Hillman Husky - that was our father's car back in the sixties, a hatchback. On the island of Diwar, there were few private cars - certainly less than five - so it was a luxury to own one, and we were part of that exclusive group.

I remember the initial color: dark green base with a cream top, later changed to maroon bottom and cream top. In those days, cars usually had two shades. Rides in that car were scarce, mostly within the island. We would accompany our father on his bar trips, eagerly awaiting our share of Goldspot soft drinks served to us in the car. I can still recall the satisfying burp from that fizzy beverage.

There were no air conditioners or music systems in cars back then; hand signals were the norm. The smell of petrol added charm, reminding us of the journey. However, it could be a curse for those prone to car sickness, like Prakash. Poor chap often had to be dropped halfway to Panjim, usually at Old Goa at a bar our father frequented. He was compensated with ice cream - albeit half-melted - but sometimes missed the fun of watching a movie.

We have fond memories of that car. For me, another vivid memory is the sound of its engine at midnight on the night our father passed away. It had come to pick me up for the hospital visit; I recall the door noise and instantly knew it was our car.

I wish we had kept it for posterity, but alas, it was not meant to be.