Riding in cars with girls

(with apologies to Beverly D'Onofrio).

Conversations with Corporate Whore and Mr. D quite often are decontructionist (yes, it's a word now) in a blog-worthy kinda way. This is a good example of what can happen in one of those conversations. When Mohayana comes in for his quarterly visit from the Meritocratic Republic of Temasek and these blog-worthy coversations become better. Or worse. Depending on your point of view.

This post is about hot girls in cars, generalised for the urban Indian situation. (Typing in 'hot girls' ought to bring in some unsuspecting googlers. *evil laugh*).

Genus I. Girl driving a car.
Several things work for this particular species. Driving a big (expensive) car would mean a certain amount of money already having being spent from teenage years on the right hair- and skin-care products causing the basic looks (perfectly straightened/permed/natural hair and clear skin) to be taken care of. Paid for by Daddy, of course.

Girl driving a small car started off as a nervous driver, driving all her scared friends when she just got her licence to honk. She'd still probably be a nervous driver (let's face it, they're all bad drivers), except a seedy-guy watching would want to say "Come here bebee, I will protect you" and flashes a sidey grin. Me? I would just think it, not say it.

If either species of this genus would have anything going for them, it is the poise. At a traffic signal, this girl is obviously stared at and she knows it. It adds to self-esteem and all that. Poise = hotness. Hotness = confidence. And so it goes.
By the time the small car girl draws on years of being stared at and drawing confidence, she'd become an aunty-type and is, hence, excluded from the purview of this blogpost.

Genus II. Girl riding shotgun.
Now, this is difficult to classify into various species. You'd want to classify her into this genus only if she isn't being driven by an old man (anything over the age of 32, after which you'll be heading into into Genus III or into sugar daddy territory). Something tells me at the age of 32, I'll still be playing the game and my stories will be like Horsey's, only not as funny. Actually, my stories are already like his anyway. hmmm.

A dressed-up girl is probably on a date - you'd have to read their body language to make further assessments. You think they've been seeing each other long? Is it a nervous first date? Are they just hanging out? Is she his sister? You, Dear Reader are discerning enough to make this assessment. Go on, I know you do. Even better, you play games with your own shotgun girl (or driver boy) making fun of that other couple making imaginary conversation for them in your own car. You don't? It's great fun, you must try it sometime.

Genus III. Girl in the back seat driven by her parents.
When this girl was a child, she'd entertain her parents by saying "Red bus" and "Embassadoor" and "Utility Building" when they were outside her window. These days, she'd be SMSing her friends who are out for a movie/clubbing and thinking to herself "Leather jacket on a Bullet, nice!" or surreptitiously checking out another dude crossing at the traffic signal.

Jammaster Jakkur (no link) has a theory, in a primeval kinda way, about girls on bikes. It's a pretty good theory but let's leave that aside for another day. Likewise with girls using public transport. Sometime soon.