Rajabhau rang up to inform that he bought a new car. His joy and enthusiasm was infectious.
My father soon bought a black Hindustan [or Morris as it was called elsewhere], but it did not replace the love for Chevy in my heart. I did not like it. It was a small car. It also appeared ugly to me. And soon new Fiats and Ambassadors were on the road in early sixties that made our car look old. It also had the windshield in two parts whereas modern cars [then] had only one piece windshield. But my father used to love that car and he travelled all over India driving it.
Finally he decided to sell it. I knew of his decision but not my mother, although she came to know of it accidentally. He bought a used Ambassador, three years old, on my mother’s birthday! That was the plan he was trying to keep it under wraps. The surprise!
The Ambassador remained faithfully with us till my father expired in mid eighties. We used it almost for eighteen or nineteen years. It was a reliable car. My son used to love it. Soon after my father passed away I sold it. And my angry son cried and did not talk to me for three days! History repeats!!