Why I’ll Never Forget My Grandfather’s Magic Car
My grandfather, daadu as I lovingly called him in Bangla, was a retired income tax officer who loved wearing crisp white shirts with his trademark grey pants, always kept his hair neatly combed and for some reason, was super sentimental about his blue Ambassador car.
Daadu was an absolute romantic at heart. He had many journals and diaries that he often scribbled on. About a decade ago, when I lost him, I remember my mum coming across a bunch of his handwritten letters hidden amidst those diaries. A sucker for handwritten letters, I rushed to my mother when I heard about them. Together, we sat and binge read all of them. There was one particular letter that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget. It was addressed to my grandmother, my dimma. He had sent it to her when he was away from home for work and she was pregnant with their third child. Daadu had written how much he missed her and on the other side of the letter, he had just written Bela (dimma’s name) multiple times and those tiny multiple Belas together formed a big Bela that covered the entire page. I mean, without a stencil or any gadget or apps — I don’t know how he had managed it! It looked like a piece of art. But more than that, it looked like a piece of his heart.
Anyyywayyy. So the point is — I don’t think I have or will ever come across a man more romantic than my grandpa. And he not only romanticized his people, he even romanticised his possessions. Perhaps that’s why he was always hesitant to sell his car, even when it got old and its color started to fade.
During my summer vacations, most of our maternal family got together. We went for picnics and road trips and I don’t know how but somehow, alllll of us (my parents, my cousins, their parents and of course, me) always magically fit into it. My mom would always say there’s no car as spacious as an Ambassador. Now, I’d like to believe that we were all smoll and skinny back in the day and therefore, we fit just fine. But as a kid, I used to be very amused and excited because I truly believed my daadu had a magic car that could fit endless people in it.
My daadu is no more, those reunions with my cousins and road trips have also ceased to exist. But my memories with my grandfather are still intact. So are my memories of my time spent in his shiny blue car and the echoes of laughs we’ve all shared in it. So, come to think of it, it was magical after all.
