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In 1958, at 14, I joined my University at Vizagh, a proper city in our vocabulary then. I was living at my M.D. Uncle's place in Maharanipet, a posh enough locality overlooking the Bay of Bengal. We used to be lit up every night twice a minute by the search light revolving on top of its tower on the hillock called Dolphin's Nose that jutted into the sea. A few minutes walk down to the beach found us at the Naval Battery with its field guns and its own search lights that once in a while illuminated ships anchored far off in the sea waiting for a berth in the harbor. Vizagh had broad roads and hills and dales and narrow strips of waterfalls gracing their slopes.
I was awestruck.
It was at Vizagh that I saw as many cars on its roads as there were city buses. They bore strange names like Vauxhall, Morris Minor, Standard Herald (2-door), Ford Falcon, Chevrolet Impala and such others that I didn't know how to pronounce. Most of them were imported. Then there were, zooming on the roads, JEEPs with slogans such as 'Caution: Left Hand Drive' and '4-wheel drive' whose import was not very obvious to me. Those who traveled by cars were rich. And I ogled at them.
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In 1958, at 14, I joined my University at Vizagh, a proper city in our vocabulary then. I was living at my M.D. Uncle's place in Maharanipet, a posh enough locality overlooking the Bay of Bengal. We used to be lit up every night twice a minute by the search light revolving on top of its tower on the hillock called Dolphin's Nose that jutted into the sea. A few minutes walk down to the beach found us at the Naval Battery with its field guns and its own search lights that once in a while illuminated ships anchored far off in the sea waiting for a berth in the harbor. Vizagh had broad roads and hills and dales and narrow strips of waterfalls gracing their slopes.
It was at Vizagh that I saw as many cars on its roads as there were city buses. They bore strange names like Vauxhall, Morris Minor, Standard Herald (2-door), Ford Falcon, Chevrolet Impala and such others that I didn't know how to pronounce. Most of them were imported. Then there were, zooming on the roads, JEEPs with slogans such as 'Caution: Left Hand Drive' and '4-wheel drive' whose import was not very obvious to me. Those who traveled by cars were rich. And I ogled at them.
Things were different by the time I reached IIT KGP in Bengal in 1965. The campus was poor and didn't have more than a couple of cars. But when I traveled to Calcutta, I could hardly find my favorite cars bearing all those exotic names. Calcutta was by then swamped by native Ambassador cars like I was told Moscow was by Volgas. They were patronized by the Government and had a flagstaff on their bonnets and revolving red lights on their tops. And an occasional antenna to catch the 'Lunch Time Varieties' dished up by the AIR, Calcutta-B.
And at IIT I heard many of our ME students talk about having their summer training in Hind Motors at Uttarpara which was sort of a temple town for them. Getting a slot there was like finding the rare cashew nut in our Hostel Diet.
And cheaper versions of the Ambassador served as taxis. They had ample room and leg-space. They could easily hold three in the front and five in the back and luggage in the boot and top. And they had enough ground clearance to sail over the veritable potholes that were Calcutta roads. And they were made of solid steel. If an Ambassador were to hit a Morris Minor head on, chances were that the latter would periscope inwards while our Ambassador would escape with minor scratches...like Charlie Chaplin vs Big Jim.
My IAS B-i-L once told me that his dream was to own an Ambassador with a swirling red-light on its top. But soon after his dream was realized, he had a heart attack and a triple bypass and was advised by the doctors not to drive his Ambassador which required muscles of iron and nerves of steel. So he had to employ a driver who exulted in the opportunity of driving a car with beacons.
And its cost went on escalating as it would in any monopoly.
That was when the young Sanjay Gandhi came up with his dream of a Peoples Car a la the Volkswagen Beetle. Alas he didn't live to see his dream fulfilled in the shape of a Maruti 800 which ultimately drove the Ambassador out of the streets of India by 2000.
And my B-i-L had a second heart bypass by then, but was allowed to drive a Maruti since it didn't require any lung power or muscle power or will power...any child could drive it.
And he graduated from Maruti 800 to Hyundai Accent via Wagon R.
And sold all his cars after his retirement since he didn't need a full-time car or driver but finds booking a taxi cheaper and easier and safer and hassle-free.
And his preferred taxi is Tata Indigo for four and Toyota Innova for seven.
And India is back to the era of a plethora of cars of a couple of dozen colorful brands on its streets...
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