JOIN USNostalgia is a strange thing. Who would imagine that a message in my Inbox saying, “RIP WBA 551. We will miss you,” and an old black and white photograph, would send me on a trip, down memory lane?
The trigger was the picture of an Ambassador, registration number prominent, and flanked by my siblings and me, in what seemed like another lifetime. It’s almost unbelievable that the Ambassador would soon cease to exist.
Hard to believe now that the Amby was the original aam aadmi car till the Maruti 800 came along and usurped this position. Whilst the aam admi might have identified with this car, it was a contradiction of sorts that it was also the preferred choice of VVIPs! Some of us may recall the Ambassador coursing through the streets of cities across India, with its red beacon lights flashing, whilst some politician or bureaucrat, got right of way. Ambassadors and politicians continued to have this symbiotic relationship till PM A B Vajpayee jettisoned this vahana, in favour of a custom-made, sleek BMW in 2003.
Though this iconic vehicle has not been a part of my life for a while now, the news that it would no longer roll out, did fill one’s heart with sorrow, and more so, a great deal of nostalgia. From then on, it has been a great deal of reminiscing…
This car came into our lives, like an ambassador of good times, when my father decided to buy it in Calcutta. The number-plate WBA 551 evokes images of a silver-grey transporter, which became more like a family member. While it ferried us across the cities that we lived in and across the country, during long-distance trips, it wormed its way into our hearts.
Memories of this car that served us so well come rushing in and it is hard to decide where to start! Apart from being used for office and school trips, weekend outings in it were a given. Soon after gaining confidence with his driving, my father and the trusted Ambassador took us to picnic spots just outside town, and later on, weekend trips to hill-stations and other holiday resorts. This was followed by longer trips from Jamshedpur to Delhi, Agra, Puri, Konarak, Calcutta and other parts of Eastern India, as well as several parts of South India.
It is amazing the amount of luggage that an Ambassador could fit into the boot! Small food parcels for long journeys could also be kept in the storage space in front of the rear windshield, as long as it did not obstruct the driver’s vision. For picnics, an ice-box would sit comfortably in the boot. If both the rear storage and the boot were packed to capacity, there was enough space between the driver’s seat and the rear one to fit in extra luggage, and sometimes even a small kid could crouch there, to give someone’s legs a rest.
During journeys, there was always a scramble between the three of us children, for the two window seats, until a formula for sharing was worked out. One can’t speak about our Amby without mentioning the social service that it was roped into. Attendance at family birthday parties increased because my father kindly offered to play chauffeur for friends and, of course, one went along for the ride, numbers notwithstanding.
Of course, during the visarjan ceremony at the culmination of the Durga Puja, WBA 551 turned into a mini-bus, as all my friends would want to sit in “Uncle’s car,” as Dad, ever the sport, would race other vehicles to keep behind the truck, carrying the deity, where all the action happened.
Can one bond with an inanimate object made of steel? But, isn’t that the sad tale of human attachments? Even more poignant is the awareness that comes with loss. This is exactly what happened in the case of WBA 551. I still recall the sense of dread when my father stepped out into the area, where he had parked the car, to turn around and tell the family, “The car is missing!” Whilst Papa attended to the police and other formalities, the rest of us sat at home, hoping for the best. That night was one of missed dinners and sleep. Only a phone call about its discovery, the next morning, changed the mood.
It’s a similar feeling of loss now, without the Ambassador of good times on the roads.