Guest Author
By Maneesha Lassiter
On his 80th birthday, I asked my father, “What happened to MYB-77?”
He paused, then took a bite of toast after dipping it in his daal soup. With a twinkle in his eye, he exclaimed, “Ahhhh, MYB, the evergreen car!”
His voice excited, he said, “Good old times in the 1950’s! Did you know MYB supported a lot of our family ceremonies? She helped us through all our big life events from weddings to funerals. I had five brothers and two sisters, and they all agreed that I would be the best caregiver to maintain an old car. The 1959 Standard 10 Companion was a British model car, right-side steering wheel, manual gear drive, but everyone who knew her called her MYB-77, as it was her license plate number.”
I silently thought to myself, “As a teenager that was not my exact memory of the car. Our neighborhood friends nicknamed the car as “Shikari Shambhu” after a comic character, which means a lazy and cowardly hunter. My sister and I often ducked down when driving past friends, especially since MYB embarrassed us by sputtering for fuel in their presence. Her boxy green body, bright yellow seats, blaring headlights, and toothless grin set her apart from all the other modern cars.”
After hearing Dad’s compassionate description, I took a big slurp of my bowl of soup and gulped the teenage memory down my gullet and gave a neutral response, “Hmmm, I must say one thing, she drew a lot of attention because of her unique features; she held her own identity in any parking lot.”
He wiped his mustache with a napkin, cleared his throat and set his soup bowl aside. “You see, this present generation must understand one thing.” He paused, scanning his brain to take a ride to the past. “In those days, owning a car was an enormous deal. India got its freedom from the British in 1947, and not many people had the privilege of owning a car.”
He brushed his right thumb over his eyebrow and scratched his scalp to recall a few more words before he continued.
“You see, can you imagine how a 1959, 948 cc, four-cylinder, 37-horsepower car could perform against modern new cars? She was heavy – made of steel. Where do you get cars now-a-days that can withhold the test of time? The same car, when new, was marketed as a ’farm’ car with the ability to carry 180 dozen eggs or 5 very large milk churns/cans along with a family of four.”
”Wow, when did you inherit this car, Daddy?”
“I don’t remember exactly, but it was in the 1980’s after my parents passed away. He smiled and said, “She had her own personality; when cheerful, she could easily cruise at 50 miles an hour; when burdened, she slowed to 5 miles an hour. If she was grumpy, she would give you the time of her life.”
I responded, “Yes, I think she was pure high maintenance and hard to use, unattractive for most prospects. She would never start on time whenever we needed to go somewhere.”
Agitated, my father shot back, “What are you saying? What do you know about the mechanics of old cars?” He retracted as though I had said something offensive that hurt his pride.
“Daddy, do you recall that moment when MYB refused to start? I watched you carefully check the battery connections when you placed the battery in the car. When you turned the ignition key and it failed to start, you had to manually insert a crank rod through an access hole in the front bumper to turn the starter motor. You swung your arm in a full 200-degree motion—up to six attempts—to get her going (causing you to break into a sweat). When I tried, the swing jolted my arm, teaching me the lesson of my life about her resistance! If the crank didn’t work, you would resort to pushing her to get her rolling and then shift her into gear to get her started. Once she got going, her big eyes, yellow seats, and toothless smile seemed to glare in satisfaction and tease me. To top it all off, you had to connect two wires together whenever you wanted to blow the horn.” Then softening my voice to agree with him, I continued, “That’s all I’m saying… never mind.”
Despite her quirks, Dad cherished MYB-77 as a royal antique and member of the family. She most often responded to his care.
Dad replied, “Ahhhh, I see. Do you remember how many long road trips she remained faithful to us? The trip to Ramanagara was filled with songs and games until we reached the foothills of the 2,451-foot high main Ramanagara hill. She cleverly protested against her load, so we had to redistribute our passenger weight. After the adults disembarked, she sighed in relief but still needed a push from the villagers to start us moving on the uphill road.”
I replied, “Oh yes, that was a trip of a lifetime that we will always cherish. What a great time to spend with family members! Our family group rallied with shouts of the Hindi phrase ‘Dum lagake haisha, jor lagake haisha!’ (Put in your strength! Put in your breath, to put in your strength!) to motivate ourselves and MYB’s tiny 37-horsepower engine. With everyone pushing the car, you skillfully shifted her into gear, she climbed the long hill and finally parked proudly at my aunt’s house. After a couple of days of rest, she was ready to bring us home safely.”
I then asked my dad something that had always puzzled me, “But why was the battery always kept charging inside the house instead of being in the car itself?”
He wiped his eyebrow with his right thumb, scratched his head, and replied with a chuckle, “So that no one could ever steal her!”
We both laughed.
“Oh Daddy, You haven’t lost your sense of humor. Haaaa!”
He reminisced, “You see, over the years, MYB impressed us with her endurance, covering long distances as we moved from city to city. Her horn’s vitality was a measure of her mood, signaling her happiness during journeys. She carried our family of four, along with a dog and a cat, with care and reliability. She completed the 14-hour drive from Bangalore to Pune.
A few years later, she managed a 21-hour trip to Jodhpur, covering nearly 2,000 km through hills, desert terrain and sands. Once she took off, she was very sturdy for long trips. She served us faithfully for nearly 30 years.”
“But, but, what actually happened to MYB Daddy?”
Dad took a moment to gather his thoughts. He cleared his throat, wiped his eyebrow, and scratched his head.
“You see, when we were coming back from Pushkar city her radiator boiled over, and she had electrical issues. We had to tow her back to our house using a jeep from the village. Do you remember when I asked you all to keep me awake during the drive? Do you remember? You all had gone to sleep and were snoring. I dozed off for a few seconds, and MYB smoothly kept working her way. She jolted us awake and brought my attention back to the road. After returning, the mechanic worked on her for days, but parts for such an old car were hard to find. He spent a lot of time with her, salvaging parts from other cars the best he could, but sadly was unable to bring her back. She was too tired to continue.”
“But what happened to our dear old car in the end?”
“I let the mechanic keep her, hoping he could re-purpose her parts to possibly benefit some other old needy cars. He gave me a deal on a used Fiat he had in his shop.” Dad replied.
After our conversation, I was nostalgic remembering how MYB-77 made such a mark in our lives. I researched online and found a video taken a few years ago of a 1959 Standard Ten Companion model like MYB being auctioned as a vintage car and shared the info with Dad on a recent video call we had.
I told my father, “Daddy, a 1959 Standard Ten Companion model like MYB was auctioned as a vintage car. She was auctioned in England for £5,772, which is about $7,250 in US dollars, Rs. 619,200 in Indian rupees. Do you think the mechanic restored her for auction?”
He acknowledged my question with a silent nod and raised his palm to bless me, “MYB was the best, but she needed to rest.”
Maneesha Lassiter is an elementary school educator in Raleigh, NC. She’s an actor, storyteller and author. Her first children’s book, Cat With A Passport, was published in 2024. Contact: maneesha.lassiter@gmail.com
