the maruti 800 that raised me
a childhood that arrived on four wheels
Five year old me easily forgot words and their meanings, or what miss Sarita used to teach me in school through making silly sounds with her nose. But I can never forget the one place where I truly belonged, my maruti 800. Our maruti 800. That beautiful vehicle is a living (or dead) testament of how a child can get attached to even the most peculiar things that quietly sit through the whole of their tender years. And this is more than just a vehicle for me, for me it is a whole scrapbook of my eccentric and beautiful childhood. Even now, when I catch a glimpse of this ancient beauty on Indian roads, I cannot help but smile to myself. All magical ways of me come back to me.
Every month, me & my father used to embark on a journey to pick my mom up from her place of work (she used to live 3.5 hours away from us) and drive back to our hometown. And by the end of those 3.5 hours I would always greet mom half-sleeeping by the window. She used to step inside the car, with her the honeyed smell of mogras she used to put in her hair. This would mix with the notes of evening breeze and chai, and would create an enchanting scent that would linger faintly inside the car. After an hour of talking here & there, and fighting sleep we would stop at the nearest dhaba to get some refreshments, which would include my fav chips of all time- oyes, and a sweet maaza pet bottle. While we would be out savouring these, rain would often come unannounced and mamma would cover me with her pallu, walking me to the car.
Soon after, we used to drive again and I used to get excited for my fav game- tracing down racing raindrops on my window. The rain would end, and would be followed by a colorful rainbow ( always opposite to where the sun had shone) and I used to play my second fav game. Spot the rainbow. My mum would feed me aloo ke paranthe while I used to wait for the wheat fields outside to end.
When we used to travel in hotter days, and there would be no rain, my mom used to pack sattu ka juice with her and I longed for it. In summers, the car would smell of hot leather and lime car freshener. Both of my favourite smells, till this date.
One such fine summer day, all three of us developed an inside joke that refuses to grow old, even now. Even my lil brother has been let in on this weird story. so… A truck, out of nowhere, came in front of our car.
Papa slammed as hardly as he could on the brakes.
Both of them instinctively turned around to check if i was okay,
But I was gone.
Not one sign of Aashna.
Not asleep. Not hiding.
Just gone.
For a brief moment, my parents were genuinely tensed as to where their (only) daughter went?!!
Then, almost in a scared little cat voice, I laid out a little ‘mumma…papa…im here ....”
With the sudden push, i was thrown down in the little gap between the front seat and back seat….
That day, mamma papa laughed at this for an hour (atleast) and i just sat there, laughing quietly toooo :P
By four months of this to & fro regular ritual, i had memorised all twists and turns of the highway, every shop my father used to stop by to get us chips, cold drinks and every kumar sanu song.
Sometimes, we used to park our car at the truck lay-by and do a little photoshoot with our keypad phones, the photos of which still take up space in my ferrero rocher box, and my heart, and i can’t complain.
After the photoshoot, we would get tired and my father used to put in his ‘evergreen old songs’ cd in the car stereo and we would lay back and enjoy the popular songs such as emraan hashmi songs (lol), kishhore da, mohammad rafi, kumar sanu and so many more…
Even now, whenever I hear the starting electric chords of tu hi haqeeqat, I get transported back to 2010. All I can picture is electric poles passing by one by one, and the loud noise of wind after opening my window.
Papa would start slightly tapping the steering wheel as ‘tu meri zindagi hai’ by kumar sanu would start playing, and as it would progress as he would start singing along ‘tu hi pyaar, tu hi chaahat, tu hi aashiqui hai’ in a deep but warm voice. A beautiful voice I can never forget.
The next song would be a particular love-revenge song ‘mere mehboob qayamat hogi’ by kishore da which literally translates to “my love, the doom is near” and mamma would always tease papa by “who broke your little heart jaanu?”. I would always accompany her laugh even if her jokes would not be particularly funny (sorry mumma)
After this one hell of a journey which tattooed Indian highways, toll plazas and bypassing farms in my brain, we would finally reach our hometown, only to savor yet another journey going back again. Between all of this, I never quite paid attention to the beautiful vehicle that ferried us between homes, seasons and memories. But I have nothing but gratitude for this non-living companion of ours.
Somewhere around 2013, we sold it away to make way for a bigger and better one, since my lil brother was born around that time, and with that the gentlest happiest years of my life , went away. The golden story of the five year old me was written inside those four doors. I quietly wished that to whosoever it goes to next, they find a magic inside those doors that were a formative almost golden experience for me. I have no shame in admitting that my first love was and always will be that silver four-wheeled sanctuary.
Goodbye lil companion, you were bigger than the whole sky, you were more than just a short time….
i visualised everything and loved reading this so much!
These weren't my memories, but your writing really made me feel like I was looking into the past 🤎 beautifully written—can't wait to read more from you!