I took the longer route home that night. The car was painted a dark blue hue, with The Bee Gees' More Than A Woman on the stereo, a consistent yellow-golden glow through the sunroof from street lights that were reversing past at twice the speed limit and a stark empty but homely Bandra-Worli Sealink. Midnight was interrupted by an alert chirrup from the tyres when I took off after an all-directions check at an intersection.
The traffic lights flashing on standby mode missed a beat. I was passed off as a rich Bandra Boy with a swank new toy by the inactive huddle of auto rickshaws waiting indefinitely for someone to get to the airport or maybe one of them after-party briefly-enlightened souls looking to get home.
I momentarily gave up on the well being of the dinner I'd bought a while ago. Butter naan and well-done meat in creamy sauce wouldn't taste too good when eaten off the passenger footwell, but I consoled myself with ‘The Smokin' Joe's outlet is open till 5am’ and switched the Dynamic Traction Control unit off. 184 bhp on a motorcycle is mad, but in a car, it’s more akin to being led upstairs by that discreetly beautiful woman at a social do for a never-talk-about-it-again time. The 520d feels powerful and the 1995cc four-cylinder mill doesn't feel like a compromise or anything similarly demeaning. Frankly, if I were ever in the market for a 5 Series, which is as unlikely as me being in the market for lingerie or land survey equipment, I'd have the 520d. Later on that night, I played throttle-happy for a while, switched to Pink Floyd, and reached home a bit too sleepy to bother with dinner. Took a long look at the 5 from a cold window pane before I went to bed quite impressed with myself for having joined the motoring scribe clan.
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