| Name of Complainant | |
| Date of Complaint | July 7, 2023 |
| Name(s) of companies complained against | Ola Electric |
| Category of complaint | Automobiles |
| Permanent link of complaint | Right click to copy link |
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I hopped onto my brand new Ola S1 Pro scooter three weeks ago, bursting with excitement. But the very next day, my joy started to fade away faster than a toupee in a windstorm. Every time I turned the handle even slightly to the left, the scooter let out an irritating noise that went something like “Trrr trrrr tuk tuk…” It was like my scooter was auditioning for a musical nobody asked for.
So, I did what any responsible person would do—I reached out to the service center. They told me to bring the scooter in for repairs. I couldn’t help but wonder, did Ola deliberately send me a faulty product as a secret treasure hunt? Because now, I had to navigate through the streets of Bangalore, playing hide-and-seek with my sanity. I was half-expecting a service person to magically appear and whisk my scooter away, but alas, my wishful thinking remained unfulfilled.
Instead, I booked a slot through the Ola electric app for the service. Today was supposed to be the magical day—the time slot I snagged was between 10 am to 11 am. Eager to get the wheels rolling, I arrived at the service center at 9:45 am. Guess what? There was only one service engineer, and he looked like he just got his training wheels removed. Apparently, only his “senior engineer” could fix my problem. And guess what again? There was only one senior engineer, and he was still en route to the office. It was like trying to find a unicorn in a desert—elusive and slightly ridiculous.
We kept calling the senior engineer every half an hour like a bunch of desperate fans calling their favorite radio station to request a song. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, our savior arrived at the service center at 11:40 am. It was like the second coming of an automotive deity. I thought, “Hallelujah! This guy will save the day!” My hopes soared like a pigeon with a jetpack.
But alas, luck was not on my side. Out of all the poor souls waiting, I was the chosen one to have my problem attended to in the afternoon. 2:10 pm, to be precise. I desperately called my manager, pleading for a half-day leave. Then, when the service engineer finally got around to fixing my scooter, he removed the front tire, did some hocus-pocus, and claimed that all the issues were resolved. I felt a glimmer of joy once again, like a banana that escaped the peeling process unscathed.
Elated, I rode my scooter back home, basking in the triumphant silence of the less noisy areas. But as soon as I hit that turn into a quieter neighborhood, I was greeted by the unwelcome sound of the same old noise—trrr… trrrr… tuk… tuk… and it seemed to be chanting, “You are fucked up… You are fucked up…” Apparently, my scooter had developed a potty mouth overnight. Thanks, Ola, for providing me with a scooter that has mastered the art of self-expression in the most frustrating way possible.
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