"My Father Had A Car"

My name is Mohan Murke but this is not my story. It is the story of my father. The Mumbai I grew up in changed over the years. With the boom in the construction industry tall and high skyscrapers can be found all over the city. People have confined themselves in their tiny little space. With traditional joint families giving way to individualistic nuclear setup, becoming alone and distressed is a common phenomenon. This is the very reason why Mumbai ranks high in psychological distress and crimes. It is surprising to see the city which is considered to be the economical capital of the country can be full of people who want others to understand them, speak with them, share their worries and pain and comfort them in matters of higher importance. The arrival of Covid and lockdowns have made the conditions worse. It was expected that the city can be expanded by having Navi Mumbai's built-in architectural splendor. It is true that Mumbai is full of people who chase big dreams, work extra hours, and travel a lot to bring in the day. If you travel by local train from Church gate to Colaba you can find how much people compete to remain in the rat race. At this age, nobody wants to come second and this leads to unrealistic expectations and premature aging and death.

But things were not the same back then. I often use to see my mother Kalavati flipping over the old rugged family album with tears in her eyes. She brought me up all alone in the company of my nana and Nani in Dahisar. But I still have faint memories of my father who used to work in a garage, was a very good footballer, and had a fascination for cars. One day having gathered enough courage I decided to ask my mother about my father. I quite understood that if I approached her directly it would be a forlorn task. So I decided to buy time. The whole day she would be busy in the kitchen preparing delicacies like Puran Poli, Masala bath, and my favorite Kothambir wadi. In the evening she would take a bath, light the incense and show it to Lord Ganpati for his blessings on our whole family including my father. I have never found any other example of pure, unconditional love which exists in spite of boundaries, differences of opinion although now I have read most classical love literature and have started writing my own stories as well for the local magazine Mahakumbh.

With the intention of pleasing her, first I woke up early in the morning, then I took the list from her and went to the local grocer and brought all the items, then helped her by cleansing the utensils as she prepared the lunch and waited for the evening to descend to talk about my father.

At first, she wanted to evade the matter but after much persuasion, she had her story to tell. My father was the only son of a Brahmin family who used to live in Colaba slums. His love for football and cars was well known to his family and friends. Although he worked in the garage his customers liked him for his dedication, personal touch, and timely service. Often when customers used to come for servicing their cars they used to spend their quality time, sharing their life experience with him. In a short span of time, he learned to read and write and whenever his friends used to find any international car magazine in the bookstore, they used to bring it to him and he used to feel as if he was owning the car himself. In 1960 Chevrolet Corvair was the most coveted and desired car in Mumbai (then Bombay). My father used to dream of owning this car one day. One day my nanu who belonged to a higher middle-class family in Dahisar visited his garage with my mother when his car met with a puncture. This was the first time my father saw my mother and although they knew very well that both their families would not approve of their marriage, started seeing each other. One day, in the month of Chaitra they got married in the local Shiddhivinayak temple. The initial days were tough for my mother in the garage but a lady knows very well how to turn a barren place into a home. But soon my nanu came to know about this he took his daughter along with him. This was a big blow for my father and he decided to devote his time to football and in the evening resorted to drinking.

Later that year, he got the news that footballers were needed to play a friendly match with a local club in London. When my father approached his friends they made him understand how difficult it is to get a sponsor for him in UK, a distant country. It was not as easy as going from Mumbai to Thane but crossing the seven shores in a ship voyage to London. But as they say, if you have a life-fulfilling dream the whole universe conspires to help you realize it. One of the rich customers’ who was quite impressed with his work in the garage agreed to sponsor him.

Then started the struggle, first to reach London then acclimatize with the climate, people, culture, and hard gripping practice. He was an excellent forward and was very devoted to football and it did not take him long to develop a strong bond with his teammates. On the Sabbath day, the match started and by halftime, my father’s team conceded a goal to the opponents. The last 5 minutes of extra time was in place and still, the scorecard read 0-1. And then came the golden moment. From a set-piece, my father after dribbling through three defenders scored the goal. And the whole stadium erupted in joy. Never before had my father seen such adulation. The sponsors were so happy that they gifted my father Chevrolet Corvair, his dream car. But the next problem was to bring the car to India, Mumbai. After successfully going through all procedures finally, the car arrived in my father’s garage. My mother took a breather before continuing with the story.

With so many well-wishers coming in so short span of time my father had difficulty managing it. And what should not have happened that too happened? He resorted to drinking and smoking and started neglecting his garage. In due course, he had to sell all the parts of his dream car in order to afford his habits. The only part left was the mere skeleton of the car. My mother could not continue and I decided not to force her because I knew what was coming.

I decided to bring my father’s car back to life. For that, I had to locate the junk dealer where my father had sold the skeleton of the car, who advised me to go to the scrapyard. With difficulty and much deliberation after three days, I could locate it. Then I took help from my German friend E.Leukonok who provided the Knitty details on how to assemble it through G-meet. I started with the power system, the starting and charging system, powertrain system, steering, and suspension system. The steps mentioned took 9 months of hard work. I got the help of my father’s friends in the garage and we took a plunge in to completion of frame system, body system and brake system. As the year rolled by the car came to shape as if we were recreating a piece of history for my father’s lost name, to return his glory and to let his existence shine in the midst of a constellation of bright stars.

We recreated my father’s garage in to a museum with the vintage car having a minimal Rs.100 as entry fee for visit and kept it absolutely free for the poorer section of the society.

The visitors who visited the museum could read about the car, study about the past of Mumbai glorified through interesting articles and even they could take a mini ride in the car as well.

But the story does not end here and here comes the twist. A girl in the middle of the night knocked on our door in the garage turned museum. She informed me that her car had got a puncture. Taking the advantage of the situation some goons looted her cash and the mobile. She needed to reach Chatrapati International airport to catch a flight to London for a friendly women's football match. Suddenly I saw the entire past of my father coming back to me in a flash. Her flight was at 2200 hours and we had only 45 minutes to reach there. With her bruised and bleeding I was lost for words but could see the same spark in her eyes, the same that was present in my father. This is the age of modern women who do not fear challenges, want to fight, and make their place for not only the state but also for the country. I knew I had to help her and here raced Chevrolet Corvair in the middle of the night through the lanes and by-lanes of Mumbai to make a dream come true. And when you want something badly enough the whole world conspires to help you achieve it!