“Papa, why can't we buy a car? After all, we live in the biggest city.”
Father replied: “ A car, you say a car in Mombai! It's unthinkable in the maddening knee deep monsoons! Imagine a car in the downpour floating in the Mombai deluge.”
He intoned Mombai just like my grandmother did, but the finality in his reply left me yearning for a car of our own.
Not having a car in the mid 1980s in Bombay was difficult. Father would quip- it was a far fetched dream. He gave us many reasons for preferring his Lambretta over a car: the lack of parking spaces in a cluttered city, traffic jams, locals that plied throughout the city, double deckers, taxis and the famous vintage Victoria carriages afforded cheaper commutes he said. And finally he said “Who wants to own an elephant in a city.”
And then he'd regale his brother's car’s tale, laughing all the time at the notorious Green Fiat named Hindustan ki Beti. He would begin his story, “Cars are not as user friendly as they appear to be.”
“Just before Diwali, the shrill sound of black telephone rung a good six times- trrring, trrring , trrring, trrring, trrring, trrring, shaking us up from a monotonous Sunday.
Noor Bhai I'm planning to purchase a second or third hand Fiat, just before Diwali. Kaka’s excitement was so very palpable that we thought we'd be a part of his happiness.
And of course we knew that the whole family would come down from all corners of India. It was the early 1970s and a car in the family was a luxury.
***
The trip from Bombay would be tiringly long, but there was no go, we'd travel.
Mom had pestered papa to fly down south because my Saleh Kaka's family had already poured into that old house of Neelama Wapu Chettu because of their Pujo holidays.
Though economically viable, the train journey seemed horribly godforsaken. She sulked despite Dad imploring her, “ Calcutta is a night's journey, and we are just two nights away.”
All dad’s arguments fell on deaf ears, and mother let out a long sigh of relief as dad gave in.
They finally boarded the Indian Airlines flight on the 25th October. After a halt at Hyderabad for a couple of hours, they boarded a connecting Indian Airlines flight to Waltair’s tiny naval air base.
Kaka came to receive them, giving them the news that he'd shortlisted a Fiat, a green car. It could accommodate nearly six adults, and three children.
A couple of days before Diwali, Kaka's ancient stone house was buzzing with euphoric activity. The house was like a tin packed with sardines, but that didn't matter. Simply because everyone was waiting for their first car.
Ma had come with eyes full of romantic-ised dreams. There was something magical about this small town, Waltair, it sounded so English, yet was relatively unknown. Everything not possible in bigger cities, seemed possible in Waltair because buying a car was possible.
****
And then just a day before Diwali, Kaka drove his new car in. It was a second or third hand Fiat. Finally, the family owned a car, Kaka's car was theirs.
In a jovial manner he had thumped its bonnet and christened it Hindoostan ki beti.
Kaka laughed while explaining,“ The previous owner had said she, our Fiat, sulks and throws tantrums like his daughter!”
****
All the ladies muttered prayers of thanks and announced that a coconut must be offered as a token of appreciation and gratitude.
And thus in an urgency to propitiate the Divine, they began their prayers. All ten pairs of eyelids closed tight, dreaming whilst fervently praying that the car should take them for long journeys, picnics and drives.
“And then Kaka had hurled the Sriphal down with such force that it missed the ground and cracked on the car's bonnet. Wham, thud, whack! And the hard shell hit the screen, rolling down without either scratching, grazing or splintering the screen’s glass surface.
The amazed women gaped and touched their cheeks in repentance chanting prayers to prevent the Evil eye.”
Soon they relieved a sigh, as, kaka positioned himself behind the wheel and the engine revved to life, it purred and then something rattled, creaked and fell out into the thick undergrowth beside the garage.
Kaka cautioned, “ No, don't venture there: snakes, scorpions, toads and mosquitoes will attack you.
That nariyal must have shaken some loose parts out of place.”
But that didn't dim Kaka's enthusiasm, he fitted ten of them into the car. He said “Chalo, let's go for a short ride”.
A jing bang of five child-like adults with five little ones hopped into the car.
The family crammed into the car as best as they could squeezing their hip bones, shoulders as if they were malleable.
“ Kaka took us down the old street cluttered with derelict, shabby motley houses, squeezing into each other for the lack of space.
Some families even shared a four inch wall. A few colourful narrow homes popped out vertically like a sore thumb, as if crushed from both the sides.
Empty streets ran into cul de sacs with vacant plots. This was Waltair in the 1970s, a sparsely populated town, a blessing in disguise to Mumbaikars.
There was no sign of traffic or pedestrians, except, a stubborn herd of buffalos unaffected by a series of loud honks, ambling as if they'd spend the day going down the lane. Nothing could stir this town out of inaction.
We drove past main roads. We ventured into greener enclaves that led to posh layouts and we saw sprawling gardened majestic bungalows. The more we saw of Waltair, the more both of us fell in love with it.” Papa said.
"Our car had driven for a good half an hour to forty five minutes. And a famished family was imagining a lip smacking lunch, whilst Kaka burst out into singing “Manu Bhai ni motor chale pam pam pam. Chowpaty jayenge, bhelpuri khayenge halla macha yenge! And a chorus of shrill voices joined him.
As we neared home our voices rose - and the car stopped.”
An exasperated Kaka thumped it, lifted its bonnet, he used tap water to douse the hissing radiator coughing boiling water and smoke.
But the car had decided to disobey. Kaka said, “Chalo let's we'll fix Hindustan ki Beti in the afternoon”
We decided to return at four, but nothing, I repeat nothing could propitiate the ill-tempered car, which was driven home the next day by Ramaiyyah.
***
“Children woke up to touch and feel the green Fiat’s cold metallic surface in the parking lot. It wasn't Aladdin's Genie’s magic, was it?
On Sundays they helped him polish and scrub it clean.
We had gotten accustomed to seeing Kaka sitting behind the steering wheel. By the second week of November, we knew only he could handle its vagaries.”
On one Sunday he warned all the adults who wished to drive the Fiat. "She had a mind of its own. If she decides to stop for half an hour, there is not a single mechanic, except that drunk Ramayyaih in town who can make its engine splutter to life.
Arre na, Saleh Bhai, Noor Bhai, Waltair has steep slopes.
If she stops, then for miles, the only alternative is dhakka maro, till we reach Ramayyaih’s garage .”
*****
On their last Sunday in Waltair, at ten in the morning, Kaka sat a good ten of them in the car. Rushi Konda was their destination.
Kaka had been planning for this picnic:
“ Chalo Rushi Konda Beach, Ravivare picnic karsu!”
He'd told the ladies to pack a couple of bedsheets, towels, a can of water, an extra set of clothes and some snacks for children. Their lunch was dahi vada, and biryani.
The whole morning was spent chasing crashing waves. By noon after lunch and the humidity, sea spray and high tide made them weary, compelling them to return home.
So Kaka euphorically sat behind the steering and told them,
“ Chalo jaldi, karo, cyclone be kallak ma che!”
The engine immediately rumbled to life.
Papa said they had to rush home because a cyclone was brewing, the winds and downpour would make it difficult to go uphill across Waltair’s treacherous slopes.
“Again” papa said “ we squeezed ourselves, sand grazing our skins. Now each wanting more space, boredom writ on our faces. Three children on laps wailed. Petulantly they fought to get an inch of space pushing their elbows into another's ribs, or eyes, and pinching one another. Kaka’s booming command was enough to silence everyone.
And then the wretched overloaded car stopped.
It seemed fed up, it moaned, squealed, and finally halted midway; Kaka pulled the handbrake to prevent it going in reverse.
Everyone got off except Kaka. Each of us pushed the car up that treacherous slope. For some time we toiled like coolies, and then howling wind and cloudburst pelted rain. Pin pricks stung our skins, and we left the car to take shelter under a lone huge banyan tree.
We started yelling for help, shivering, then we heard a police siren. Yet, there was not a single house in vicinity.
Five minutes had lapsed before a police jeep spotted us huddled together under the banyan warming ourselves beside a fire we'd lit.
We abandoned our Fiat near the university.
Served it right, to be picked up the next day! That night all sense of adventure drained after reaching home. We'd decided to hire a car for picnics."
Eight months later, Kaka called, "Noor Bhai I'm buying an ambassador, a brand new car, in exchange for our Fiat. ”