like cicatrice. Zero-okta skies have given Hanle an observatory and the Milky Way visible to the naked eye. Accommodation can be a challenge if you don’t have an early booking. My last moment one was a reluctant homestay; the small son of the hostess didn’t seem to like strange people sharing the kitchen fire. Or going all the way to the loo to pee: I caught him opening his many flies right outside the kitchen door. Before he could take his shrivelled pecker out, I gave him a hard shove.
Due to a motorcycle accident where the brake pads seized about a year ago, I have a bad back and a strained shoulder. Only a bunch of exercises can ease me up for a day of driving. The next day to Umling La was going to be the hardest of all – made all the more harder as I lost my way trying to take a more picturesque route across various gulches. It was indeed the prettier route as my aerial shots would tell later – and the wild animals. Bumpy as the non-existent road was, Yellowstone ensured I was tops – I tell you, extended thigh support must be made mandatory for all SUVs!
Mig La was my target, the highest motorable pass at 5,913 metres. But it was closed due to inclement weather. My army contacts also refused a special permit this time as the approach was seriously broken, vanished even, in some places. ‘We are not yet ready with the evacs,’ I was told. To assuage or scare, I am not sure. Either way, I decided on Umling La, the second highest at 5,799 metres.
As you climb up these surreal, breathtakingly beautiful landscapes, you are sure to marvel at the engineering feats these Las or passes are. The Border Roads Organisation are our own bros in these journeys. In these bitter cold conditions, where oxygen levels are under 50 percent, these guys are carving out whole motoring paths through mountains! Once you been there, and done that, there are teacups and certificates to commemorate. A bit cheeky, but whatever it takes to bring something back, right. I decided to forge on ahead of Umling La towards Demchok. About a kilometre of road ahead just wide enough for Yellowstone, there was a huge slab of solidified snow covering the entire width of the road. I had no other option but to back up the whole way.
Probably the only feature of the new Sierra I didn’t really care for was the 360-degree, surround view camera, given the circumstance – backing into Umling La. It was white all around me – white walls to my right merged with the white abyss to my left leaving the white ground in the middle a bit difficult to discern. It was getting colder and windier, sleet curtains rose. Yellowstone grated over ice slabs, slid a bit unnervingly but made it.
‘Well done,’ fluttered the flag.