Yet another leaf out of my childhood. It was a time when the rich agriculturists and land owners prided in owning a Plymouth car and the more affluent industrialists in my city considered it a status symbol to own old model Mercedeses. The days of Fiats and Ambassadors.

My father as GM in a reputed company was offered a car for his use and when we came to know of it, we were overjoyed and wondered whether it would be a second hand Fiat or Amby. 

One fine morning, the car was  brought to our house and much to our delight, there stood this beaut, of significant length and sleek, the white coloured 'Ford Falcon'.

Even overhearing my dad talk of fuel consumption and that it was handed down from the owners after much use didn't deter us one bit.

It was upholstered with a pale pink shiny material in a checked pattern which had a plastic feel and with grey beading in between, made for a hard and flat seat, contrary to the cushioned velvetty coverings we find today. It was for my dad's use except for a few rides we were allowed.

Came summer vacation and we were to be whisked off to neighbouring Ooty in the Falcon. All of us piled in, with dad behind the wheel and remember the smooth ride up to the ghat section. A definite flight of fantasy for me.

We continued uphiil quite comfortably till we hit the first hair-pin bend. The brakes had to be applied to bring the car to a stop as the gear rod slipped out of gear. My dad shifted to first gear and the engine had to be revved up to pursue the roll.

As he manouvered this piece of marvel through the winding roads and and hair-pin bends, the gear rod continued to give up on the falcon's might, time and again.

Somewhere mid way, he was pulled over to the side as smoke began to cover the wind-shield, a time for my dad to swear and for us, a welcome break in spite of some fear.

The radiator boil was put to rest by a can of water and through more slips and revs we finally reached our destination.

We were put up at a guest house, a wonderful little cottage supposed to have been built by a Czech couple who had sold the house and moved on.

Built on terraced land, there was plenty of space in front, the end  of level ground, sloped down to a road at the lower level, but clearly demarcated by a thick growth of trees.

My dad parked the car at one end near the slope and went in to make the necessary arrangements. We were running around in glee, the refreshing cold weather a delight, drinking in the sights of the wonderful flowers in the garden. 

All of a sudden, some movement caught my eye. To my horror, I saw the wonderful Falcon slowly making it's way to the slope. My screams brought dad and the staff out. By then the Falcon was half way down the slope and by the time the elders reached the spot, he had firmly positioned himself against the thicket of trees.

It took all of six men and lengthy rope to tow him up and had to secure him with stones behind the wheels. The gear had slipped to neutral again.

The problem could not be rectified and soon the Falcon was replaced by a more reliable Fiat and that saw the end of my Falcon Fantasy.