ROAD TRIP

It was a family tradition, started long before I was born - the holiday visit to Great Grandpa's Cottage, named 'Morarji Cottage' after him.

Morarji Cottage was in the hill station named Mahabaleshwar, located 1,353 meters above sea level and 263 kilometers from Mumbai, where we lived. In the summer, we'd spend a couple of months there - blissful, happy months.

We went by car, with Dad driving, Mom sitting next to him on the front seat, and my Nanny and me on the back seat. The road trip lasted about seven hours, with a halt for lunch and ice-cream at the Poona Club. It was a great sensation, the mix of the familiar and the new. We had to climb the steep Mahad Ghat - and Dad's driving skills were put to the test each time. Safely cuddled up in the back seat, I peered out the window at the scenery as we gained height.

Dad was a superb driver. He loved cars and ours was always in tip-top shape. Mom's knowledge of cars went as far as 'have you filled the radiator with water?' to which he invariably replied 'yes'.

So, in all the hundred or so times I made that journey (till we shifted cities) I don't remember any problems with the car.

I don't remember, because the one time we did have problems with the car, I was too young to recall it. But I've heard the story often enough.

We were chugging our way up the Mahad Ghat when the car suddenly stopped. "Is there enough water in the radiator?" Mom asked at once.

"That's not the only thing that can go wrong, you know," Dad snapped back. He wasn't annoyed with her, he was annoyed that HIS car had stopped suddenly like that.

He got the bonnet (hood) opened and couldn't find anything wrong. As he was trying to figure things out, a bus trundled up behind us.

On that steep, narrow path, there wasn't enough room for the bus to pass us - the car in the middle like that. The driver of the bus leaned out, called to Dad "Having a bit of trouble, are we?" and then turned and shouted something to his passengers.

Immediately, the young men who were riding in the bus got out. I don't know rightly, but given the capacity of buses from Mumbai to Mahabaleshwar, there must have been twenty among the passengers who could be called 'young strong men'.

Grinning at Dad, they held the doors open for Mom, Nanny and me to step off, then, with a 'One two three - HEAVE' they simply picked our car up and moved it to the side so other vehicles could pass.

"Any valuables?" the driver yelled. "Grab them, lock your car and get on."

The bus was full to capacity, so some of the passengers gave up their seats so Mom, Dad and Nanny could sit. I was curled on Nanny's lap, or from what I've heard, passed from seat to seat while passengers cooed 'how cute' and petted me.

The driver made an unscheduled stop - at the nearest car-mechanic's garage. The passengers leaned from their windows, yelling and waving goodbye and blowing me kisses.

Mom, Nanny and I waited at the garage (apparently drinking Coke) while Dad and the mechanic went, in another car, to where ours was waiting on the Ghat. Using his ever handy tool kit, the mechanic did the necessary and Dad rode our car triumphantly to us.

"Was it the radiator water?" Mom asked the mechanic.

He looked her straight in the eye. "Yes, Ma'am, your husband had forgotten to fill the radiator, and it overheated," he replied.

Nanny told me later that she saw him wink at Dad behind Mom's victorious back.