267 km of Range. Apparently.

Buying an electric car felt like a path-breaking decision.

I was going to reduce my dependence on petrol, lower my running costs, and take one small but meaningful step towards the future. While everyone else was still debating whether electric vehicles were ready for India, I was prepared to move ahead.

Not recklessly, of course.

I was keeping my petrol car.

Many people had advised me not to buy an EV yet. The technology was still maturing, they said. Charging infrastructure was not widespread enough. Battery life was uncertain. Long-distance travel required planning. Resale value was another mystery waiting patiently in the future.

These were all reasonable concerns. But my daily requirement was much simpler.

I travel to the office three or four days a week, and each round trip is approximately 40 kilometres. That is between 120 and 160 kilometres of commuting every week, much of it spent watching the petrol gauge move steadily in the wrong direction.

For this kind of predictable city travel, an EV made complete sense. I could charge it at home, use it for my office commute, and significantly reduce my running expenses.

The petrol car would remain available for longer journeys until I developed more confidence—or until India installed a charging station every few kilometres, whichever happened first.

Among the EVs I considered, I eventually narrowed my choice down to the Punch EV largely because of its promised range. My regular commute was only about 40 kilometres, but a stated real-world range of more than 330 kilometres gave me a comfortable buffer.

It made the decision feel practical rather than adventurous.

The decision was therefore bold, progressive, environmentally responsible and financially sensible.

Then I charged the car.

After the initial charge had drained, I gave it its first full charge.

The dashboard showed 267 kilometres.

I stared at the number.

The stated real-world range was above 330 kilometres. That range was one of the reasons I had chosen this car in the first place.

I knew enough about vehicle advertisements not to expect the complete figure. Mileage claims have always belonged to a slightly more optimistic universe than the one in which we drive.

But 267?

For the first time since buying the car, I seriously wondered whether I had made the right decision.

I looked at the dashboard again. In Vadivelu’s voice, my mind asked:

“என்னைய வச்சு காமெடி கீமெடி பண்ணலையே?”

Where had the remaining kilometres gone?

Had they disappeared during delivery? Was the battery defective? Had I accidentally bought the Empowered Minus model? Should I call the dealer and ask for my missing range?

Until that moment, I had not fully understood that the number displayed on the dashboard was merely an estimate.

Coming from a petrol car, my mental model was straightforward. You fill the tank. The gauge shows full. You drive. The needle comes down. There is a reassuringly mechanical relationship between fuel consumed and distance travelled.

The EV dashboard, I would soon learn, was not reporting the future.

It was guessing.

I considered calling someone immediately, but decided to do what engineers do when a system behaves strangely and there is not yet enough data to blame anyone.

I observed.

Over the next few days, something even stranger happened. The displayed range increased from 267 kilometres to around 280.

That was encouraging.

Then it remained around 280 even after I had driven nearly 80 kilometres.

That was not encouraging. That was confusing.

My brain tried to derive a formula from the available evidence:

Initial range: 267 km
Distance driven: nearly 80 km
Current displayed range: approximately 280 km

According to the dashboard, I had driven 80 kilometres without losing any range. In fact, the car appeared more confident about its future than when I had started.

I was still treating the range as though it were making a commitment. The car was treating it more like a Vadivelu comedy:

“வரும்… ஆனா வராது.”

The range would be there—but also not be there. It would fall, rise, remain unchanged, and occasionally become more optimistic after I had driven the car.

I had bought an electric vehicle. Apparently, the dashboard came with its own sense of humour.

This was when I began learning about regenerative braking.

The term itself was not entirely new to me. I had heard about energy recovery systems through Formula 1, where energy generated during braking is captured and reused. It sounded impressive when explained during a race, although I had never imagined it would become relevant to my office commute.

Now I could actually see it working in my own car.

Every time I eased off the accelerator or applied the brakes, the car was not merely slowing down. It was recovering some energy and feeding it back into the battery.

I had one piece of Formula 1 technology in my car.

Admittedly, I was using it to crawl through office traffic rather than challenge Lewis Hamilton, but that small connection made me strangely happy.

It felt like a cashback scheme for driving: spend energy while accelerating, and receive a small portion of it back when you slow down.

Regeneration alone probably did not explain the entire mystery. The car was also learning from my recent driving efficiency and revising its estimate. The original 267 kilometres may have been a cautious guess. After observing how I drove, it had become more optimistic.

So while I was trying to subtract every kilometre travelled from the number on the dashboard, the car was performing a completely different calculation—consuming energy, recovering some of it, studying my driving, and repeatedly changing its mind about the future.

The battery percentage was a measurement.

The range was an opinion—an opinion that could improve after getting to know me.

I decided to stop arguing with the opinion and collect my own evidence. On the next charging cycle, I reset the trip meter and allowed the battery to drain much further.

From a 92 percent charge, the car covered more than 280 kilometres.

That was a much more satisfying number—not because it matched the stated range exactly, but because I had measured it myself.

The battery was fine. The car was fine. I could comfortably manage my regular commute.

Confidence had arrived.

Then, one day, the battery dropped to 20 percent.

I had approximately 45 kilometres to travel that day. Based on everything I had measured, 20 percent should have been enough.

But “should have been enough” is not the same as “I am completely relaxed.”

I asked ChatGPT.

It considered the battery percentage, my previous range, and the distance I needed to travel. It performed the calculations and assured me that the car would not stop halfway.

ChatGPT was calm.

I was collecting emergency phone numbers.

My concern was no longer about range in the abstract. My imagination had moved to a much more specific scenario:

What happens if the car stops in the middle of traffic?

Would it give me some final warning? Would it slow down gracefully? Would everything simply switch off? How would I move it? Whom would I call? Would a breakdown vehicle arrive with a giant power bank?

I feverishly saved the service number, roadside-assistance number, and every other contact that might become useful. Anyone looking at me would have assumed I was preparing to cross a desert.

I was going to the office.

But beneath the anxiety, another instinct had started operating—the urge to test the boundary.

Calculations could reassure me, but I wanted real evidence. I needed to know how the car behaved when the displayed percentage became uncomfortable. Otherwise, every future journey would become another mathematical exercise followed by an emotional crisis.

So I drove.

The car completed the entire journey without drama. No warning lights. No roadside-assistance calls. No traffic jam caused by a newly converted EV enthusiast.

When I returned home, the battery had dropped by only about 10 percent.

ChatGPT’s prediction had been almost exactly right.

More importantly, I now understood my car a little better. Twenty percent was no longer an abstract and frightening number. I had tested it against my actual commute, driving style, traffic and air-conditioning use.

After three full charging cycles, I still feel a small wave of anxiety whenever the dashboard shows a low figure. But it is becoming manageable.

I am also learning that owning an EV requires a different relationship with numbers.

In a petrol car, the fuel gauge tells you approximately how much petrol remains. In an EV, the battery percentage tells you how much charge remains—but the range display tries to predict what you will do with it.

It considers speed, traffic, terrain, air-conditioning, driving style, recent consumption and the energy recovered through regeneration.

It may be sophisticated, but it is still a prediction.

The number is not saying:

“You can definitely travel this far.”

It is saying:

“Based on the limited time we have spent together, this is what I currently think you are capable of.”

Some days it trusts me with 280 kilometres. Some days it is less optimistic.

Perhaps my car also has owner anxiety.

Every time I switch it on and stare suspiciously at the estimated range, it seems to respond with that familiar line from Sivaji:

“வாங்க… பழகலாம்.”

Fair enough.

The car and I are still getting to know each other.

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