A tycoon whose family got rich selling bathroom fittings (and by other means, certainly - I refuse to believe that faucets, showers and wc-s are that profitable!) has died in Kolkata while racing his Rs. 3 crore-plus Ferrari. Well, his family says, he was actually always a very careful driver though mad about cars, and he wasn't racing - I am sure people like that normally drive luxury sports cars below 60 kmph. See the report here.
I have become such a callous man that I cannot feel the slightest twinge of pity or sorrow. I am merely glad he didn't kill some innocent pedestrian or his son who was beside him. And I wish the media would pause for a moment to think whether they would have been half as excited if the dead man had been driving a common Maruti. Also, whether they might write as stridently about careless driving and poorly-enforced traffic rules as they do about the evils of smoking and misbehaviour with women on the roads.
If you are wondering why I am so unsympathetic towards people like this, read this and this and this.
And here's an obituary for supercars. Once upon a time Prince Philip and James Bond drove cars like that; now potty-sellers do. If I ever had the slightest fascination for such machines, it's long dead. Even if I had a billion dollars, I wouldn't be caught dead in a Ferrari now. I know what sort of people would be 'impressed', and I wouldn't like the thought.
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