Of Driving Cars Poem by Gayathri Seetharam

Of driving cars
-Gayathri B. Seetharam
I am not in the depths of dark despair
But I am overcome by an "absorbing melancholy"
Because for about 10 years now
My driving days have been literally a closed chapter;

Metaphorically speaking, I had chosen the passenger's seat
Despite retaining my driving skills
After my son and I came back from a year's stay in Ottawa in Sept 2003
Which was capital for I earned $47,000 per annum for 3 months
With a very nice relocation package
And did get Employment Insurance for a previous research associate position
Of $1070 for the rest of our stay;

Memories of cruising at high speeds in Passats
And Mazdas and rental Jettas
And making "mechanical music"
Not to mention working for a living
Seems like a dream in
The Land of Far Far Away;

While I was making mad driving trips to and fro Ottawa-Toronto
With my young child in the backseat holding my hand
For I had to do this and all in all, my husband had been quite supportive,
I picked up during the course of 3 months,2 speeding tickets;

I was clocked at 140 km/h and 152 km/h
And once, I was alone afraid I was going to antagonise my eagerly waiting husband
And another time, I was chatting with a friend-colleague, Miro,
And lost track of the speed I was going at and it was late in the evening after a day's work;

Miro came with the two of us all the way to Toronto and
Treated both of us with fries and coffee both ways
I wish I had invited him home but that previous Saturday evening
We had had a family friend of my in-laws, a very sweet lady,
Come over for dinner and I do recall I shared the pecan pie with Miro;

Driving at high speeds can kill you
But they also get one's racy spirit into high gear
And I recall my sexual needs going to all-time highs
And believe me, I would wish to be made sweet love to
During work hours, tender loving making me tingle all over,
Seemed like the answer to my errant body's prayer
But do remember I was the ambitious career oriented engineer
And proper office decorum would mean a wonderful reference;

Being married and with a young child in tow
Made illicit love with a male friend or honest love with my husband difficult
For I would also become tired
But I did, in the beautiful courts of Brockville and Ottawa,
Offices of Canadian justice being upheld with the court room drama
That accompanies a beautiful and sensuous engineer in Bianca Nygarde skirts and Reitmans blouses with a young child,
Unmindful of the premises he found himself in,
Fight the two tickets successfully;

I did pay $100 both times and the City of Ottawa owes me back the
$155 of parking fines I had paid from Toronto despite having filed for court appearances
For a plea bargain which meant that I would escape the fines
The things I do for making money stretch to its outer limits;

Money, that elusive factor in my busily working days of present time
Is a commodity that must come from the equally fine offices of The Globe and Mail
And The Ottawa Citizen for the wonderful editors, out of the goodness of their hearts,
And the detail of the scrutiny of their eyes,
Shall be the answer to my prayers, fervently chanted,
For Saraswathi-Lakshmi (Goddesses of Knowledge and Wealth)festival which I celebrated after aeons
Soulfully making sweet rice-coconut cakes and fried patties made out of spiced pulses.
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Acknowledgements:
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Sign of Four