As a newly married couple in Bengaluru in 2005, we were in the market for a car. We test drove an entry level Japanese model, one that suited our budget, but felt as if it had been built from soft drink cans. The salesman, noting our lack of enthusiasm, persuaded us to try a much more expensive model. We demurred at first. Cars in India are expensive, and we hated the thought of spending so much money on what is, in the end a 1.6L bare-bones sedan.

But that car, later dubbed Nazgul, won us over with how well it drove. Because its suspension wasn’t “Indianised”— that is, raised and made truck-like — it handled well, and it had a spirited engine.

Even so, recently back from the Middle East, we weren’t particularly excited by our purchase, certainly not about how long we’d be paying for it. So we weren’t prepared for strange reactions the car got us, mostly along the lines of a snarky “Ooooh, look who’s gone and got themselves a fancy car!” We had obviously overstepped some line and bought what many people considered too nice a car for such a young couple.

Soon after, we left the country for eight years, and returned to continue driving a now-dated (and dented and bruised) sedan, albeit with only 25,000km on it. We looked forward to the anonymity it would give us.

This time, there’s an entirely different set of reactions to the car. Suddenly everyone wants us to sell it and buy something new, some people asking over and over again when we plan to do so. I get the feeling a few people are embarrassed on our behalf that we’re being seen in such an old, plain vehicle.

My wife and I could only look at each other baffled—there’s no way to win. And this in a country that has always prized holding onto possessions as long as possible, making cars work against all odds for 10, 15, 20 years. Suddenly people are seized by this need to change to a new car every couple of years, and it’s becoming more and more important what car you’re being seen in.

A friend recently spoke of the very different treatment he received by security guards at his son’s school depending on whether he drove up in his old Japanese compact car, or his new German sporty hatchback. (In the former, he’s asked to step out to sign the visitor book, in the latter, the guard takes the book out to him.)

Sudden concern

In many subtle and not so subtle ways, Bengaluru, that old capital of reverse snobbery, has become all watchful and money-minded. People are suddenly very concerned about how much they are seen to spend on things and constantly coo that they make a lot of money. One way is to make it clear that one changes one’s car every two years or so.

My wife loves cars, so you’d think that she’d be keen on getting a new one regularly, but she has a driver’s love for them, and would rather use — really use — a car for many years, than treat them like so many expensive socks. And we both agree that a new car in this city is just heartache, especially seeing how much of its life is spent in first and second gear. And besides, Nazgul continues to impress us with how nice she is to drive, even though her underside is scraped all too often on giant speedbreakers and lunar potholes. Sometimes, fellow Bengalureans, it’s okay for a car to be just a car.

Gautam Raja is a journalist based in Bengaluru, India.