One of my cousins lived in Mayur Vihar. Her husband worked with the DDA and rode an old blue-and-white Lambretta scooter to ITO every day.
One morning, on the way to the office, the scooter stalled. No matter what he tried, it refused to start. Frustrated, he loaded it onto a three-wheeler and instead of heading to the office, he went straight to Karol Bagh.
Karol Bagh was the hub for used vehicles. He sold the scooter there and, while looking around, wandered into a shop of second-hand cars. A thought struck him. Why not buy a car instead of another scooter?
A car made sense. He could travel with his wife and kids comfortably. An off-white Premier Padmini caught his eye. He liked it. He gave the money from the scooter as a token and promised to bring the balance the next day.
True to his word, he came back, paid the rest, and drove home his first car. A pooja was done. Sweets were distributed in the neighbourhood.
About a month later, his neighbour asked for help. He too wanted to buy a car, but only directly from owners, not brokers. So, the two of them would spend Sundays scanning classified ads, making calls, and checking cars. The good ones were beyond budget, and the affordable ones weren’t good enough.
One Sunday, empty-handed again, they decided to stop by Karol Bagh. They went straight to the same broker. He showed a few options, and among them was an off-white Ambassador. The car looked solid, the price was right, and it had low mileage.
A deal was struck. By evening, the Ambassador was parked next to the Padmini. Again, rituals were done, a mandir visit, and even a small party.
But the next morning, while my cousin’s husband was getting ready for the office, the doorbell rang. It was the neighbour’s wife. Her face was pale. She said the police had come.
The car was stolen. The police had already taken it away. Both men had to go to the station for questioning.
The broker was in custody. The SHO told them the car wasn’t just stolen. It had been used in a crime. Their eyes widened.
The Ambassador was the getaway car used by the conman Charles Sobhraj in the Tihar Jail break.
After paperwork, they came back home, cursing their luck.
But the very next morning, the doorbell rang again.
This time, the neighbour’s wife was smiling. She held a newspaper in her hand. On the front page was a photo of the car. “Look,” she said with pride, “our car has made it to the headlines.”
