Harikrishna Dev

As infants take their first steps and utter their first words, doting grandparents steeped in superstition cherish every milestone, interpreting each movement and sound as a sign of destiny unfolding. One superstitious belief was that I would be an engineer like my dad because my first word was ‘Caaa’, a bad attempt at the word ‘car.’ To pacify a crying kid, my father would drive around the block because riding in a car would calm a cranky child. 

As a naive kid, I never cared about technical specifications or the vehicle’s utility – it was just about one and only one thing: Class. The Maruti Suzuki 800? That was the common man’s car; I never wanted to feel like an ordinary man. The Maruti Suzuki Omni was the school van – why would I want to ride in something that reminded me of school? The Hindustan Ambassador felt ancient, had no air conditioning, and was used mainly by village folk with tin spittoons. The Premier Padmini always had this odd, musty smell that I couldn’t stand. And the Tata Sumo? That was the car the goons drove in every Bollywood movie.

My aunt was in the US, and my mother and I were fanatics about the American dream. We would watch FRIENDS, listen to Eagles songs on the MTV (Dire Straits ref), and wait for the Hershey’s Kisses (An adult joke for a 4-year-old) to melt in our mouths because biting into them was criminal. Ford was the American cowboy in town. I wanted to be a cowboy with a revolver driving a Ford.

I’d perch myself in the narrow gap between the front dash and my dad, gripping the edge of the seat as he drove his Honda Kinetic through the streets of RT Nagar. My eyes were always searching—scanning the road ahead for a glimpse of the blue Ford badge. While I hate idiot drivers now, I remember seeing all Ikon drivers zipping through the pothole filled streets of Bangalore. It represented the new India – a globalised India.

In retrospect, I can’t fault my uncle for choosing the Hyundai Accent over the Ford Ikon—it was the more sensible choice. But part of me resents the objective side of me sometimes overshadows my passion for beauty. The Ford Ikon will always be my first crush, a symbol of dreams to come. Even now, whenever I spot one weaving through the chaos of Indian roads, I can’t help but feel a flicker of that old excitement—a quiet, lingering glee that refuses to fade.