"KLH 5353 Diaries" is a collection of memories connected to an old car — stories of family, neighbours, journeys, mishaps and a way of life that now feels increasingly distant.
The first car that we had was a black Ambassador 1. This was back in Kerala when I was still a young boy in my early teens.
It was not as though we could really afford a car, but Appan's office had a strange car-allowance scheme – all you had to do was “show a car, and get the cash!” So it was not surprising that many people bought some run-down vehicle just to claim the allowance. A “car on bricks”, they called it! But Appan, for a change, bought one that was still road-worthy – and that was the black Ambassador I mentioned earlier.
Even though it was a used car, it was in decent condition. That was the thing about Ambassadors – they were built to keep running forever, not fussy or demanding in any way. They were like stubborn old friends: always reliable and when in a good mood, capable of squeezing in 12–14 people without much complaint! No wonder they were called “The King of Indian Roads”. The other common choice in those days was the Fiat/Premier Padmini, which felt a little more refined, a little more polished. For a long time, these were really the only options – until a certain Maruti came along and changed the game forever.
So our first car was this black Ambassador – and its license plate is forever etched in my memory: KLH 5353.
We had the car, but there was a small problem – no one in the house could legally drive it! Appan did not have a licence. I was still too young; you had to be eighteen. So we hired a part-time driver to teach us to drive. M’Uncle, our neighbour who worked in the same office as Appan, joined the lessons too. The three of us took turns learning: Appan, M’Uncle and me.
I took to driving like a fish to water – not sure the same can be said about Appan and M’Uncle! After three or four lessons I was reasonably comfortable, and within a couple of weeks I could take the car out on my own with the driver beside me, even though the legal driving age was still years away. While I probably could have driven it alone, I was not allowed to unless the driver was around. The first time I actually had to take it out alone was in an emergency – I'll tell that story later.
One morning during our driving lessons, M’Uncle had the wheel. It was a narrow street, the kind that is crammed with houses on both sides. Almost out of nowhere, a milkman on his bicycle burst into view. The milk bottles were like white bowling pins, balancing on a crate that seemed barely tied to the back of the cycle. I slammed on the imaginary brakes in the back seat and braced myself. But it was too late – almost in slow motion, I saw the bicycle tip. I saw the bottles scatter and smash. The milk turned the road pale and wet. The milkman stood frozen, a look of shock and loss on his face. Luckily, he was not hurt. We compensated him for his loss, and the matter did not go further. Appan and M’Uncle later felt relieved; they could see how much worse things might have been. That image though has stayed with me: the bicycle, the spill, and the quiet relief after. From then on, driving felt different – no longer a game, but something more real, more serious and definitely heavier.
KLH 5353 was not just our car; before long, it became the neighbourhood car. In those days, sharing was the norm; it was almost expected. Our house had a telephone too, also courtesy of Appan's office! So people treated our home almost as a telephone booth. It was not a big deal if someone wanted to make a call – they could walk in anytime and make the call. But things became slightly tricky when there was an incoming call for someone in the neighbourhood; one of us had to run over and call the person. The fridge was another “community” appliance! Neighbours left meat, milk and other bits in our freezer tray – it was almost an unwritten right, and we simply learned to keep a corner free for them.
We didn't have a TV for a long time – the office did not have an allowance for that! M’Uncle's house had one, though. On days when India was playing a cricket match, I would spend almost the whole day there, sometimes even skipping school. Since he and his wife were working and their children would be in school, he would simply hand me the key before leaving. I was free to walk in, switch on the set and watch the match all day.
Looking back, it was probably a little bold of me, maybe even inconsiderate, but I don't think anyone thought much of it then. People were used to living more openly with each other. Most houses had open doors, neighbours moved in and out freely, and favours were exchanged without fuss. Maybe people had less, and so they shared more.
Of course, not everyone felt and shared that way. There were some who kept their doors shut and lived more to themselves. But our neighbourhood still had enough generosity that you could walk into most houses and feel completely welcome.
I think of how different life is today. Cars are everywhere. Each person has a phone. Fridges hum in most kitchens. People seem to live more within their own walls now. The shared culture that let a neighbour walk into your house and take a piece of your life seems rarer today.
Looking back, I realise that maybe what mattered more was not that we had a car. Somehow, KLH 5353 belonged to more than just us – to family and neighbours, at a time when doors were open and life was shared. That sense of sharing and belonging felt more important than the car itself, a reminder of a time when the lane belonged to all of us and we all moved along together.
There are still many memories sitting around KLH 5353 – forgotten memories from years ago. Maybe some of them will return over time, the way memories often do. And perhaps I'll write about a few more of them here.
Some journeys never end.. Some memories refuse to stay parked..
1 The Ambassador, manufactured by Hindustan Motors, was one of India’s most popular cars for many decades – sturdy, spacious and built to last. Along with the Fiat/Premier Padmini, it was among the most familiar sights on Indian roads until the arrival of the Maruti 800 in the 1980s changed the country’s automobile landscape dramatically.
Comments (74)
Growing up in Kerala, I knew exactly that world — the open doors, the neighbours who walked in without knocking, the unspoken understanding that what you had, you shared. We did not call it generosity. It was just life. The line that stayed with me "maybe people had less, and so they shared more." I think that is really true
Beautiful writeup - it takes me back to my childhood living in government quarters and sharing life with our neighbors. Truly nostalgic.
This is not just a story about a car. It is a story about a world that no longer exists. “Maybe people had less, and so they shared more.” - how true! Today, we have more cars, more phones, more fridges. But the doors stay shut. And that loss of unspoken generosity is what makes this reflection linger...
Really enjoyed this blog. The way you explained things are simple and relatable. Looking forward to more blogs from you.
It was so nice to read. It’s feels like a blast from the past.
Writing is vivid and deeply nostalgic! World definitely felt slower and far more connected in those days!
Enjoyed it fully. Really reasonated with my life too. “Car on the bricks” Another common practice in Kerala is that during the Sabarimala and Maramon seasons, people open their doors to devotees to rest and eat. We always carry pothichoru from home and have it at a house in maramon. The house owner will serve water and Achar….
Hey Paul.. that was interesting read. I enjoyed your writing style ..the easy approach in presenting the topic which then made for captivating light reading all the way to the end
Thanks for sharing , your articles are always interesting and inspiring
Dinu Chettan,
This is such an evocative piece. Your writing just fills the heart in a way that all my memories rushes in to put a smile or thought in me. The way you’ve captured those small, everyday moments makes the nostalgia feel both personal and universal.
Also, you’ve left me really curious—would love to read the story of that emergency you mentioned. Hope you share it soon!
thanks liya will definitely share that sometime..
Very well written. Story of a car and its inhabitants very well depicted
Hi, Dinucha. Just read it. Really liked the way you took something so ordinary and made it feel meaningful and familiar. Felt very real and relatable while reading. Nicely written
thanks da
Well said....the bonding of the neighborhood is something we cherish till date. It's was always taken for granted to share, use vehicles, appliances. The TV , VCR days also brought community, neighborhood closer. Many of us who owned the TV, scooter, car looked forward to people coming and watching match together or going out to enjoy. Present world it's about only owning expensive things. No sharing. People are confined to their house. Loneliness has increased. Neighbours don't know eachother. Hope things turn around and our kids too have such memories. Well written Dinu.
thanks sesh
After reading about Ambassador and Premier Padmini....nostalgia hit me like a wave ....all those narration felt so so personal
Nice read as always, Dinu. Indeed, those were the days when people were more Ambassador-like with their homes & hearts that could generously squeeze in more!
indeed..
When I was young I lived in a Catholic village in the outskirts of Mumbai. We had no cars there but a lot of mutual sharing and caring. Whether it was unusual exotic fruits and chocolates, Television time, Magazines and such or home remedies when a neighbour fell I'll, or wanted help with Maths or the guitar. Everyone had something to give or enjoy something special that was given. Lifetime friendships were forged.
wow.. thanks for sharing
Dinu I literally took a walk down memory lane with yr Ambassador car story coz that is what we moved around in Kerala during our holidays. The car comes with a driver and along with our family of six we had a few others who join to show us the way so the max we had 15 pax in one car driven by a small short guy who fixed wooden blocks to the brake and accelerator coz he couldn’t reach them.
Back in singapore our home was a common TV cartoon watching zone for the neighbourhood kids and we have remained friends till today! Simple childhood joys
thanks susan, for sharing your memories too..
Feeling nostalgic after reading this and sad that we as humanity have become so closed now.
true..
Brought back memories of our childhood in the 1960s, when we lived in a "black & white" government bungalow set in a copius and lushous garden and driveway.
Dad was the head of traffic police in Singapore. I remember that we were one of the earlier families with a TV at home, and the neighbours kids and our playmates from the village (slum) fronting our house coming over from 5.30 or 6 pm to watch the children's programmes till 7 pm.
It was the community TV even for the village kids.
Wonderful narration of a car and the story attached to it.
thanks anichayen, for sharing your memories
Dinu, I could relate to all of it. Appa didn't drive, so I learned before I was 18 with a driver sitting next to me. I did bump a private bus once, but thankfully it was only minor scratches.
good on you - those guys do deserve a bump
Thank you for sending the link. I really enjoyed it. As always I am really proud of you especially your style of writing. What you mentioned in that article is very true.
Very well written DP, nice flow and takes you back memory lane. I can related to fiat 1100 my grand father’s car and TSJ 5456 a maruthi 800.
Thanks for the nostalgic ride, Dinu - our rust colored Ambassador KRF 2084 holds a lot of good memories too - our weekend trips in it to good old Paico, watch the sunset at Marine Drive & movies, ending with dinner at Malaya restaurant.... I remember the days when only one house in the family had a TV...Dad's cousin's house - where we all gathered to watch the news on Indira Gandhi's assassination, and that was my 1st outing to watch TV
thanks for sharing your memories
Well written as usual.
Dinu, your writing is truly beautiful. I hope you will write a book one day . Reading this brings back lot of fond memories . I remember our Mark III green ambassador which was also a second sale car and one model older than your black Mark 3 , I still remember how o was fond of Mark IV when we had the Mark 2 . Similar experience with the TV , watching olympics hockey was my first time.
I remember the various Marks only difference would be in the grill and bumper later on Mark IV, I believe, they changed to floor gear, and that was a huge thing
I always enjoy reading your writings. It's beautifully written and could relate well with the Ambassador, Fiat , TV etc except that our Fiat used to give us starting trouble sometimes which felt so embarrassing back then . I am not sure how much of this our kids will understand.
So well written. It was a walk down the memory lane for me too.
That was amazing reflection of our world back in 70s 80s and 90s
Those were days when anything belonged to everyone..
Can a world and human feelings change so much?
I wonder sometimes is it the lens of nostalgia that makes our past a treasure...
When I look at my kids, they definitely have more connections to outside world, friends and friendships than what I had back then.
thanks joel of course there's always a nostalgic filter.. our kids connections - quantity for sure.. quality? i do hope so..
Same stories can be related to each one of us from this generation. Just lived through the story as if it was what I experienced, the difference is that our family was an observer to people who had cars, phones, refrigerators, Tv. We just could not afford any of these.
Very well portrayed Dinu
Thanks for sharing these heartfelt memories..can relate to many old things, esp the faithful ambassador, which was my father's prized possession!
Nice read , Paul. Most of us , the 1st steering wheel , we touched was an Ambassador.
This is beautifully written Dinu uncle - enjoyed reading every bit of it
thanks asha
I could picture every bit of this … the ambassador upgraded to Padmini and then to maruti .. the neighborhood TV and VCR for which neighbors would take the CD.. the telephone trunk calls that informed beforehand as tho giving us time to run to the neighborhood .. and the nendrakola hung in the living room for all during Thiruvathira and the pond for a bunch of houses around … “some memories refuse to stay parked” beautiful.
thanks priya
Beautifully written, Dinu
I wanted to take a moment to express how thoroughly I enjoyed reading your blog. Your amazing writing skills truly allow us to imagine every scene and emotion you describe. Reading your reflections brought back a deep sense of nostalgia, as many of us shared very similar childhood experiences regarding the introduction of the refrigerator, the television, and the telephone. While my own family did not have a car at the time - largely because we lacked a proper road for a vehicle to travel on - the rest of your memories resonated with me deeply.Your writing particularly reminded me of my own family's experience with the television. Initially, my father was not in favour of getting one. However, my grandfather insisted on the purchase, wisely wanting to ensure that we children would stay at home in the evenings rather than gathering at our neighbour's house. Subsequently ,our home then became the local hub. Our neighbours began gathering at our house to watch cricket, which is how I - and eventually my father, who became a fan - learned to love the game. Your observation that \there were some who kept their doors shut and lived more to themselves\ is very accurate. I have often noticed that wealthier households tend to keep their doors closed, whereas middle and lower-middle-class families share more and keep their doors open to the community as they have less and they share more . Expecting more write-up like this Dinucha..
thanks for sharing your own memories
It was so nice to read, and it felt like it ended too soon ♥️
KLH 5353 a lovely read. Those days of caring neighbours and sharing resources seem so unreal and an era will be missed. Thank you for writing and sharing. I wonder what was the ultimate fate of KLH 5353.
Some plates that will be with me forever are KLI 2498 and KCF 9757.
aha.. a car and a scooter? the ultimate fate of KLH 5353 is for another day thanks for taking the time
Usually found was white or black Ambassadors cars, no limits of people to sit on it.
And ur hand on the horn always while driving, old cars which should learn manually pulling ACB (Accelerator, Clutcher, Brakes) while driving.
Railway gate-Once got to stay near the railway station.To hear the trains passing ,horns.. the rods opening n closing sounds upon getting the signals.
Have seen people running under the rod and crossing the tracks ,when the waiting of the train is long.
Cows, goats, dogs here n there near the tracks
Many would also pull the emergency chain puller to stop the train, as some would like to get down before the stations/platforms reached.Trains stopped unwanted times n journeys late.
Wired rotary round dial black color phone,stuck the fingers on the hole to dial the numbers-with a standard ringing tone.
Now,generation kids are missing to see n travel in the railway trains.
using old wired phones.
cars with manual old style driving
thanks reena, for sharing your own memories
Yess!!!! Some journeys never ends.
I can visualise the memories of ĶLH 5353.
This car was running tbroughout my wedding. The neighbourhood of those days are gone. Dinu, your writing is too good.Write again,about your memories
I remember every moment of the wedding
There’s a quiet warmth throughout this piece that stays with you - thans for sharing this, Paul. Keep writing
thanks mike
I like how gently this reflects on change without sounding bitter.
not bitter for sure, because change is inevitable, but sad maybe..
The Ambassador almost feels like a character in the story. I can almost hear its engine while reading this.
That transition from driving as “fun” to something “serious” — very real, very relatable.
That closing line.. “Some memories refuse to stay parked” - perfect.
Not going to lie, I kind of miss a world where people just walked into each other’s homes.
There’s a softness in this writing that’s very hard to pull off. Kudos
ഓർമകളെ അയവിറക്കുമ്പോഴല്ലേ നഷ്ടമായിരിക്കുന്ന നമ്മുടെ ഉത്സാഹവും ഊർജവും ഒക്കെ ഒരർത്ഥത്തിൽ തിരികെ ലഭിക്കുന്നതും മുന്നോട്ടുള്ള യാത്ര കൂടുതൽ ഇമ്പകരമായി മാറുന്നതും.
ഓരോ എപ്പിസോടും വായിക്കുമ്പോൾ, ഇതിനോട് സാമ്യമായ പല കുളിരണിയിക്കുന്ന ഓർമകളും നമ്മുടെ മനസ്സിലും തികട്ടി വരുന്നു.
ആരും അങ്ങനെ കൈവയ്ക്കാത്ത ഒരു പംക്തി. വളരെ മനോഹരമായ ഭാഷയിൽ മികച്ച അവതരണ ശൈലിയിൽ രുചിയേറിയ ഒരു നൈവേദ്യമായി, നമ്മുടെ ഓർമ്മളെ തട്ടിയുണർത്തുന്ന ഔഷധമായി ഇത് നമുക്കായി ഒരുങ്ങി എത്തുന്നു
It was a good read, Dinu Uncle I'm familiar with Ambassador through hearsay, so it was good to learn more about it in society then
Thanks for sharing, lovely nostalgic ridden piece of writing, Dinuchayan
A memory of a life later generations cannot imagine probably.
Neighbourhoods that were family and so many things we cannot even imagine were taken for granted.
The good old days were truly the best days for our generation. Thanks for sharing.
indeed..
Extremely well.About watching TV in M uncle's House had told me once u went to visit them.Anyway I liked to read ur stories.
Great sharing Dinu ! Most of my lived experiences growing up were initiated in this same sharing/shared concept. First bottle of cold water, TV watching, books reading (esp Sportstar), cycle/moped/car ride arrangements.
If there was monetizing of such sharing then, like the more formal “Sharing economy” ventures now with Uber/Grab ride sharing, home kitchens, Airbnb, Babysitters etc , now, some of our parents would be billionaires by now.
sportstar - thanks for bringing that up.. sometimes when they came back, the centrespread would be missing!
So simple yet so profound! My mumma still talks about how her house also acted as a telephone booth especially on Friday’s for Aunties’ and Uncles’ sons in the Gulf! Would be hard for me to relate but wonderfully drafted!!
This brought back memories of my younger days too — our first car was an Ambassador as well.
The stories about the telephone and fridge felt so familiar and relatable too:)
I am glad you could relate..
Your writing makes ordinary memories feel quietly profound - pls keep writing, Dinu
Really glad to see your writings after a long while.. with the AI writings all along internet, your writings are heart warming and evoke all nostalgic memories thank you for sharing
I wonder if kids today will ever know this kind of openness…thanks for this Dinu..
i doubt it, but maybe they have a diff way..at least I hope so..
The telephone part made me laugh - being the “message relay system” for the neighbourhood!
This made me smile.. “car on bricks” is such a vivid image..
it was a literal translation of "kattappurath"
You captured community life in such a simple, honest way…
It’s funny — back then sharing a fridge was normal, now even sharing WiFi feels personal
“Maybe people had less, and so they shared more.” — so true..
Today we have everything, and yet somehow.. less of this.
so true..
It was delightful reading your blog article on your old car and about the sharing of other \luxury items\ in the house with the neighbours. I am quite familiar with what you described. Keep writing.
“The lane belonged to all of us” - beautiful !!
Now I want to hear the “emergency drive” story you mentioned
yeah..that was one crazy trip.. will write about it sometime
This isn’t just about a car. It’s about a whole way of living that’s slowly fading.
indeed sunil..one that i doubt will ever come back
I could almost see that milk spilling in slow motion.
I also grew up in a similar neighbourhood - doors open, people just walking in. This brought all of that back.
The Ambassador squeezing in 12–14 people.. I've been there!!
for all practical purposes, the driver would be sitting on the door, and there would be a passenegr where he would normally be
KLH 5353 - its a wonder how certain numbers just stay with us forever.
Indeed..I also remember the community phone number
There’s something deeply comforting about the way you describe sharing..thanks
Abe
Loved this. It feels like stepping into a different rhythm of life.
Beautifully written, Dinu. It feels personal, but also universal.
Joy