Love Letter to the Indian Ambassador

When I first arrived in India in 1970, I rubbed my eyes—am I hallucinating? We walked out of the bustling Delhi airport to the taxi stand and: I was staring at a long, snaking row of dozens of taxis, all identical to my car back in Canada. It turned out almost two-thirds of the cars on Indian roads were clones of my car, the first automobile I ever owned: a green, 1956 Morris Oxford, which I bought in 1969 for $50.

But why was an entire country driving my little car?

Turned out that simple, sturdy, boring little sedan, produced by the Morris Motors Company in Oxford, England, had quite a noble history. The first editions

catalyzed mass production in England, growing to over 40% of the British fleet by 1925.

When it became outdated in the UK, Morris sold the design and tooling of the 1954 edition to Hindustan Motors in 1957, manifesting India’s desire to manufacture its own cars. In its new incarnation, renamed the Ambassador, it became the dominant car in India and remained so for decades. Prime Minister Indira Ghandi’s official car was a white Ambassador, just as Charles de Gaulle’s official car in those years was the French-made Citroën DS.

Why was the Ambassador so popular? Because that chubby, overweight, underpowered, four-cylinder clunker—with its quirky-touchy-clutch and off-centre, three-gear steering-column shift arm—turned out to be the perfect, durable car for bumpy Indian roads.

It was rugged, easy to repair, and parts were everywhere; anyone over 12 years old could fix it with a coat hanger. It was comfy; spacious enough to pack in a family (sometimes a big family…). It was practical. Never mind it had a top speed of 75mph and took 25 seconds to go 0-60; it fit the need. 

I loved my Morris Oxford, people in India loved their Ambassadors, and seeing them everywhere made me feel even more at home in that wonderful country.

~ John