The ambassador was once a very iconic car in India. You could see them everywhere once, privately owned, commercially used, they were even used by celebrities and important government officials. If someone had a car in this country during the 60s or 70s it would probably be an ambassador and they remained quite popular till I had arrived in this world and had spent a few years as a small boy.
The car was manufactured by Indian automotive manufacturer Hindustan Motors and had a British origin with it being based on the Morris Oxford series III model by Morris Motors Limited.
However, this is not about the car, it is about one of its owners. Mr Mirdha drove a dark red coloured ambassador. I don’t know whether the car was available in that colour or he got it painted that way; I never saw another ambassador of that colour and the shining dark red colour of the car made it look more beautiful than anything I had seen in person running on four wheels. My own little hatchback is of the same colour although I have lately found myself developing a taste for brighter things in life.
Mr Mirdha had a taste for such kinds of things. He lived in one of the apartment buildings in the same society where we lived. He had his curly grey hair and a pencil line moustache; on his left hand he wore a leather strap analogue watch with white background and little black lines which represented the numbers of a clock. He was always in his trousers and shirts; it seemed he had a great collection of them.
His face was long and he wasn’t necessarily an obese man but he did have a stomach which was always bulging outwards. Unmarried and without any kids, Mr Mirdha lived alone in his apartment which was quite decorated with paintings, statues, ornamental plants, a 50 litres aquarium which we loved to look at.
I was still in my school when I last saw him. I heard he had moved in with his sister, where he passed away from old age. Now, why exactly do I remember this gentleman as I am sure many others do too? It is because he loved children, his work took him to all sorts of places and he would bring for us many things, especially chocolates.
Children used to visit him all the time and he kept cookies and milkshakes and many other such food items for them. I would say some children just visited him for the eatables as I myself had done sometimes, but to my defence I have tasted the best chocolate of my life at his apartment, I wish I had somehow remembered the brand.
He was quite friendly with other people as well. Although everyone admired him for the freshness he carried with him everywhere, as I grew up I realised no matter what others thought, a lone man in this world can be depressing, but was he? I guess I will never know. We still have our apartment there and sometimes I can’t help but look towards the opening between two apartment buildings and imagine his dark red coloured ambassador turning in to be parked and him pulling down the window and extending his left hand to greet me.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Carried in Remembrance
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