Cars Too Need to be Trained to Love Their Owners

My father loved his cars.

- Sathya Saran

First it was the Hillman. Black and shiny, it navigated the potholed roads with a certain elan, which my father attributed to the 'higher clearance'. He would say higher clearance as if he had engineered it, with pride edging his voice.

Like most things loved unconditionally and that includes spouses, kids and pets, the car learnt petulance. On winter mornings it would refuse to start. And while my mother stood anxiously praying he would not get a heart attack, and we sat inside praying we would make it to school before assembly, my father would crank the handle in front of the wretched machine again and again till it finally relented.

Years later, when the Hillman went down the hill each of us must travel, my father bought himself a Herald. Rich, shiny green, it made him light up with joy every time he saw it.