Women, Cars & Changing Gears: Behind the Wheel

By Sandeep Singhnarula

You will not understand how embarrassing it was. My mum had a Volkswagen Beetle that she bought from my eldest masi, Satinder. We painted it a dark racing green, which should have made it cooler. It didn’t. At least not to school-age me.

The Beetle had a habit of stalling on those little flyovers that cross the khlongs around Bangkok. Mum would try to restart it while I got out and pushed. So, while other kids were being driven around Bangkok, I was essentially getting the basics of sled pushes years before HYROX was even a thing.

Then there was the small matter of her driving licence. Mum didn’t have one. She used my bhua Dolly’s Thai licence because Dolly lived in Malaysia. Her advice was, “Go for it, who’s going to know?” Well, I knew. We got pulled over by the police more than once and mum would hand over Dolly’s licence and confidently insist the photograph was her. Somehow this worked.

Looking back, I really miss that Beetle and wish we’d kept it. At the time I wanted anything else to pick me up from school. Today I’d happily have that dark green Beetle sitting downstairs.

Getting a new car was a big thing back then. Whenever we, a family member, or a close friend bought one, our bijis, our grandmothers, were often the first people we took for a ride. As soon as the car came home from the showroom, there would be an ardas, a prayer for the safety of everyone travelling in it. Biji didn’t need to know the horsepower or engine size. A new car came home? Ardas first.

Then there was my youngest bhua, Renu. A real gangster. She is a fantastic driver: confident, fast, and somehow able to multitask. She was probably the first person I knew driving around in an SUV, a black Honda CR-V, when SUVs were still unusual on Bangkok roads. It looked enormous at the time. Put that old CR-V next to the current one and you’d think today’s CR-V had eaten it.

Getting picked up by her was always fun. Funnily enough, her daughter inherited the same driving traits. Her boys didn’t. Make of that what you will.

I also knew plenty of aunties, and uncles, who loved being shuttled around in their cars. Even if it was a Honda City, there was something wonderful about being picked up and dropped off on demand. Then there were aunties at the opposite end, driving themselves around Bangkok in red sports cars.

We men, of course, have spent generations convincing ourselves that we’re better drivers. I’ll be the first to admit that plenty of women drive better than most of the men I know. My sister and my wife both drive better than I do, and please remember there was a period in my life when I genuinely believed I was Dominic Toretto from The Fast and the Furious (2001).

Then there’s my friend Simmi. A group of us recently drove across Croatia together and I didn’t sit in the driver’s seat once. She drove impeccably: smooth, poised, and never remotely stressful to sit beside. Some of my male friends approach driving differently. Their main objective seems to be accelerating hard enough to reach the next red light before everybody else. So much for stereotypes. Although I will concede the occasional scuffed wheel.

What We Were Taught

We millennials grew up at a strange point in motoring. We learnt how to drive and were also expected to know something about what we were driving, although nowhere near as much as our parents did. Tyre pressure, service intervals, oil, temperature, spare tyres, batteries, and strange noises were all part of owning a car.

My nieces are now learning to drive increasingly complicated cars while knowing surprisingly little about what keeps them running. But why should they? Cars monitor themselves, warranties are longer, roadside assistance exists, and garages are far more standardised. Our fathers could hear a strange noise and tell you something was wrong. Today the car sends you a notification to tell you it’s unhappy.

Which is also why a guide on how women can avoid getting fleeced by mechanics feels a little dated. Men get fleeced too! New cars have warranties, dealerships provide service schedules, and chains such as B-Quik have made routine maintenance more straightforward.

That being said, everyone should still know the basics: tyre pressures, warning lights, servicing, what to do when an accident occurs, and, most importantly, when to stop driving and call someone.

Buying a Car

I’m not going to tell you what car to buy, let alone what car a woman should buy. I’m not convinced there is such a thing as a “woman’s car” anyway. But there are things worth checking before getting carried away by the brochure.

Think about where you’ll actually charge that EV, and check the turning circle before discovering your cool new car needs a three-point turn every morning just to leave home. Dark tints look great until you enter the Emporium car park and start navigating by faith. Make sure the air-conditioning can cope with Bangkok, and if your biji regularly travels with you, make sure she can actually get in and out.

Quick Checks Before You Make the Purchase

Men are NO different. We just get distracted by different nonsense. Tell us a car does 0–100 km/hr in 4.5 seconds, has 680 hp, 1,500 Newton-metres (Nm) of torque, launch control, radar-guided everything, and exhausts that look like they could fire missiles, and suddenly we’re interested. Where on Sukhumvit are you even touching 4.5 km/hr, let alone worrying about 4.5 seconds?

The Generation That Doesn’t Want the Keys

For our generation, getting a driving licence at 18 was almost automatic. It was a rite of passage, an achievement in itself. Most of us couldn’t wait.

For a lot of younger people around me, that urgency doesn’t seem to be there. And why would it? Grab. Moto-taxis (P’Mo Sai). BTS. MRT. No parking. No insurance. No servicing. No monthly car payment.

Masala’s very own Grace doesn’t even have a licence yet! I honestly don’t think she particularly wants one. I’ve heard her very reluctantly admit that she likes cars, which from Grace I consider significant progress.

I’m not claiming Gen Z drives less because I genuinely don’t know if that’s true. I’m just seeing younger nieces, nephews, friends, and colleagues who don’t attach the same importance to driving that we did. Yet look at their timelines and they’re everywhere. They still value being able to move around; they’re just perfectly happy doing it differently.

Changing Gears

My biji didn’t drive, but she loved being in the car and was the first person to bless a new one once it arrived home. Mum drove her Beetle around Bangkok despite the minor administrative inconvenience of not actually possessing a driving licence. Bhua Renu loved driving her CR-V. Simmi can cross an entire country without making a passenger nervous. My nieces are learning now, while Grace may decide she doesn’t need to.

We wanted to celebrate women and cars in this issue, but after going down memory lane I’m still not convinced there was ever such a thing as a woman’s car. How we drive, what we drive, and even whether we want to drive has changed. But we all still want to get around, whether the keys are in our hands or someone else’s.

Come to think of it, mum figured that out decades ago. She just borrowed someone else’s.