My car fan belt started screaming the other day. So I ran a quick search on YouTube and there was a video on how to stop the terrible, high-pitched sound.
“Gently press the fan belt down and rub a bar of soap on the belt,” said the video. “Never use oil as it will wear out the belt,” it warned.
Because of the sound, every time I saw a pedestrian on the road in the distance, I would cringe, knowing what was going to happen next. The head of the man (or woman), would snap up from the smartphone in their hand and I would get a stare that was a mixture of fear and disgust as I drove by. My son had refused to be dropped off at school as he thought it was undignified to come in my car and scare the traffic warden as he directed children across the street in the early-morning fog. The temporary fix with the bar of soap helped me drive the car to the mechanic without getting startled looks from pedestrians.
I have learned a lot from YouTube over the years, things such as how to cook a fluffy, Spanish omelette, though my housemaid thought it looked hilarious. An omelette to her means something flat like a pancake with a sprinkling of chopped, deadly green chillies.
A nutritionist had earlier told me that chilies are good for your sinus and that it has more vitamin C than an orange. The burning sensation helps perk up your metabolism and reduces cholesterol, she said. But I didn’t wish to run around with a red face at the start of the day after eating my housemaid’s omelette, so I had gone back to YouTube.
Bizarre contortions
I have even got some swimming tips online. When I logged on, the first video was on how to swim in a frozen lake. I spent a few minutes watching that as it seemed interesting, the way you cut through the ice and all that.
The next one was a three-minute lesson on how to swim to survive. I was practising with my head on one side under my raised arm, as if my mouth was out of the water, when the housemaid walked in. She has never heard of knocking on the door first and walks around my flat as if it was a commune. We both froze and I thought I owed her an explanation over my bizarre contortions and told her I was learning to swim. She said that in Bangladesh, people learn to swim in the water.
When I started to learn the art of photography, our chief photographer advised us to first read the booklet that came with the camera.
I remembered that advise when my car started honking late in the night, as the cleaner had inadvertently touched something that set off the alarm. The man panicked as the racket was disturbing the quiet neighbourhood and came banging at our door.
I ran to the car, opened the glove compartment and took out the User’s Manual as lights started coming on in the dark windows of my neighbours’ homes. I had never looked at the manual before, knowing that driving a car was easy and that if it ever broke down, one could just call a tow truck or get a good Samaritan to help change a flat tyre.
‘Press the remote entry key twice and reset the alarm,’ said the manual, after I found the solution on page 78.
Over the years, I have seen many Good Samaritans help women change their tyres on Shaikh Zayed Road, while the women happily chatted on their phones. The women either hadn’t read their vehicle’s manual or did not wish to crack their nails.
