Some people can just get a little too attached to there cars.... (not us of course)
Fiat accompli
by Shastri Ramachandaran
I really rue the day, two years ago, on which I sold my old “Fiat” or, to be precise, Premier Padmini. Here I am in Chandigarh, where the most prized car — even among thieves — is the Padmini. The car would have fetched more as scrap than as a vehicle on the road; and to remember that I had sold it for a mere Rs 4500 to the neighbourhood mechanic in Delhi just 10 months ago, gives me sleepless nights.
To know that I could have sold it for more, or better still, left it to be stolen and claimed the insurance, is a thought that never ceases to nag me; even more than the wife. She nagged me to buy it, then to keep it after I “upgraded” to a Fiat Palio (not dictated by any loyalty to things Italian) and, finally, to sell what had become a “liability”. Pliant hubby that I am, I did as I was bid, at every stage; and, I am the one who’s expected to bring home the moolah.
The Padmini car thieves in Chandigarh are superior artists — the gang is said to have made a fine art of stealing only cars of this make. My wife — a gold medallist in fine arts — ought to have known better than to enforce a fiat about selling the car when I could have held on to it for a while longer and made a killing on the scrap. It weighed a lot more than the Dew Mobile - which can be acquired simply by guessing its weight. My Padmini was certainly worth its weight, if not in gold, certainly in scrap.
But, I am reminded, keeping the Padmini would have been a costly affair. Like the family dog that needs to be taken for a walk for staying in shape, the Padmini, unlike today’s fancy cars — needs to be taken for a drive to be in running condition. Who should do this — she or me? — was a regular weekend debate. A kindly neighbour gave us a break after his Maruti was stolen. But he soon got a new car and we were back to our weekend arguments; that she had two weekly off days and I only one, didn’t clinch the matter — she had chores enough for two days, or so she said.
So, every few weeks, when one of us decided to take the car for a drive, Padmini would grunt, snort, growl, hiss, splutter and splatter; but start or go she wouldn’t. Finally, the mechanic would be called and after he had pocketed a tidy sum, the car would start. I have paid more to fiddling mechanics in two years of keeping the scrap than I got for it eventually.
I console myself that I may have lost out in selling a 1981 Fiat for Rs 4500 but I did better in selling a 1978 motorbike for the same amount around the same time. You win some you lose some. But sleep still eludes me.
Fiat accompli
by Shastri Ramachandaran
I really rue the day, two years ago, on which I sold my old “Fiat” or, to be precise, Premier Padmini. Here I am in Chandigarh, where the most prized car — even among thieves — is the Padmini. The car would have fetched more as scrap than as a vehicle on the road; and to remember that I had sold it for a mere Rs 4500 to the neighbourhood mechanic in Delhi just 10 months ago, gives me sleepless nights.
To know that I could have sold it for more, or better still, left it to be stolen and claimed the insurance, is a thought that never ceases to nag me; even more than the wife. She nagged me to buy it, then to keep it after I “upgraded” to a Fiat Palio (not dictated by any loyalty to things Italian) and, finally, to sell what had become a “liability”. Pliant hubby that I am, I did as I was bid, at every stage; and, I am the one who’s expected to bring home the moolah.
The Padmini car thieves in Chandigarh are superior artists — the gang is said to have made a fine art of stealing only cars of this make. My wife — a gold medallist in fine arts — ought to have known better than to enforce a fiat about selling the car when I could have held on to it for a while longer and made a killing on the scrap. It weighed a lot more than the Dew Mobile - which can be acquired simply by guessing its weight. My Padmini was certainly worth its weight, if not in gold, certainly in scrap.
But, I am reminded, keeping the Padmini would have been a costly affair. Like the family dog that needs to be taken for a walk for staying in shape, the Padmini, unlike today’s fancy cars — needs to be taken for a drive to be in running condition. Who should do this — she or me? — was a regular weekend debate. A kindly neighbour gave us a break after his Maruti was stolen. But he soon got a new car and we were back to our weekend arguments; that she had two weekly off days and I only one, didn’t clinch the matter — she had chores enough for two days, or so she said.
So, every few weeks, when one of us decided to take the car for a drive, Padmini would grunt, snort, growl, hiss, splutter and splatter; but start or go she wouldn’t. Finally, the mechanic would be called and after he had pocketed a tidy sum, the car would start. I have paid more to fiddling mechanics in two years of keeping the scrap than I got for it eventually.
I console myself that I may have lost out in selling a 1981 Fiat for Rs 4500 but I did better in selling a 1978 motorbike for the same amount around the same time. You win some you lose some. But sleep still eludes me.
