What If Maruti Hadn't Hit The Roads?

If Sanjay Gandhi had not been indulged as a small child with far too many dinky toys--those big cars inminiature that boys propel back and forth while emitting strange vroom vroom sounds--we would not allbe driving around with our knees touching our chins, suffering painful cramps in our legs and cricks in ournecks. We would not be squeezed together uncomfortably in back seats that are made for two, but which giventhe propensity of us Indians to travel together in a herd, have often to accommodate five.

The only achievement of the younger scion of the Gandhi dynasty that was not controversial, was hisushering in the modern era in automobile travel with the Maruti, called a ‘people’s car’ since it had areasonable price tag. It also looked reasonably 20th century in design, at least when compared to thosecaste-iron battleships, the Ambassador and the Fiat, that sailed our roads in the immediate pre-Maruti era.

Ashamed of these antiquated cars that belied our claim to be a modern nation, we embraced the zippy-lookingMaruti with fervour. Little did we realize that we were, forever, giving up comfort for aesthetics. That whileit was undoubtedly a heady experience travelling in a car that looked more like Princess Diana than the QueenMother, we were condemning ourselves to a future of acute discomfort. The Maruti set a trend. No sooner wereforeign cars allowed the privilege of plying on our potholed roads some ten years later, than a scourge ofdinky sized Santros, Fiat Unos, and Matizes appeared.

So, too, did bigger models, but since these are financially out of the reach of the middle classes, most ofus go around in Altos, Wagon R’s, Santros, Unos and Indicas looking like we have been stuffed into our seatsat high pressure. Every time we climb out, the more generously endowed among us know what a cork feels likewhen it is ejected from a champagne bottle.

At such times I yearn for the cavernous interiors of that dubba-on-wheels, the Ambassador. Beforethe Isuzu engine and power steering, driving an Ambi was an arm-wrenching experience, but, then, this wasstrictly a car in which one was driven (like all our mantrijis). You walked into an Ambi not sankinto it; you could stretch your legs to the maximum, have plenty of room for a third passenger in the frontand stack your entire household belongings in the boot. I bet even the Maybach can’t offer comparable perks. 

The Maruti pretty much standardized the shape and size of cars, putting an end to the odd, eccentric andusually ancient collection of vehicles that once coasted down Indian roads. There were Morris Minors, AustinEnglands, Impalas and Triumphs, all dating from the pre Ambi-Fiat era. They came in a bewildering variety ofshapes, sizes and colours adding much interest to our roads. Few people bought new cars; everyone bought a carat second or third hand and then drove it, like, forever.

I remember wallowing in the cathedral sized back seat of the Chevrolet that my grandparents owned, or theeven more cavernous interiors of a grand uncle’s Mercury. My own father owned a Citroen (French not English,the latter being considered a pretentious upstart by Citroen connoisseurs of whom there were a surprisinglylarge number in Mumbai). These everyday workhorses of yesteryear are now brought out once a year at vintagecar rallies where the younger generation gawks at them in disbelief.

Cars were highly individual and unpredictable in the pre-Maruti era. Today, you can’t tell a Ford from aHonda, a Zen from an 800 or a Skoda from a Siena, but you can be sure of getting to your destination withoutrequiring the help of passers-by who materialized out of nowhere to give a helpful shove to your inevitablystalled Fiat.

The Maruti changed our way of travelling just as the modern ‘flat’ changed our way of living. Itstandardized, it scaled down, it was easier to manage and cheaper to buy. It was, I suppose, ‘progress’.