Great Indian car-nival

The Ambassador was our car of choice because it was roomier and therefore less of a squeeze as we accelerated down Marine Drive. We needed to do this often as we were invariably late and were scared of being red-carded. But much as the driver tried, the car would go just so fast and no faster. We were, therefore, invariably late and thus always in trouble.

The problems of the car went relatively unnoticed when we were in the city but during our yearly holiday to Mahabaleshwar, they would come into full view. Once it took us nine hours to make it to Mahabaleshwar because, every few kilometres, the car would get heated up and stop; then it had to be pampered by being allowed a cooling off period of a few minutes before water could be poured into its radiator.

Everyone inside the car invariably got even more heated up than the car itself. But we would finally make it to Mahabaleshwar because the driver was skillful and knew how to handle the car. Once in the salubrious weather of Mahabaleshwar, the travails of the journey were soon forgotten.

Suddenly, and without warning, all this changed one day. The Maruti 800 made its entry into the household. All that earlier wait for a year or more for a new car to arrive almost seemed like a Russian joke now. Our little red Maruti, which came in 1985, was our pride and joy.

As I folded my legs in the front seat, it zipped around with bounce and zest knowing no limitation. It was a tiny car and the back seat was a squeeze but it had so much pep that it felt much

bigger. And it had a golden heart. It sped over hill and dale without puffing and panting. We did not realise it then. This was just the beginning of the Great Indian Car-nival.