Of glove compartments and others

CHENNAI: You want me to put your book in the what?” I swayed in my seat as my call-taxi driver applied a sudden-brake at the signal under the Anna Flyover, narrowly missing two bikes and an auto-driver who climbed out, intent on war. I threw a worried glance at him, and explained: “The glove compartment.” The driver – a gregarious soul by the name of Ravi, blinked. I explained. “See – it’s this space. Beside the dashboard.” “That is the box beside the dashboard, Medem,” Ravi explained patiently, even as he carried on a spirited conversation with the auto-driver, liberally interspersed with words from the Madras Baashai Lexicon. “Why are you calling it Cloud Compartment?” I stared at him, stupefied. “Um – glove.” I mimed putting one on. “You wear...” “Oh!” he suddenly got it, as the auto-driver, unable to match Ravi’s dexterity with language, finally retired from the War of the Words. “Why are you putting gloves there? You are working in construction?” He looked at me worriedly.  I reassured him that I wasn’t, and looked out. We were stuck here for the next few minutes – listening to everyone blowing a fantasia on their horns. “Actually, ladies abroad used that box to hold gloves, once upon a time,” I elaborated.  “Oh, abroad,” Ravi nodded sagely, as though this explained the stupidity of locking gloves anywhere in a car. “But why ladies put gloves and all here?” I descended into Hermione-Granger mode. “You know, there was this lady called Dorothy Levitt. She was British, and the first woman to ever take part in a motor race. Sometime around 1909, she wrote a book for women, about driving cars. Look.” I held out my book. “The Woman and the Car: A Chatty Little Hand Book for Women Who Motor or Want to Motor.  It had tips about how to drive, take care of your car, and traffic rules. You know, she actually invented the rear-view mirror.” “Ladies always look in mirrors,” Ravi nodded, gazing into his absent-mindedly, and adjusting his hair.  I drew a deep breath. “She said women needed to wear it, to avoid hands slipping on the steering-wheel. And in those days glove compartments were under the seat. Listen to what she says about it: “This little drawer is the secret of the dainty motoriste. What you put in it depends upon your tastes, but the following articles are what I advise you to have in its recesses. A pair of clean gloves, an extra handkerchief, clean veil, hair-pins and ordinary pins, a hand mirror – and chocolates are very soothing sometimes!” “So much information.” Ravi shook his head. “Are you always like this, Medem – or today only?”  I glared at him as I shut the book with a bang. “Put this in the box, please.” “Cloud Compartment,” Ravi corrected me, eyes twinkling.