The Ambassador

Being driven around in my swanky ambassador, I am often amazed at the sheer respect the car commands, irrespective the standing of the bloke sitting inside. While most of the latest variety of cars are ogled at, this is one car that has an aura of its own and commands respect tinged with fear. 

The Ambassador was once classified as the worst car in the world by a reputed British agency, yet surprisingly it had a small market in the nation of whites. Perhaps the snob appeal of the British gels with the aura that this car radiates and in tune with the servility that the ruling class displays in plenty, this stout car literally rules the roads like a tiger.

There is no greater symbol of power on the roads of our nation than an immaculately maintained Ambassador with bharat sarkar emblazoned on it. A light on top and a flag, even if covered adds tremendous value to the glamour and aura of this car. The cover if removed results in even the passers by freezing to attention. The Ambassador is indeed the only car that is generally never challaned for it would be almost a blasphemy for a traffic constable to do so. Traffic violations like entering a no entry zone and jumping traffic signals are acts that this car indulges into with impunity.

For this car, the Ambassador is perhaps the last vestige of the Raj, the raj of the British, when we were slaves in our own nation. An approaching Ambassador therefore tends to convey to the commoner the arrival of someone powerful from the ruling clan, even if the guy ensconced inside has serious doubts about himself. Yet the car gives the bloke a power that he perhaps does not wield or deserve.

And this leads me to wonder, whether life is all about symbolism that confers status and power, not rank and authority, in this nation of ours where good governance is still a far cry?