My nephew bought a new car today, a Volkswagen Passat. I don’t know much about cars so I had to check the name twice because it sounded more like pasta to me ! I am a little partial towards this young man and so my enthusiasm is a little overboard. I will take a drive in his Passat when the time comes . As for now the time machine in my mind is taking me back to my childhood. The car- nama from Fiat to Rolls Royce ,from Mercedes to Duster, from gallons to liters have travelled a long way. But my story is a modest one filled with memories of first cars, simple cars.

The first family car was bought by my father when I was about six or seven. WBG 5840,the number plate of that olive green Ambassador has stayed with me forever. I have grown up sleeping in the back seat of that car, literally. Our driverji with his big mustache and his big hands on the steering wheel would drive us miles after miles on those narrow pitch roads of Bihar . My father would sit in the front seat while Ma would settle with didi and me in the back seat. Was it my tiny size or was the seat really big I do not remember, but there was always ample place for me to lie down and doze off with my head nestled in my Ma’s warm lap and the feel of her nine yard saree. It is strange how certain memories stay so vivid even after all these years. Yet, where did we keep the car key, deludes us every day.

The Hindustan fourteen was another car very close to my heart. I wonder today, why was the name of this car so funny. But back then it did not seem strange , but the shape of this car was very unique. The owner of this car was my uncle and often on Sundays we cousins would be designated with the task of washing the car. Together we would turn it into the most fun activity of our Sunday mornings, a car, soap, buckets, pipes, water, rag cloths and three kids. No car shined as brightly to us than our Hindustan fourteen.

My husband and I bought our first car after seven years of our marriage. It was a second hand Maruti 800, beige in color. The previous owners had left it with cartoon printed seat covers. I loved that seat cover and did not change it for as long as we had the car. I learnt to drive in that car. I would make my six year old daughter sit holding her six month old baby brother in the back seat of the car and drive around town doing daily errands. No seat belts, no baby seats, and no fear ! Today even the memory of that scene makes me feel terrified. We changed a number of cars in years that followed, each very precious, each like a member of the family. I have this strange thing of getting emotional attachment towards all Non living items that become part of my house. In my mind I give them a character and personality. Only if they could speak,I would have a gadget story 1 and 2 production of my own.

New cars came, old cars had to go. I have cried copiously bidding adieu to each of my old cars. The journey from miles to kilometers have seen a little girl grow into a young lady, having her own babies,and then those babies growing into young man and woman. It is not just the change in metric system or models and styles of cars that I have seen. I have seen beautiful places driving in these cars, I have seen laughing children enjoying family picnics in these cars. I have seen romantic drives in these cars. I have seen festivals, marriages, parties, good byes, in these cars. I have seen the story of my life changing, growing ,adding miles and miles in the story of my life.

The joy that a new car brings home binds the family together. It is not just a vehicle to serve the luxury of transport alone. A car brings joy, pride and hope. From grandfather’s ambassador to grandson’s Passat, from WBG 5840 to GZR 4377, it is all a tale of a beautiful journey. Keep on adding the miles.