By Dr. R. Balasubramaniam
Buying a new car today is not a transaction. It is a day-long theatrical production in which you play the lead role without ever seeing the script. You enter a dealership hoping to compare a few models, take a test drive and buy the car. The dealership, however, has other ideas.
Before you cross the first row of polished machines, a young executive appears with the timing of a seasoned magician. She welcomes you, offers water and coffee, settles you into a chair and promises that a sales agent is on his way. What she omits is that he seems to be travelling from another city and will arrive only after a ceremonial twenty-minute wait.
He finally appears, asks what you are looking for and then explains what you should be looking for. Within minutes, he convinces you that your life has lacked the latest variant that arrived only two days ago. The manufacturer, he assures you, has thoughtfully designed this car keeping both your future and your bank’s future in mind.
You move from one model to another while he narrates features that grow with each sentence. The car does not merely save fuel; it understands you. The seats do not just support; they protect with the wisdom of years of research. The suspension does not absorb bumps; it conducts quiet diplomacy with the road. At some point, you begin to suspect that the company manufactures psychology with wheels attached. You nod politely, unwilling to interrupt a performance that runs without rehearsal.
Then you ask for the price.
The first number is delivered calmly. You assume this is the total. It is not. A pen appears and additions begin. There is the special colour, handling charges, logistics, preparation, documentation — possibly even a fee for explaining the other fees. Each line is presented with the authority of a budget speech. When you ask why the list is longer than the feature brochure, you are told these are ‘standard across the industry.’
The test drive feels like liberation, until you are besieged by OTPs and automated messages. Your licence and phone number are surrendered to a higher digital authority that eventually confirms the car is ready.
The executive sits beside you like a coach observing an athlete. You hear a faint noise. The car is ‘warming up.’ You sense a slight lag. The engine is ‘learning your driving style.’ A turn produces a gentle pull. That is ‘advanced steering feedback.’ By the time you return, you are unsure whether you tested the car or the car assessed you. The drive, you are assured, went very well.
Negotiation follows. You ask for a better price. The executive lowers his voice and says he must speak to the manager. He disappears behind a frosted glass door. You wait, observing other customers in similar rituals. He returns with a slightly reduced figure. You hesitate. He returns to the frosted room. This sequence repeats. Each visit produces minor numerical adjustments. You begin to feel that you and the manager are negotiating through an interpreter who enjoys the process more than the outcome.
Finance introduces another character. If you pay upfront, unfamiliar numbers appear on a calculator. If you prefer a loan, a specialist explains interest rates, processing fees, bundled insurance and tenure options with impressive fluency. A chart shows how much you ‘save’ with the longest tenure. When you ask for the total payable over the entire period, there is a brief pause before the discussion gently returns to the monthly instalment. Smaller numbers, you realise, are more comforting than larger truths.
Insurance adds further nuance. There is a basic plan that covers very little and a comprehensive plan that covers almost everything, except the situations most drivers eventually encounter. You ask whether you can choose your own insurer. It is possible, but not advisable. External insurers delay delivery. Claims become complicated. The choice, you understand, exists largely in theory.
Delivery timelines require faith. The car is ‘on the way.’ Then it has ‘reached the yard.’ Then it awaits ‘processing.’ A manager must approve release. Eventually, you stop asking. One day, the call comes. The car is ready. Relief replaces curiosity.
Then comes the celebratory ritual. Photographs are taken. You and your family stand around the vehicle as though welcoming a new member. Smiles are exchanged. Keys are handed over with quiet triumph.
As you drive away, a realisation settles in. You have not merely bought a car. You have navigated a system designed to test patience, arithmetic and composure. You tell yourself that this is how the market works and that every buyer goes through the same routine.
[Dr. R. Balasubramaniam is the founder of Swami Vivekananda Youth Movement. ‘The Lighter Side’ is a series of satirical articles meant to bring a smile by highlighting the funny side of everyday life.]
This post was published on February 18, 2026 6:15 pm