After the bank account, house and car, the most important find for a new settler is a good mechanic. Today, more than ever, you are completely at a repair person's mercy. Apart from topping up fluids, there's almost nothing you can do with your car without HAL 9000 by your side.

Our current mechanic Hien, just like all the repair guys I've known, is a real character. He is originally from Vietnam, has been in the US for about 17 years, and hasn't been back to his home country in all that time.

His accent is thick and he speaks fast, so when we first met him, we were deeply embarrassed because we had to ask him to repeat every single thing he said. (Just one meeting later, we could follow him even over the phone - the brain is an amazing thing.)

Hien takes great pride in his work. He chides us if we come in late for an oil change. He refuses to let us have the car unless he's absolutely sure everything is okay. He guarantees his work and, last time, when a newly replaced water pump started leaking, he paid for a rental car for several days while he ran extensive tests, at no cost to us.

"How old do I look?" he asked me once.

"34?" I guessed, suspecting he was younger.

"40", he said with great satisfaction. "I look young because Ah tay cay [I take care]. You come anytime. Ai pob wi ca, ah tay cay [any problem with car, I take care]."

Driving back from his shop, I thought about some other characters who have taken care of machines I've owned. There was Veda, who was the support man for a famous motorcycle rally couple. He had the magic touch with a touchy machine known as the Yezdi Roadking, a 250cc Indian motorcycle derived from the Czech Jawa.

Veda rode an ancient Jawa which he once lent me when my bike was being repaired. It wouldn't go into first gear, so he told me to reach down and pull the lever up with my hand.

I started moving and realised that there were no foot pegs. Once I found my shaky footing on the edges of the levers, I discovered the brakes; there were none. I shouted to Veda in panic. He laughed and said, "Use the gears."

Yezdis had terrible brakes, so I was already familiar with the technique of chopping through the gears to slow the bike down. But this bike was a death machine, and Veda rode it like a madman. He, like Hien, took great pride in his repair work, and would sternly lecture me if I was ever late for a service.

Then there was someone we will call M, my brother's Enfield mechanic, who was good, but gave us the sneaking suspicion that his shop was just a front.

One day, he told us, "Don't come this side for the next few days." My brother needed his bike, so we objected, but M. was firm. "Don't come anywhere near here until next week."

Two mornings later, the newspaper carried a story on the brutal daylight murder of the notorious Bangalore gangster Koli Fayaz. It had happened just down the road from M's shop. I'm not saying M orchestrated it, but he definitely knew a lot more than how to adjust a carburettor.

No matter what though, once you find a good mechanic, don't let go. Make friends with them, trust them and, in the case of M, never argue about the bill.

Gautam Raja is a journalist based in the United States.