Until the mid-80s, the only cars really available in India were the Ambassador, a relic of the Mark series, sold by Hindustan Motors and the Premier Padmini, a Fiat from the 60s, sold by Premier Automobiles. These two cars monopolized the Indian market for close to 40 years, both companies churning out similar looking units year after year. A change in a model typically meant the addition of a light here, a fan there or a different kind of number-plate, and it didn't take much to excite a car-user. I remember the buzz generated in the early 80s when Premier announced that for a small extra amount we could get floor gears and bucket seats fitted in the front seat.

Today you can walk into a showroom and drive off with the car of your choice if you have the money. This may not seem like a big deal, but it was only 15 years ago when even money couldn't get you a car without a waiting period ranging from a few months to a few years depending on the model and your influence. In the 70s, the waiting period for a car was 3-5 years. I remember my Dad telling me that he managed to get a Fiat in those days only after he wrote an impassioned letter to the board of directors outlining how he desperately needed a car as part of his profession. And then too, he had to use the influence of another friend to get the car out of turn, a process that itself took a year.

There are advantages of having only two car models on the road though. Any friendly neighborhood, roadside mechanic could repair a breakdown, anywhere in the country even in the remotest area. Of course, the fact that the spare-parts used were usually spurious or that something else would immediately go wrong in the next few days, didn't seem to matter. Breakdowns were guaranteed after the first year or so of buying these cars and after 5-6 years, the amount spent on repairs would actually pay for a new car; unfortunately new cars were not so easily available. It is only when I bought my new Honda City two years ago that it finally sunk into me, that cars do not have to break down every now and then. Thankfully, roadside mechanics are now on their way out and are being replaced by authorized dealerships to whom we have to take the newer cars for breakdowns and service.

My first car was an Ambassador, a parrot-green number that had been passed down to my Dad by my uncle. When I started driving it at the age of 18, it was already 20 years old. It was huge, resembling the SUVs of today and I remember the games of "will you start or won't you start" and "when will you stop suddenly" that I used to play with it. My next car was the Fiat that Dad gave me when we acquired a new Maruti 800.

Both these cars came without air-conditioning, since the small size of the car engines (1000-1200cc) made air-conditioners a killing proposition for them. Consequently arriving somewhere in the afternoon with the back of your shirt drenched with sweat was perfectly acceptable. Getting wet in the rains due to leaking roofs or partly open windows was also fine, since completely closing the windows would either fog them or increase the humidity and heat to unbearable levels. Stereos didn't make sense without air-conditioners - if the windows were open, the noise levels outside would drown the output from the speakers. Seat belts, central locking and power steering were unheard off. Even having permanent windshield wipers was a rarity; since these were easy to steal, most of us would keep the wipers inside the cars and attach them only when it actually rained.

Then in the mid-80s, a new company called Maruti came into the market. It was a joint venture between the government and Suzuki and the first car they rolled out was a dinky 800cc version, which soon became a status symbol, though it was meant to be a people's car. We acquired our first air-conditioned, stereo-fitted Maruti 800 in 1987 and we could finally drive around without sweating or getting wet, with some music for company.

Maruti killed Premier and Hindustan Motors and soon became the largest car company in India, a position that it held for more than 10 years. Finally five years ago, with the so-called "liberalization" policy in the country, the market opened up to other imports and joint ventures. Now we have Cielos, Hyundais, Hondas, Mercedes, Fords and Mitsubishis, a large range of cars from Maruti, a new local Tata company that makes cars and SUVs and many more options for jeeps, station-wagons, scooters and motorbikes.

I still haven't talked about the driving.

It is best not to fall in love with your car in Mumbai, since it takes less than a month on the road for it to be scratched and dented.

Its not only other cars, trucks and scooters that you have to deal with; there are hand-carts, cow-carts, bicycles, animals and most importantly, people, who also use the roads. Pedestrians walk on the roads, because the pavements are unfit for walking, either as a result of having been dug up or because of hawkers and slums. Add to this a total lack of discipline, cutting-in from the left (we drive on the "correct" side of the road, as compared to the US), breaking signals, impromptu car races, slow cars, fast cars, breaking-down cars, foul-gas emitting trucks, diesel scooters and mobikes, speed-breakers, potholes and sudden road crossing by pedestrians... I guess you get the picture. I hate driving in Mumbai and my best days are the days when I get to borrow my Dad's chauffeur. It is said that Mumbai has the best traffic control in India - you can imagine what happens elsewhere in India.

I have an axiom. If you can drive in Mumbai, you can drive anywhere in the world. When I started driving in the US, I couldn't imagine why people made such a big deal about the whole thing. Drivers sticking to their lanes, a lack of significant pedestrian traffic, definite rules that everyone followed and cruise control - God, it didn't even feel like I was driving. That is, until I went to New York...and I finally felt at home.

I do not have any particular aversion to driving or to leaving my comfy home. No problems with too much road rage or too little confidence. No bad history of driving crimes -- in fact, I have a perfect driving record. I have been a driver for twenty-plus years before this little ten-year interlude, and in all that time, I have never had a single speeding ticket nor even a parking ticket.

So, what's up?

It started out innocently enough. I used to live in what is known as the "tri-state area," which is TV-news-talk for a group of three states that are clustered together in a small radius on the east coast of the United States. I happened to live on the border of one of them. And then I hopped across the border for an apartment rental. Hopped back for my first home. Hop, hop -- back and forth across that damn border, living in New Jersey one year and Pennsylvania the next and each and every time I had to physically go to that dread bureaucratic nightmare known far and wide to any and all who come to this country to drive: the Department of Motor Vehicles.

It's a terrible place of dread and pent-up frustrations and the hideous loss of hope. And that's on both sides of that little glass window. Lines that snake through your precious afternoon, sucking the life from your plans. People turning gray under those lifeless fluorescent lights. Forms that seem to change in your sweaty grip, sending you to the back of the line to cross it out and try again and again you will have to come back next Tuesday, when the supervisor comes back from Harrisburg. Maybe. Have a nice day!

Whenever possible, I signed up for a three-year license. The last one I owned was a transfer from New Jersey to New York and I carried it with me when I moved to California and I watched it expire out here. I could have transferred it again before it turned into dust in my wallet, but ... you know what? I just didn't.

I was intent on a lifestyle change and I desperately wanted to be a writer, not a gadabout. I thought that if I forced myself to stay home and sit at my desk I would magically become a writer. If I didn't renew my license, my reasoning went at the time, I would have less distraction, fewer reasons to excuse myself from the hard task of putting bottom to chair and pen to paper.

The years passed. We did not become rich overnight out here. I not only didn't have a car -- I also didn't have a job to go to (I was a writer-in-training), and I really didn't have the money to spend on frivolous purchases such as food, clothing, and all those whatnots. Suddenly, not having a car was another sign that I was deadly serious about my new chosen profession. At the very least, I was seriously staying home.

More years passed. I've only known the whish and the shwoosh of all the Los Angeles traffic -- THE Los Angeles traffic, the car capital of the universe -- I've only known it from the passenger seat, and let me tell you -- that's terrifying enough. I've secretly come to fear that I don't have what it takes to drive here now. Now that I almost can.

Now I almost have a reason to drive. I've almost become a real writer, thanks to venues like this one and the general opportunities offered via the world wide web. That good old information superhighway. I'm a regular speedster there. I also have a few semi-real jobs, requiring FedEx dropoffs and various look-see face-to-face handshake meetings. And we almost have enough money to require rolling around town and spending it. Almost.

So, I've begun to look at vehicles that might be safe enough, sturdy enough, strong enough to contain me and my entire newfangled fear mechanism. Land Cruisers and Range Rovers. Volvos with side air bags. SUVs capable of general mayhem; jeeps that let you rise above the traffic ebb and flow. I don't know. I don't know whether I'm really up for it yet.

I can email around the globe in seconds, and get an almost real-time answer. I can send huge files, zip-itty-do. There's the phone, of course, and if you're rich enough, there are messenger services on call for every hour of the famed 24-7. Do I really need to re-learn how to drive again?

Maybe. I don't know. I do have a plan of attack for myself if I persist in this insane idea of driving again. I'll be packing a hearty, nutritious lunch for my inevitable day trip to Motor Vehicles. And I've got my eye on a nice, simple used HumVee. It's what Arnold "The Terminator" drives. It's a combat-ready vehicle. Makes perfect sense to me.