By S. Vasudevan, Retired Superintendent of  Customs and GST

Owning a car was a distant dream till 50 years of my age. Finally, I could buy a petite beauty — a German company car Opel Corsa Sail. It was a “pre-owned” one (decent word for second hand). The running around I made to purchase this would itself make an interesting story as I was a greenhorn then. The pre-owner used all his expertise in explaining its features and convinced me to buy it. He also postured as if he was deeply pained to part with the car.

Well, like any other kid with a new toy, I developed a bond with this beauty. Once, it was a dream to buy a car but soon I used to drive this car even in my dreams. My   obsession for spic and span maintenance of my new love, made her silver-coloured curvatures (I believe Chassis is a very harsh word) shine brighter.

A veteran from Indian Air Force that I am, the lessons on cleanliness has been imbibed by me. I never cared for myself even when I got sunburned in the cleaning process. I thought I had to compensate the time lost in my earlier 50 years without a car and spent more time in adoration of this new car !

This car had an exquisite spacious accommodation and upkeep of the interiors of her beauty was also given equal prominence. Dust was my chief enemy. The sight of dust would horrify me. So cleaning was meticulous. Even the remote and hard-to-access portions were carefully polished.

Well, my wife was obviously unhappy that in the course of car cleaning, my household responsibilities were weaning. Her frequency of nagging had increased. (Friends used to say their wives are also same and that sounded like music to my ears). One fine day (can I call it so?), in spite of my wife’s admonitions, I ventured into cleaning my car.

Matter of just a switch

I do not dare to blame my wife for her warnings, because of which I got a little distressed. But the resultant bad mood had an evil effect as I cleaned the interiors. There was this headlight control switch that became the casualty of my distraught. Unlike the modern-day cars, which have control switch attached to steering wheel itself, in my car, it was a little remotely fixed at right-hand corner below the dashboard. Because of my unusual harsh handling that day, the switch got damaged and so was my sleep that night.

The next day I went to the company-authorised service centre. The service engineer inspected it and gave a verdict that it cannot be repaired and the entire switch control unit needs to be replaced, with an original imported one. He said that it has to be obtained from the manufacturer and may take 15 days and the estimated cost was about Rs. 7,000.

Deft hands

I got worried and decided to have a second opinion. One of my friends advised me to go to a local mechanic, Khaleel, who was an expert in his own way in repairing high-end cars. I thought of giving it a try and went to his garage which was next to a Gujari (dump yard). I was amazed to see several high-end imported cars parked there for different levels of repairs.

I was very anxious about the snag in my car, may be very minor, but was paramount for me. But after inspecting the car for only a few seconds, he showed no expressions whatsoever. He asked me to leave the car and come after an hour. His face was so serious that I did not dare to ask any more questions. The next one hour was the toughest in my life. My restless mind was preparing for the worst. 

Complex problem, simple solution

I went back to the garage, posing with a fictional courage. Cool as a cucumber, Khaleel said the snag is rectified and demonstrated that it worked properly.  He asked me to pay Rs. 100. I was astonished and could not believe. I peeped into the dashboard and I could see a new control knob, which looked pretty familiar as well as bizarre to me. It was totally different from the original one. I wondered how he could get such a part which was supposed to cost a bomb and was not readily available locally in such a short time and that too for a paltry hundred rupees.  

When I expressed my bewilderment and disbelief (though happy within), he nonchalantly said, “Saar, it is very simple technology like a mixer in your house.  I just bought a mixer speed control knob for just ten rupees and replaced the broken switch” and handed over the broken switch to me. I was astounded. I thought to myself, hell with the frightening company-authorised service centre, my job was done so effortlessly and the worry vanished.  

Above all, I thought, it was a classic  example of “vocal for local” and “Aatmanirbhar Bharat” much before our Prime Minister Modi promulgated the scheme nationally. Wonder how many such sophisticated spare parts Khaleel would have  replaced in those imported cars lying in his garage with their bonnets open to the sky. And how many such Khaleels  would be in the trade!