I wonder if it is weird
to remember the birthdays of your car, your house, your blog, or of other dear
but inanimate possessions. I remember the date I moved to the US, I remember
the date I moved to Virginia. And I remember the day I bought my car. A private
dealer in Kirkland sold me the car after a two month hunt, right after my Mount Rainier trip on a
sunny summery day in 2009. I had not even passed my driving test then, and my
friends drove it for me. During the initial few months, everyone except me
drove my car. We took her to the Bothell temple that evening and did puja. The very
next day, she had a flat tire. My mother often wonders when she will be able to
sit in my car and have me drive her around. I know the feeling. No one in the
family has owned a car before. Driving in Calcutta is suicidal. I usually take
the metro, bus, or a cab there.
She has been a good
car, and has driven with me to so many places. I hope I can take her to Canada
some day. I hope that we can do a cross country drive someday. Well, Boston is
not really cross-country, but at least we are going to Boston this weekend.
Here’s wishing my
sunshine car a happy three years, and here is wishing us many more years of
travel together. I hope we get to see a lot more of the country together.
sunshine
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