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Hit the road
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Being a fly on the wall, SUDIPTO MONDALspotted many interesting cars and their even more eccentric and possessive owners at the vintage car rally recently
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Photo: R.Eswarraj
Hot wheels The Studebaker drew admiring glances
A blue 1947 Studebaker once belonged to Nobel laureate C.V Raman. Another car was supposedly owned by one of the Mysore Maharajahs. A 1942 Ford jeep once belonged to the United States Army. Yet the present owners of the cars behaved like they had an
umbilical connection with the machines — either the cars were born in a maternity home or the owners were pieced together in a foundry with their beloved gas-guzzlers.
There were two displays at vintage car rally organised by the Mangalore Motor Sports to mark our 59th Republic Day celebrations in the city — wheels from a bygone era and their eccentric owners.
The machines
Some of the stand-outs in the wheels category have been mentioned already. The others that beg mention: A Metallic Blue, 1951 Morris Minor — all straight lines and sensuous curves, squeaky clean from indoors, original leather upholstery to boot.
Although it was called the vintage car rally, three motorbikes that also participated in the show managed to grab many eyeballs. A 1942 bike looked as good as new — it was almost fitting that the make of the bike is called ‘Matchless-350’.
There was an ageless (couldn’t get the date of manufacture) Norton 500 too – slightly rusted and all – but once it was kicked to life, the engine sounded like the pure, unadulterated and apocalyptic music of the German heavy metal band, Rammstein.
The men (and women of course)
This is the part where I really cannot take names. The human exhibits (read owners) truly outshone the gleaming machines – some were slightly eccentric, some were a little too obsessed, while others seemed to be completely off their rockers.
The fly swatter: All the owners had a little bit of the fly swatter in him (her). Typically the owner would lurk just a few yards away, keeping an intense eye on the machine. In time the curious spectator would come along. First he would just caress the vehicle. No reaction from the owner.
Then he would slowly run his hands along the contours of the machine, occasionally stopping at a door handle. Hold the handle but not open the door. Still, no reaction from the owner. Emboldened, he would open the door and just then a war cry would rent the air. “Hey that’s my car!”
The bewildered spectator would buzz off only to settle on another car and the same game would repeat itself all over again. It seemed both the parties involved loved this little game of hide and seek.
The obsessive-compulsive: These were the owners who had microscopes for eyes. The kinds that not only wanted their machines spotless but also disinfected, by the looks of it.
Rubbing, polishing, some rubbing again, plus some polishing – over and over again, for as long as the exhibition lasted – it was an intense five minute ritual that would repeat itself, every ten minutes. This category of owners could further be split into two kinds – the types that carried duster and spray themselves and the types that said, “Ramu, there is a speck of dust on the bonnet. Clean it now!”
The fake owners: All these chaps had cameras and generally hunted in pairs. They were the ones that managed to outwit ‘The fly swatters’.
Their modus operandi was simple. While their less gifted counterparts were getting chased away by the fly swatters these guys hovered around biding their time for the right opportunity to enter the cars.
The moment the owners got distracted or strayed away from their prized possessions they would swing into action. One of them would make a dash for the car, grab the steering wheel and quickly flash a smile; without wasting a second the partner would click as many pictures as possible.
The entire operation would last for less than a minute. They would move onto the next car and this time the driver would become the photographer.
When I asked one of them why all the drama, pat came the reply: “I will put the picture up on my Orkut photo album.”
So the next time you get a scrap on Orkut saying, “Baby you can drive my car. Yes I also from Mangalore,” beware.
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Bangalore
Chennai
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Kochi
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Mangalore
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Visakhapatnam
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