It never was prone to dents and damage at the dash of another car or bike. This car remained loyal as a kind and benevolent protector, yet understated in its mute colours and non-sensuous appearance
Fat is out, trim is in. Curves are passé. large is history, tiny is present. When such ads and concerns fill us 24x7, the old, rugged, steady though plump and bulky ‘Hero’ of the Indian streets has made a sad exit. For most of us who grew up in the 60s and 70s this one car had become a vital part of our daily existence. While our grand-children may laugh at its shape as they flick through the pages of a tattered album, chance may have them even spotting it on the streets someday in a ‘vintage car rally’.
I remember the first time the Ambassador was bought in the family, way back in the early 70s. It was like a huge (in size as well) pride that was parked outside our gate. All of us, children included, may 10-12 in number along with our pet, rushed in to take the first ride in the new black car. It was a Sunday and we were headed for a family picnic. While grownups squeezed in both in the front and back seat, we kids sat on laps with still inches over our heads. We sang merrily all the way, the elders shouting us down with their incessant chatters. After kilometres of a great drive all this entire muddle inside ended with us finally stopping beside a meadow. I don’t remember how many hampers were pulled out from the dickey, but at that time, as my memory reflects now, the number of bags seemed endless. They were stuffed with food, fruits, chatais, baby’s feeding bottles and mix and even a stove! It was like moving in a tiny all inclusive caravan. With this new arrival our lives shifted to a happier paradigm.
The Ambassador to us has been like a wonderful home on the roads. The car was almost like one protective parent. I remember once urging Baba to buy a Fiat. He remarked, “Do you want to give up a large house for a tiny shackIJ” Many years later — about two decades ago, my father while crouching twice his size when I took him for a drive in my new Maruti smiled and said: “Ambassador is what I call the stately car meant for men like us!” Baba was tall and well built. Today I feel there was something rather macho about this car. While men felt at home in the driver’s seat women felt empowered sitting in there. I had learnt driving in this stately yet humble family car. Handling the steering and gears I can easily say was like doing my weights and push-ups in the gym today. Though I am of an average Indian height I had to prop myself on a cushion to get the right view from the wind screen. Even today each time I drive my latest car, a rather petite and swanky hatchback, I curse silently under my breath when I get stuck in a bad crowded street. With an Ambassador I always felt safe. It never was prone to dents and damage at the dash of another car or bike. This car remained loyal as a kind and benevolent protector, yet understated in its mute colours and non-sensuous appearance.
With all its simplicity there was something extremely ‘patriotic’ about the Ambassador. Hind Motors, the name of the company always made this car as our ‘very own’. Though born of a British gene, the Morris Oxford, the car took to India like fish to water. Over the years it became one stately symbol of the real India in a unique and zealous way. To its fame, the car has driven all state heads, leaders, politicians, actors, police and Army officials around for decades. No car till date in the country can boast of such prestigious importance. The cherry topping that added to its pride was the ‘lal batti’. Such a lighted car was almost revered by all commoners both in the cities and villages. It almost heralded the coming of a King!
While it did pride to the celebs, provided comfort to families, it was also always there for the average Indians in the avatar of the famous black and yellow painted taxis. It deprived no one. A great leveller that almost defined the basic social fabric of the country and catered to democracy as stated in our constitution!
I still see these cabs parked at the crossing near my house in Kolkata. The other day I stood watching them pass one by one. Most of the drivers now hail from Bihar. When we were young these cabs were driven by tall Sardarjis. In those years the two had become almost synonymous with one another. It was like a perfect match. I suddenly spotted a sardar driver, stopped him and got into his cab almost impulsively. I had to nearly walk to the other end which is not the case with most cars these days. It was indeed hot inside. No air-conditioner, and the stench of smoky diesel filled the air inside, yet I was happy. This would be feasibly one of the last rides in my parent-car’s lap.
In a short time, the cab-driver and I struck a conversation. Both had a common thread this afternoon — we were referring to his precious possession as thing of the past. He began to reminiscence several anecdotes from the past, as a taxi-driver. He shared with me how easy it was for him to sleep despite his tall height or over it... “chhat chipakne ka dar bhi nahi hai, jaise aajkal ke garion mein lagta hai” (There was never a fear of the roof crumbling under my weight as is the case with these modern cars nowadays). From the top he spoke of being under the car. He explained how easily the high chassis could meet all the ravages of our Indian roads — puddles, badly built high road breakers, some tiny pups, and even huge potholes. Not only this, said my driver, “I can easily slip under it and make do the flaws as and when required”. True this car has indeed been a low maintenance member to all of us who once proudly owned it. A local road-side mechanic, be it in a remote village or a plush locality of a metro, could repair almost anything in it.
As Tennyson said, “The old order changeth yielding place to new....”. Perhaps the Amby (as it is popularly called in modern times) had a mind of it is own. If Herbie of the film love Bug could, why not our parent-like old school AmbassadorIJ Maybe it too did not want to join the race where garishness, sensuous and trimness has taken charge. Maybe it wanted to remain with us just as fond memories. Seven decades, it is told is a good life time — that is what our dear Ambassador has lived.
Ever since the close-down of Hind Motors was declared, some members of the top-management have conveyed that after clearance of all debts, this car will be produced once more. This has not been a very happy news at least for me. While I am happy that our very Hind car will be back, I am afraid, as I am sure it will take a rebirth in a different shape: Swanky and sexy. That is not how I would like to see it, honestly speaking.
I have been sad. Maybe I am one who cannot give up on one old love and move on. However, a recent Amul advertisement shared my loss. This is one ad that I firmly believe speaks the pulse of the Nation. The catch line said: ‘Ambas-sadder’. I got rather carried away seeing this ad and browsed for some old ads. Google threw up an old advertisement that encapsulated the story and being of the gone-car ever so comprehensively. This time the catch line was ‘The Big Size Family Car’. Gone are the ‘big-size families and gone is the car’, I thought. The image was in sepia shade... reiterating the car as a Glory of the Past. I saved the image in my personal album to have it with me forever as a reminder: “Once upon a time there was an Ambassador... those were the days my friend, We thought they’d never end”.