Aug 9, 2007: The day the car came into my garage for the first time (top pic)
Mar 23, 2024: The day the car pulled out of my garage for the last time (bottom pic)

For a person who thinks of a car as a simple object to take him from point A to point B safely, I have an inexplicable emotional attachment to my cars. For some reason that is beyond logic, I refuse to give up on them even when they are way past being safe.

After I came to this country in 1993, my first car was a Honda Civic. By the time I gave up on it 14 years later in 2007, it had more pockmarks on its body from hailstorms in Dallas than two small pox afflicted felines battling themselves till the referee called it a draw. The lit up, flashing dashboard made me reminisce of Diwali everyday, the electronics to pull the windows up and down were long gone and towards the end I had to pump the brakes every 30 seconds at a red light in the rolling hills of Atlanta to prevent it from rolling. That is when Sharmila took the car decision off my hands. She called in Reddy from Dallas and Joydeep from Minneapolis to physically get rid of my car and help me buy a new one.

Atlanta is such a city that you can enjoy the roof down in a car nearly 8 to 9 months a year. So, I got this convertible as the second car of my life. It was lying in the dealer’s lot as previous year’s demo car. Believe it or not, as small as the car is, all four of us came back from the dealer to our home squeezed in that car. With the roof open, of course. We were literally spilling out of the car from all sides.

Once I got past my mom’s question of what would I do if it started raining (strangely enough, she was satisfied by my answer that I carry a big umbrella with me) and my dad’s disappointment that for so much money I got only two doors, the rest of the ride has been fairly smooth.

It lacked all the modern safety features – reverse camera, side car presence warning, lane slip warning and all that. No USB charger, no bluetooth either!!! But it could merrily play a cassette tape, if you could grab one.

After being together for 17 years and spending nearly 220,000 miles (350,000 kms) together on the road – mostly by ourselves – I finally bade adieu!!

It will take me some time to get over this.

I have a niece in India – Shreya – who has some unparalleled God gifted talent in art. She had seen a picture I had posted of me playing the tabla and Jay Jay listening to me. Then she drew this for me and handed it over to Sharmila and Natasha (who are in India) as a gift for me.

I am blown away by how life like it is and the clever use of agitrons in a painting!

Best gift. Ever.

If they knew how to park their trains like I do my parallel parking, all of London could heave a collective sigh of relief and stop Minding the Gap incessantly.

This was in front of my house. My 17 year old car has no rear view camera. In the rains, with compromised visibility, I managed to parallel park like the champions.

To be sure, this is an exceptional event.

Here is the problem though. My car is low. And I am old. Getting off to the curb directly was a Herculean test for my left knee!!

Looks like 2024 will be pretty much a hysteris curve of a never ending cycle of feeling drowsy after the cocktail only to be woken up by the espresso!

Just before the tradition of Christmas lunch (luchi-aloor dum-chicken-payas) started. The one day that we celebrate with the two daughters making luchi – one does the bela (rolling with rolling pins) part and the other does the bhaja (frying) part!

The two dogs – after morally supporting and egging the girls on for a full hour, mostly by walking between their legs in great anticipation – were mighty disappointed to realize that they could not partake in the aforementioned luchi-aloor dum-chicken-payas.

“Did I just do that?”

Sharmila could not stand to see what I had done to her car even when I was taking a picture!

The car, unfortunately, has to be written off! Went and got the license plate as a souvenir.

If you are Bengali-ly-challenged, all you need to know when somebody says “Durga Pujo” is something like the Brazilian Carnival, the German Oktoberfest, the Spanish Tomatina, the American Mardi Gras… all rolled into one. While it has some religious roots, people from all religion get together for 4 days of showing off in their finest dresses to do some “dhunuchi” dances (you will literally be holding fire and smoke in your hands), get high on “bhang”, eat a lot of goat meat and … loud music (“dhaak” – that percussion instrument that can swing even the oldest oak tree from side to side ) and of course, formless (“who the heck cares”) and formful (“we are from Santiniketan”) dancing.

EVERY. STREET. CORNER.

If you have not experienced Durga Pujo in Bengal, you do not know what energy is all about. Einstein and his MCsquared be darned!

Sharmila has not seen that energy ever since we moved to this country. 31 years back.
And neither have I.

Part of the challenge was that the kids never got time off in USA during Durga Pujo. Mostly because teachers asked “What is Durga Pujo?”

I was able to convince Sharmila to visit her mother during Durga Pujo this year. A bit surprisingly. Not the least because every other year she would say – you cannot take care of the kids when I am gone. Well, we are empty nesters now.

Hearing that she is coming – apparently the whole India sibling brigade got into a high gear. I understand now my brother and his family showing up in the small town – Durgapur – we all grew up in. And my sister and her family is following suit. Not to be left behind her own brother and his family are making a beeline to Durgapur too!

That ought to be a get together of a lifetime for the Roy/Ghose Family!!

How I wish I were there too!!

But as the eldest of the group, my role is to co-ordinate the whole thing and make sure it happens. Remind me to tell you next time how the three families were going to land up for a dinner get together on three different days if not for yours truly from USA reminding them they that they were totally messed up on their count of Saptami/Oshtomi/Nobomi and their Friday/Saturday/Sundays.