The Old Car

He’d been driving the old car since the eighties. He’d had it for as long as he’d had his wife. Sometimes, it was hard for him to pick between the two. Someone once asked him— who’d he save if he were in a swirling river and could save only one. Of course, social norms compelled him to pick his wife, but everyone, who knew him well, knew he’d save the car.

Yes, like most Indians, he too believed inanimate objects had souls! Every year, he did the spiritual rituals during the festival for vehicles. He lit camphor on a plate and did the fire prayer, circling incense to ward off evil spirits, and breaking a coconut symbolizing the breaking of the head of evil. He prayed for the car’s extended longevity, as if prayer offered some sort of extended warranty from some dealership above. Somehow, it seemed to work— for he never once had an accident in that car, not even a fender bender.

He picked the car mechanics with the same care he picked his doctors, tailors, jewelers, sari sellers and so on. He wanted someone who treated the car as a living thing, not a mere metallic contraption. When its withering engine started to leak, he felt the same angst as someone who’s just been given a cancer diagnosis. He went a year without proper meals only to make sure the car was fixed, which it was, at the cost of his health.

Imported cars arrived in the country in the nineties. People were all of a sudden driving around in flashy BMWs and Jaguars, with heated leather seats and air conditioning. Salvage yards became graveyards for old Ambassadors, Fiats and Suzukis. But this new wave didn’t bother him one bit. He was not going to ditch his old car even if they offered him a car made of 24-carat gold. Of course, people clucked their tongues and advised him to get himself something in his status, and he would just say, do you discard your wife for younger women?

Eventually, seat belts became a law, and since the old car didn't have one, he was forced to buy a new car. A Toyota. He could tell the old car was a bit envious; on those rare occasions when he took it out for a spin, it didn't start as briskly as it used to. It acted up just like his wife did on days when she was bitter about something, usually about the past.

Then, one day, he rammed the Toyota into a lorry. For a few days, he was shaken, and even fearful of stepping out of his house. He sold the Toyota and promptly went back to his old car. He felt safe in it. The imported car had seatbelts and airbags and whatnot, but it didn't prevent him from breaking a collarbone and from coming within a hair’s breadth of death. Maybe the old car was his destiny. Maybe they were meant to live and die together. Maybe, old is gold, as they say.