A pretty old car named happiness

Priyanka Singh 

Many, many years have come and gone; the years have been kind. But 1986 holds a special place. My father, an Army officer, was posted in Shillong, the capital city of Meghalaya (‘abode of clouds’), a delightful place to be. Here, we bought our first car — an old, second-hand Fiat. 

My brother and I were jubilant. We had sat in Jongas, Shaktimans, one-tonnes… an odd ride in a staff car, but never in a car all our own. Our return from school was almost always followed by a quick change, an even quicker lunch and a dash to the garage. Our pockets bulged with kiddy stuff — ‘Picnic’, a sweet-sour candy, Morton coconut toffees nesting in golden-purple wrappings, chocolate lollipops from Kalimpong, sweet scented wood-like supari….

For us, anytime was picnic time. We would sit in the car, roll down the windows, stick out our heads, gaze at the pines. We would be there for the greater part of the day — snacking, playing board games, or just pretending to drive a cab. The local black-yellow cabs charged Rs 5 to drive anywhere in the city. We swapped places at the wheel, ‘Monopoly’ money was cash — simple times, simple pleasures.

Weekends were when we would go on a joyride, as Dad would call it. The first halt was always, always ‘RK Brothers’ in Police Bazar, a fancy, but modest store that stocked imported items. We would gorge on twin-flavour softy, pestering Mom for goodies for later.

But while the first halt was the store, there were many halts along the way. The engine of the car would heat up every few kilometres, the dull grey smoke fusing with the drifting mist, not knowing which is which. The car would choke, cough, sputter. Dad would pull over, lift the bonnet and douse her with water from a bottle to soothe her nerves. The cool water hitting the scorching surface would be followed by wheezing and whistling... Sizzlers, to this day, are a reminder of that time. We would giggle; we were wonder-struck. Our car was perfect.

Bottle after bottle she would ingest, till she calmed down. We would make an early start and lug along even more water in the boot, cushioned over an old burnt-orange comforter, on days we drove to the distant Seven Sister Falls, or Cherrapunji.

Dad never regretted buying the car; says it filled us with cheer. Every day was an adventure, every day a new experience. He sold it when it was time to move on, to his new place of posting. We were sad to see it go; it was the closest thing we had to a pet. We hoped it would bring as much joy to its new owners.

Better cars have come and gone, since. More comfortable, more smooth, none in need of cooling. Happiness has a texture — the kind that came with the pretty peach car, with dainty peach window curtains gathered in the middle, is matchless.