While a new car with sleek aerodynamics and cutting-edge technology is a novelty in itself, the mere sight of a vintage or classic car cruising gracefully down the street hits one with an overwhelming sense of desire. Vintage cars in their high elegance are impressive, almost majestic. They have captivating designs that are a mark of art and craft. Something that modern cars can only dream of due to the need to generate pure power. The very presence of a classic Buick or Cadillac convertible is a pointer to days gone by of honor, pride, and royalty.

Once summer begins to recede into the background at the end of June, it’s almost a family tradition or rather a ritual to escape to a quick mountain retreat between the height of the fading heat and the approaching monsoons. In the absence of a concrete plan for an escape, decisions are often improvised, made on the spot. Most of the time we head to the highlands to experience the wisp of mist that descends on our faces and blurs our vision, giving the whole atmosphere a touch of mystery. Winding roads that wind around the circumference of the hills, wooded paths, and a gust of fresh air all combine to crown an arched highway that welcomes us to a forbidden realm, a mythical land that lies beyond. , unknown to the people of the city. I have had my driver’s license for a year. My dad’s lean, red classic Cadillac sat idling in the garage like a present on the Christmas tree, tempting all the kids. He rarely saw the light of day outside the garage as it had become more of a prized masterpiece, a trophy that reminded him of the glorious past. Every other weekend, my dad would come down for some quality time alone to keep churning out his parts and keeping him in working order, but all inside the garage or, at the most, on the front porch. That’s about as far as the vintage red Cadillac had ventured in its quest for fresh air.

In the Northern Highlands, the first downpour brings great relief to the landscape, infusing a sense of surrealism into the surrounding nature. Nature is truly at its glorious best in the Northern Highlands during this time period. The gurgling of the waters flowing in small streams in every second mountain stream, the lightning accompanied by a raging storm and a flickering light in the distance, it is as if nature has been waiting for this moment to combine all the elements of its arsenal. . present a matchless canvas. The shifting landscape from orange to gray to dark gives the sky above a mystical witness to all that unfolds below. A scent of damp earth in the air, raindrops caught on leaves, bushes bustling, a misty nebula forming, and the wind caressing your face are exactly the ingredients that Mother Nature had retrieved from her storehouse to concoct a dish worthy of our audience. . In such circumstances, a road trip is the best tribute to such an unprecedented display of natural beauty, excitement, and unadulterated adventure. He was determined. All the forces of nature were conspiring to build at this moment just to allow and encourage me to trust my instincts and go on the journey of a lifetime. And the trip would be made easier however by my father’s prized red vintage car.

I could almost visualize the image in my head even before we could set out on our long-awaited road trip. A serene winding road with the first rays of sunlight breaking through the forested canopy that covers it, gliding around the hills and a one of a kind stunning red ravishing beauty on wheels cutting her way through it all. It was almost as if it was divine visual relief by deliberation. Man imposing his authority in the heart of nature. The natural struggle of nature versus the combustion power and speed generated by a man-made machine. The feeling of excitement ensured that I didn’t sleep at all all night. So at 4 AM, I jumped out of bed to begin my long-awaited ride in the svelte red beauty on wheels. Fortunately, the traffic was light as it was still early in the morning with dense fog creeping over the cityscape.

After driving through empty streets for a while, skipping traffic lights at every stoplight, with no one to stop me, I wanted to make a pit stop for a short respite. I stopped at a gas station diner for a quick meal, finding many admirers crowded around my beauty on wheels in the parking lot on my way back. I interacted with them compelling with answers about the make and make of my car and a little talk about its history and ownership. Shortly after I took off my red beauty much to the disappointment of the viewers who were left wanting more. As the air began to show signs of slightly cooling as I sped across the highway in my fast car, I felt the hills weren’t far away now. I was gloating inside, at the thought of finally reuniting with the landscape I had been dreaming of all night.

The uphill paths were very smooth and from the top I was reminded of a carpet of tar that had been laid out to welcome my arrival. It was a fascinating mountain resort with its deeply forested hills and rich traces of rampant flora and fauna. While I had a burning desire to capture images of the naturally blessed scenery from my fancy smartphone, I stopped myself from doing so, intending to let the atmosphere settle within me. I was excited but I didn’t want to let the emotion get the best of me. At the summit, I felt like a king. Absorbing the spoils of my treacherous climb to the top.

Surprisingly though, I met a young man from the middle of nowhere who seemed unusually pleased to see me. He had an affable smile that also endeared me. Getting quite close to me, it seemed like he had something in his possession that he wanted to show me. He still had to say a word. Smiling gallantly, he showed me a painting, more like a painting, an oil on a normal canvas, not finished in a hurry. To my complete astonishment and delight, I was speechless at what I saw. It was a perfect paint job that captured the beauty of my car as it cruised down the winding roads, giving way to the summit. The artist revealed that he was spending time alone thinking about what to create when he noticed the red car driving down the road. He was so fascinated by its unique style, color and shape, and the aura of it in the midst of this natural landscape, that he decided to capture it on his canvas. He had no idea that the car would eventually climb to the top and meet its driver.

This incident touched me very much. I spent more time with the young artist appreciating his talent. I took him to my car that was parked outside the wooded area and allowed him to take a closer look at the beauty that so fascinated him. He lived near him, so I offered to drop him off at his house on the way back. I had fallen in love with his painting and on the way back I offered to buy it for him, but even before I could say the words, he insisted that I keep the painting as a memento of our time together and refused to pay for it. . . I insisted that he should be rewarded for his efforts, but he politely refused, saying that the experience itself and the ride in the car were more than a reward for him. The painting is still on the wall in the living room of my house, just above the fireplace. The lone red vintage car gliding down the road surrounded by a canopy of thick vegetation on either side.