She is familiar to most of us, with that huge rear complimented by the bug eyes and toothy grin being a part of our culture for many a decade stretching from her birth in 1958 in the small factory in Uttarpara, West Bengal to be the first car manufactured in India.
An esteemed colleague once proudly narrated, upon being asked about a small cut on his forehead – “I was involved in an accident in our old Amby (Ambassador) when I was a child. I was thrown out of the car, broke the front windshield with my head”. A pause as he took a deep drag off his ITC King. Intrigued, I prodded “Then what”? He replied “Oh, then I lost my consciousness”. The esteemed colleague is on his 33rd year of unconsciousness.
In a way, this sum up the feelings of the very few Amby lovers left in the world have towards that first fling of theirs. We all lost our consciousness when we were young to this plump matron of an amiable but unforgiving car. We are a small population, certainly unlike the current crop of youngsters who grew up with anemic Japanese/Korean cars, or towards more recent times, to chiseled German perfection. We are the ones who lived at a time when the only choice of cars available in the market were an Amby or a small wheedling Fiat copy – think it was called a Padmini. A PADMINI !!! Sir/Madam/Madman, what would happen to a teen’s standing among the testosterone brigade if his chariot of choice was called something even his elderly Grandaunt considered too pansy ? Or to the businessman/ politico who had to not only arrive at meetings, but arrive in style, pomp all with a dash of desi bred machoness.That is where the Ambassador with its politically correct name came to the rescue.
My virginity (driving) was surrendered to the graceful lady quiet willingly, my first to seventeenth crashes/accidents were in an Amby, was part of few races (locally organized miniature rallies really) and won the first prize in one !!! (mio padre was driving of course), even went to see the girl I was about to marry in a Mark 4. Won her over by saying that her curves allured my eyes more than the curves on the car. She had to say yes blushingly as expected, as this is a line used in my family over generations to win over brides. My father used the same dialogue and got to hold the hand of my mum in matrimony and the original line was conceived by my late Grandfather though he had only the Morris Oxford (the foremother to the lovely Amby) as a comparison.
It’s been over 10 years since I laid my hands on the Ambassador, we have moved away from the heavy truck like steering, the non adjustable everything ambiance, the cavernous interiors and the smell of diesel wafting up from a heated engine to tickle one’s nostrils, the foggy interiors on a rainy drive, the occasional breakdowns and once a week tire puncture to the climate controlled comforts of Japanese and Korean cars, but the traces of wistfulness remains.... Like the other day I saw my father looking at a black Swift Desire which wafted by... with a twinge of shaky emotion in his voice and nostalgia in his eyes he said to me “ Da doesn’t she remind you of the old Amby” ? Seeing no recognition in my eyes he prodded “at least her malnourished cousin”? I took a second look without my glasses and yes, with the backdrop of a setting sun and dust billowing from the road in her wake, the departing kundi (arse) did look slightly familiar from afar.
That is the spirit of the old girl. She was hard to live with, harsh of nature and was a coarse peasant when compared to the glories which waft about and farts only Oxygen and water, but the old lady had style.
Note: The author of the above article is in no way endorsing any car or brand and has not received any remuneration towards writing the piece. He was of reasonably sane persona at the time of writing the piece.
Austin Bobby Vadayatt
Haaaa.... brought a smile....:)
ReplyDeleteThank you. The car kind of grows on you.
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