Bennett
01-20-2009, 08:07 AM
Which car would you like tosteal, even ifit means going ro jail?" That was one of the questions the judges asked memselves. Which was a relief Normally, at a vinrage car tally the questions are more about whethet the painr used on me resrored car is me aumenric one from 30,000 Be, and whether the flanged wingnuts on the reverse oblique horse catchers were made at the facrory in Linle Dribbling or at the lesser one at Les Drearieux. They invite me ro these, and I rum and flee. The tail may be berween the legs bur me saniry is kept intact.
However, the PR people for this insisted it was going ro be very different this was a Concours d'Elegance, which would be abour sryle and soul, not about accuracy of resroration. There would be a judging process, but it would be subjective the winners would be cars the judges liked, not perfect resrorations by people in ironed underwear.
I still wasn't convinced. There would be ropname judges, they said. Gordon Murray, Peter Stevens, Nick Mason. Ooh, that's more like it. And an impressive name the Cattier 'Travel With Sryle' Concours d'Elegance, which sounded hugely grand. And if there's one thing 1 am, it's a wannabe lotus eater, so I sighed, brought out the sunscreen and loped off.
946
And what a treat it was. Again, it was differenr from the average vinrage evenrs, which still seem ro be stuck in tiger-shooting Maharaja mode. For one, it was way cooler. On the lawns of Mumbai's Turf Club, this was the sott of parry you could imagine Jay Gatsby hosting, relaxed and informal, wimour ceremony. Two, it felt very, very rich.
Catch a chappie with a beatd and more likely than not you've found yourself a Maharaja, and you find yourself bumping elbows with people for whom a couple of million is a mere matter of whimsy. Best of all is how chummy they are with each other, how misty-eyed they get when they start talking about their cars. This, says Harsh Pati Singhania, JK Paper boss and car nut, is a bunch of people who dote over their metal charges, not treat them as gently rusting investments.
The cars themselves are cooler too these are mostly top-of-the-line models, Rollers and Bentleys and Cadillacs, all turtle-waxed to within an inch of their lives. The main thing is, I may not know much about their history, but even I could appreciate just how good these cars looked, all volumptuous curves and acres of butter-soft leather and little protuberances. There was this whole bussiness about competitive classes and whatnot and feeling runs deep about these - but I'll just tell my favourites. A proper pink Cadillac, fins and all, a devastatingly stately black and silver Rolls-Royce Phantom, and a Lancia shod with Italian Army artillery wheels. Absolutely brilliant. Main thing is, this was India's first shot at the Concours d'Elegance format, made famous by the festivals at Goodwood and Pebble Beach, and it was breathtaking. Long may it continue. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a gentleman whose handlebar moustache I need to tug.
However, the PR people for this insisted it was going ro be very different this was a Concours d'Elegance, which would be abour sryle and soul, not about accuracy of resroration. There would be a judging process, but it would be subjective the winners would be cars the judges liked, not perfect resrorations by people in ironed underwear.
I still wasn't convinced. There would be ropname judges, they said. Gordon Murray, Peter Stevens, Nick Mason. Ooh, that's more like it. And an impressive name the Cattier 'Travel With Sryle' Concours d'Elegance, which sounded hugely grand. And if there's one thing 1 am, it's a wannabe lotus eater, so I sighed, brought out the sunscreen and loped off.
946
And what a treat it was. Again, it was differenr from the average vinrage evenrs, which still seem ro be stuck in tiger-shooting Maharaja mode. For one, it was way cooler. On the lawns of Mumbai's Turf Club, this was the sott of parry you could imagine Jay Gatsby hosting, relaxed and informal, wimour ceremony. Two, it felt very, very rich.
Catch a chappie with a beatd and more likely than not you've found yourself a Maharaja, and you find yourself bumping elbows with people for whom a couple of million is a mere matter of whimsy. Best of all is how chummy they are with each other, how misty-eyed they get when they start talking about their cars. This, says Harsh Pati Singhania, JK Paper boss and car nut, is a bunch of people who dote over their metal charges, not treat them as gently rusting investments.
The cars themselves are cooler too these are mostly top-of-the-line models, Rollers and Bentleys and Cadillacs, all turtle-waxed to within an inch of their lives. The main thing is, I may not know much about their history, but even I could appreciate just how good these cars looked, all volumptuous curves and acres of butter-soft leather and little protuberances. There was this whole bussiness about competitive classes and whatnot and feeling runs deep about these - but I'll just tell my favourites. A proper pink Cadillac, fins and all, a devastatingly stately black and silver Rolls-Royce Phantom, and a Lancia shod with Italian Army artillery wheels. Absolutely brilliant. Main thing is, this was India's first shot at the Concours d'Elegance format, made famous by the festivals at Goodwood and Pebble Beach, and it was breathtaking. Long may it continue. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a gentleman whose handlebar moustache I need to tug.