I was still smarting from the loss of my first love, a little Italian devil, when Lucie appeared on the scene. She instantly became the object of affection, of not just mine but the apartment building's chowkidarBahram Khan and my mechanic Javed Mota too.

While Javed Mota's infatuation with Lucie continued throughout the time that she was with me (primarily because she became a steady source of revenue for him), Bahram Khan's obsession wore off quickly, and he would keep cursing the day Lucie had set foot in the parking lot.

The first love of my life, the 1972 Fiat 124S, exited six months after I got married.

My second foray in matters of the heart was a big heavy Mazda 929 Luce, pronounced Lucie by all and sundry in Pakistan; so Lucie it was.

 

When I responded to the ad, it turned out that the owner lived right across my sister’s house! So, submitting myself to the will of the higher powers, I decided to buy the car even before I had seen it.

When I was buying my first car, I had sought advice from specialist sources like a Punjabi mechanic, a perennial car tinkerer and a Mr Know-All colleague of mine. Yet, the car had turned out to be a lemon. This time, I apologetically left it to fate.

With Lucie, it was all about looks and luxury. It was long and curvy; goodness, it was even air-conditioned and equipped with powered windows. Mind you, this was 1985 when such lavish features were rare. The tires, wide as that of a tractor, were a particularly impressive feature.

A deal was struck and Lucie was finally mine.

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With most of my acquaintances, she was an instant hit, but the person totally besotted by the car was the aforementioned Bahram Khan, who enthused:

“Tumhara gari sab sey ziada biznat hey!”
[Your car is the mother of all cars]

As it happened, the day after the deal provided the perfect opportunity to show off my new purchase:

My sister-in-law was arriving from New York and I had to pick her up from the airport. I was mildly disappointed when Cindy did not seem to pay much attention to Lucie. I guess in New York, empty parking spots attract more attention than fine cars.

The ride home was going fine when suddenly, without any notice, the engine died. It re-started after a few attempts but now, it moved at snail’s pace.

Fortunately, we were not far from home and the car managed to limp to the finish line after stopping every 20 yards to catch its breath.

Javed Mota was summoned urgently. He peered inside the engine while I waited with bated breath.