My Green Amby

                              My  Green Amby

     . It was 1975. My daughter was five years old. There was general concern and curiosity among colleagues and relatives, as is typical in India, that there should be an addition to the family. People  like to keep you up on the traditional sequence of necessary events in life. 

  Bhaskar's Royal Enfield made  impressive rumbling sounds and driven by an expert provided stable drives  with Sona sandwiched between us, in royal Delhi style.Still we pondered whether  a more decorous form of transport should fill the garage, one which would accommodate the grandparents. There was no urgency, just casual comments now and then.

 Walking up to the Staffroom, Rati Bartholomew, once a teacher now a colleague, remarked " You thinking of having a baby ? Sona's what, five now ?"
I blurted , in all sincerity, " Yeah, sort of.  Wondering should we go for a car or a baby?"
 To my embarassment , Rati burst out in laughter. " Oh, Kalyani. Go for a baby. Definitely a baby ."

In the event our second Baby and first car arrived in the same week of June 1976.
  Bhaskar's colleague was about to dispose of his car , upgrading to a Fiat .We decided to buy his Ambassador .
 I entered  St Stephen's hospital to be admitted . Bhaskar's car entered the garage for overhaul and painting. Thus it was that Master Arindam Dutta, accompanied by his sister, came home from the hospital in a soft green coloured Ambassador car, Mark 2
 There was something so comfortable and friendly about this Indian version of the English 'Morris Oxford' . Three in front and at least four at the back could easily travel together.

  I had always had a hankering for a smaller version of this car , known as " Baby Austin" in the 40s and 50s in Delhi. They looked so endearingly compact and neat. There was one that I  could see moving around in Civil Lines till some years ago. Somebody's beloved "Baby' painted Red , well cared for and shining.  Here's wishing that the red one is nestled safely in someone's old Delhi garage.

  The Maruti period and the craze for it as a status symbol was just beginning ,when Sona  finished her class ten examinations. There was a long hiatus of  about three months before she needed to think about school again. I felt this vacation  would be  well utilized in learning to drive a car .
 The driving instructor arrived in his  battered Maruti 800, of which he was  very proud. Six am in the morning the lessons began. After some time I suggested that it would be a practical idea to have the lessons  in the family car. I had visions of being able to attend films and plays with my daughter, a wish rarely gratified by Bhaskar , satiated  as he was by travelling to IIT five days a week.
 The Amby ,large and sedate, was difficult for my frail daughter to manouver along Mall Road. The instructor with utter disdain  and considerable malice , pronounced  our green vahan " khotta  gaddi', that is a mule of a car.
Whether it was the car's ponderous movements or its lack of classiness that made  the instructor condemn our trusty friend , I decided to ignore his comment. It didn't help that the  single Sunday ' practice' drive under her dad's supervision, put Sona off driving altogether, Ambassador or any other car.  Even now she does not drive.

Not long after that, Bhaskar decided he deserved to drive a 'new' car at this point in his life.
 We treated ourselves to not a Maruti, waiting lists for it being so long but a Premier Padmini, ie a Fiat.

The reputation for our Amby was high  among garage owners and  drivers in  the area, tenderly kept, regularly serviced as it was. In defiance of the Driving school's opinion , there were many suitors for the Amby. We were used to enquiries  from  people wishing to possess her regarding when we were going to part from her.

 So we did part from her.

 Now we hear there are to be no more of these so dependable vehicles on Indian roads,  once almost as indispensable as the mules are to the Indian army. The Calcutta factory has stopped production.