The wind has become a wall of white noise. Wind in your hair? I have a freaking typhoon trying its darndest to rip up my poor salt-pepper.
The motor, almost drowned in the wind sounds like its sucking vast amounts of air, feeding a duo of really hungry turbos, and my rapidly growing appetite for speed.
I have a moment to reach back and flip up the mesh diffuser behind the headrests before I press on.
The typhoon disappears and the storm has changed into a gentle breeze, the engine’s intake roar is the main soundtrack again. The Bose system tries to outshout the motor, but cannot (and I won’t let it, either).
And all the time, I am pressed firmly into the seat, my hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel and I have the accelerator pedal pressed down with steely resolve.
In a moment, the needle says this is the fastest I have ever driven. Every extra movement from the speedo needle now means that I am creating personal history.
Moments earlier, I was trundling along at about 180 kph in the middle lane, looking at the odometer count up and frantically searching for a sign that displayed the speed limit.
Text: Shubhabrata Marmar in Mumbai
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