Road Trip: Memories of my first car ride

My grandfather had owned a car since before my father's birth and my father in turn has owned a car since before my birth. So I am sure that I have been riding in a car since I was just a few days old and I am glad that I am not supposed to remember that.
What I remember about my early car rides is my grandfather (paternal) taking me for drives in the morning to Dadar Chaupati, Mahim and some other nearby places which I do not recollect. Usually he would have some small odd job to attend to on the way. Another detail of those trips, he would always pick up lollipops or tadgolas (the fruit of Palmyra Palm, the tree from which toddy is extracted) on the way back. But these are just some random rides from my early childhood. If a task was set to name just one car ride before which I don't remember, which would that be?
I believe I was over one year old, less than two and as usual, the drive started from Dadar, my grandfather in the driver's seat, me sitting next to him. (Sorry people, this ain't no U.S. of A., here kids can sit on the front seat.) There was nobody else in the car. The car - it was a Fiat Premier 1100 model (the one that came before Padmini)- was painted in a dark bottle green shade.I don't remember the entire registration number of this car but a part of it was "4040". The interiors were white and black. The steering wheel had a superb leather cover and had an additional chrome ring inside which would function as a horn. The car had a cassette player too though I do not remember if my grandfather was playing any songs on it during this particular trip. My grandfather was dressed in a white half sleeve bush shirt with black stripes and on his left hand he had a wrist watch with the dial pointing to the underside of the wrist. (Most probably it was his favourite Favre Leuba watch.) But this was not the regular fun trip, it was a special fun trip. I do not remember the occasion, but we were going to Goregaon to pick up my maternal grandfather (Talk of spendthrift-iness!!!). The next detail I remember is exiting from the Gokuldham colony at Goregaon. This time I was still sitting on the front seat on my maternal grandfather's lap. I do not remember his attire, but I positively remember that my maternal grandmother was not in the car with us. May be she was already at Dadar or may be she wasn't coming, I don't recollect that.
The rest of the journey is a blur. It was fun to ride with ajoba. He has always been very meticulous about his things and so he was about his cars, all of them were well maintained and well painted at all times. I am told he was a very aggressive driver. I don't doubt that, today at eighty plus, he still holds a VALID driving license! And that license permits him to drive Light Motor Vehicles, Medium Motor Vehicles and even Heavy Motor Vehicles!!!
My father tells me he remembers riding with his father when the petrol rates were Re. 1 per litre. I remember riding with my father when the rates were near Rs. 6 per litre. If I ever have kids(however remote the chances, it is worth speculating), I suppose they would tell their kids that they remember days when petrol prices were less than Rs. 100.00 per litre. Does that sound too negative? Well lets end on a positive note then, I rather suppose they would tell their kids that they remember of the days when petrol was still being used as a fuel.

My paternal grandfather, early 1940s.


Maternal grandfather with my mother, 1957.


Paternal grandfather with his first car, 1953 -
The car in picture is a Hudson Hornet 1951 model.

Bhutache Wade

Eh?! What in the wide wild world is that?

Bhut   = Ghost
-ache = a suffix to indicate "Ghost's"
Wade = Does mean several different food items and I haven't yet been able to figure out which one is implied here.

Then, what exactly is Bhutache Wade? 

As far as my knowledge goes, it means nothing more than the smell emitted by a certain kind of trees during the late evenings and night. The smell, people of yesteryear said, resembles the aroma of freshly cooked wades. And as the smell hasn't come from some actual kitchen which has wades on platter, the wades they attributed to some culinary inclined ghost. It is an excellent smell though.

Now, what exactly is this rather long mention of some aroma doing in the space meant for my memories  and specifically my first memories? A lot actually. When my parents moved to Thane from Dadar (me being just two years old), our housing society's building was surrounded by the Murphy India Company on two sides. This was the same company which manufactured radio- sets and advertised them using the very popular "Murphy Baby" Calenders. Murphy had most probably acquired a lot of land from the Government of India at a throw-away price as most big companies did in those days. The almost four acre land was well maintained with nicely trimmed lawns and landscaped tree plantations around their two main buildings. But soon in 1989 or so the Murphy India Co's Thane plant suffered from a terminal disease of those days called as Union Strike. (I do support Workers' Unions and their right to strike, but I am totally against the concept of some political party ruling the Union and some selfish Union Leaders filling their coffers at the cost of the poor plain labour. Anyways, my views about strikes is not the central point here.) After the plant closed down the gates, the vast land was left without its caretaker, without its mali and soon it got thickly populated with all types of trees (My parents and I have noted almost forty different types of birds there since the land turned itself wild). And amongst these wild trees were some that presented to us, almost every winter evening the appetising smells of Bhutache Wade. 
The Murphy Compound has given way now to a very fine group of residential buildings. The birds have probably relocated. The trees burnt fires in the construction workers' kitchens five years ago I suppose. May be because I was very young then, the smell left so profound an impact on me that to this day when I go out for trips, treks or picnics to even a moderately forested land and the slightest whiff of the aforementioned smell makes itself felt, I live my childhood all over again.

Summer Holiday: Belgaum

And lo! I finally start by blabbering about how I miss Belgaum and my cousins and the fun we had there. Yes, the description says something about first memories so I'll start at that point.

I must have been two years old and I remember getting out of the rickshaw and walking through the gate into the front-yard with my mother. I don't remember before that point and not much after that point either. But I do remember the stone steps leading into the house and the sweet lady sitting on those steps - Pa tai. She must have been in high school then. I distinctly remember what she was wearing - a red polka dot full shirt with a scarf tie. And though I don't remember this, I like to believe that she addressed me as "Shubdi" just like all my older cousins did till I was much older. So there goes my first memory of Belgaum and of Pa tai.
I was born at Dadar, Mumbai at the same maternity home where my father and grandfather were born. My grandmother was born in Mumbai too. On the maternal side, my grandfather was born at Nerur in Sindhudurga district, but he moved to Mumbai in the 40s and so did all his relatives there. So I have almost no relatives at Nerur. My maternal grandmother was born and brought-up at Belgaum. Her home there still stands and her youngest brother (Sudhir mama) and her oldest brother's wife (Mami aji) stay there. Just a few years back, my grandmother's mother (Panji-aji) passed away. So this was my tie-up with Belgaum, a tie-up which blessed me with month long holiday there during every school summer vacation.
I miss those holidays, I miss my cousins who one by one stopped coming there during the summers since 96 or 97 due to education or marriage or job, I miss the chaos that existed in that house for that one month.
The lazy walks around the First Gate and Second Gate, occassional trips with some aji or ajoba or someone to Harimandir, the cricket games at Vaccine Depot, strolls and snacks at Military Mahadev, desserts at Kaveri and Imperial, bicycle trips to the fort, movies at Globe, Arun (I hear it airs only sleaze flicks these days) and many more small theatres, jeera butter and garlic toasts from Nutan bakery and Shankar bakery, sugarcane juice and ale-pak and that was life. And jujupes! And local "chokhayche ambe" from the streets and the mid-summer relief rains and the following chilly late-afternoons, Panji aji chya hatchya bhakrya ani meethi ani lal-mathachi bhaji, Mami aji's chaklis and chatnis and thalipeeth with loni......... damn I do miss Belgaum and the time I spent there...........
And I miss the process of going there by train, the "Taj - DipDipDip" tea on the rail and tomato soups in paper cups, waiting in the very early mornings for the connecting train at Miraz where broad-guage gave way to meter-guage, the bread-omlette at Miraz station and the Meduwada at Gokak...............

On the steps with Panji Aji and others, maybe 1996.