Latest news with #Amby
Mint
04-08-2025
- Mint
Lounge Loves: Green ant ice cream, ‘gamchas' and more
The production of Hindustan Ambassador might have stopped in 2014 but on the streets of Kolkata, you can always flag down a yellow taxi. Never mind if it's falling apart: a door could be jammed or a window won't roll up—or down. On a recent morning, I came across this Amby; the driver had scrubbed it clean to a mirror-level finish. Spread out across the bonnet to dry was a green gamcha, the everyman's moisture-wicking, multi-purpose cloth used as a towel, scarf or headwrap and found in practically every Bengali household. The moodboard was spot on. While the car, like the city's trams, fuels nostalgia—now kitchified on mugs, pen stands, cushion covers and what not—the gamcha has for some time now crossed over into the fashion realm: think sari, blouses, dresses, shirts. No wet rag this one. As a chronically anxious traveller, I start spiralling before any trip about everything that can go wrong. But thanks to a recent purchase, I can at least strike off one worry off my list: lost luggage. After my last few stressful self-check-ins, I bought a Lacard bag, a deceptively snug piece of luggage that packs in all you would possibly need if you were stranded on a desert island. It's a duffle bag that opens out into different segments, like a Russian doll, each meant for your clothes, toiletries, accessories and shoes. There are a dozen other pockets to put your laptop, books, notebook, pen, and even used clothes. Best of all, it's a cabin-sized, carry-on bag. Some versions are fitted with wheels to spare your shoulders. Certainly, one of the best investments I've made to make life a little less stressful. I am late to Malkist fandom. The delicious, multi-layered, sugar-sprinkled, cheese-filled cracker brand from Indonesian company Mayora is already hugely popular and mainstream in India (with a brand tie-up with Amitabh Bachchan, even). As a self-designated connoisseur of cookies, I am certainly disappointed with myself for not having ordered mega packs of the crackers and practically inhaling them with black tea before this, but I have been making up for lost time thanks to the friend who brought it to my notice over WhatsApp. I even ordered the two variants available on quick commerce— the chocolate and cappuccino flavours—but the cheesy one remains a forever favourite. The recent couple of episodes of MasterChef Australia season 17 have featured a novel native ingredient—the green ant. One of the challenges to win immunity saw Laura Sharrad create the 'Native Australian Summer' featuring a wattleseed puff pastry, cinnamon myrtle creme patis-siere and paperbark ice cream, topped with green ants. In another episode, Depinder Chhibber paired a coriander ice cream with ginger meringue and green ants. Typically used in indigenous bush food and known for their citrus flavour profile, these unique ingredients are now making their way into the mainstream. This is an opportune moment to recognise the significant role that ants and other insect-based protein play in food security around the world. Indigenous communities in India too make use of ants—albeit red ones—in their cuisines.
Hindustan Times
01-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
A midsummer delight's dream
It's the month when even the Sun blushes green with envy. It's the season of Cannes, cricket and canary chandeliers. Come June, and it lights up our lives with golden 'chandeliers'. Chandeliers that screen us from the fierce June sun. Chandeliers that almost outshine the dazzle of the ripe summer sun. Amaltas, ahoy! What the golden Daffodils are to William Wordsworth, the Amaltas is perhaps to the desi poetic pen. Childhood meant growing up with different sort of sun screens in summer. Sun screens that had nothing to do with chemicals and commercials. Summers that had nothing to do with stocks and stocks of sun screens. Rather, summers that had everything to do with stalks and stalks of sun screens. Sun screens that had everything to do with Mother Nature's caps that were a canary yellow. Caps that boasted fashionable fascinators. Wispy, whispering fascinators of a pale leafy green or bough brownness. Fascinators that sometimes stuck their neck out like a dowager Duchess dripping diamonds. Fascinators that sometimes turned up their noses over the canary-coloured cap like a snooty senorita serenading the Cannes carpet. Childhood meant levitating on lean Lunas or puffing 'n' pedalling on Atlas cycles to convent campuses with Mother Nature's sun screens shading us along avenues of abundance in our 'City Beautiful'. Adulthood, alas, spelt a goodbye to Atlas cycles and much else, ushering in instead another sight on those avenues to compare with that canvas of canary. The canary canopies over the roads rivalled later by a different splash of yellow on the roads. The new-age Nano, driving in dressed in hell of a yellow. The nouveau Nano came nearest to resonating and strutting that signature goldenness of the Amaltas on the streets. Ah, not to forget the iconic 'peeli' Ambassadors, majestic predecessors to the humble Nano. The loud yellow Amby, a pop culture emblem, a sight so synonymous with the streets of Kolkata. The ample 'Ambys' indeed quite mirrored and matched the riot of yellow unfurled on the streets by summer's showstopper Amaltas. Childhood was made up of this jugalbandi of 'pop' palettes of parrot yellowness. Adulthood, alas, saw a passing into the attics of archival memory of the peeli Amby, as also the short-lived Nano. What endures on summer's canvas of canary is that canopied czar. Abiding, alluring Amaltas. Colours of Cannes Those street palettes now find a resonance more in IPL stadia. In the canary coloured jerseys of the Chennai Super Kings (CSK). It's another story that the CSK fortunes resemble more those of Trump's torpedoed tariffs. Summer spells much colour for cinephiles, too. Literally and figuratively. It was a moment as golden as a summer sun dabbed with glitter blusher when Satyajit Ray's iconic film 'Aranyer Din Ratri', in its restored avatar, received a standing ovation at Cannes. Nothing could be more symbolic of summer's return to colour than this milestone moment. After the bloody palettes of early May, that resonated more the raging red of the Gulmohar, riding Operation Sindoor, midsummer has seen a 4K restoration of Ray's 1970 classic, an initiative led by Wes Anderson. Midsummer thus spells a return to all that is golden. Cinema. Canopies. Childhood memories. The curious case of 'All That Glitters Is (B)old Gold'. June heralds its own riot of colours that rule the streets to stadia chetnakeer@
Asharq Al-Awsat
17-02-2025
- Automotive
- Asharq Al-Awsat
End of the Road for Kolkata's Beloved Yellow Taxis
Kolkata locals cherish their city's past, which is why many in the one-time Indian capital are mourning a vanishing emblem of its faded grandeur: a hulking and noisy fleet of stately yellow taxis. The snub-nosed Hindustan Ambassador, first rolling off the assembly line in the 1950s with a design that barely changed in the decades since, once ruled India's potholed streets. Nowadays it is rarely spotted outside Kolkata, where it serves as the backbone of the metropolitan cab fleet and a readily recognizable symbol of the eastern city's identity. But numbers are dwindling fast, and a court ruling means those that remain -- lumbering but still sturdy -- will be forced off the roads entirely in the next three years. "I love my car like my son," Kailash Sahani, who has sat behind the wheel of an Ambassador cab for the past four decades, told AFP. "It's a simple car -- no electronics, no frills," the 70-year-old added. "It's unbelievable how much things have changed... The end of these taxi cars also marks our end." Sahani is among thousands of Kolkata cabbies relinquishing their vehicles in line with tough emissions standards introduced in 2009 to ease the city's endemic smog problem. Only around 2,500 Ambassador taxis were still working at the start of this year, down from 7,000 a year earlier, according to Bengal Taxi Association figures. Another 1,000 will be retired this year, and West Bengal state transport minister Snehasis Chakraborty told AFP that the remainder will be gone by the end of 2027. "The car is strong. Parts and maintenance are cheap and if it breaks down, it's easy to find a mechanic," said Bengal Taxi Association spokesman Sanjeeb Roy. Their disappearance, he added, "represents all that's wrong with India's changing economy". - Litany of defects - The Hindustan Ambassador was the cornerstone of India's automotive industry for decades from its 1957 debut at a factory on Kolkata's northern outskirts. Modelled on a similarly regal sedan car from Britain's now long-defunct Morris Motors, the car was a triumphant achievement of industry in the first years of India's history as an independent nation. A deluxe model, its windows adorned with lace curtains, was for years the main means of conveyance for government ministers and captains of industry. But the car's shortcomings also served as a reminder of deep structural problems with the quasi-socialist economic system that prevailed in India at the time. Buyers sat on wait lists for years because pervasive red tape stopped Hindustan Motors from raising production to meet demand, while a near-monopoly on sales left no incentive to maintain quality standards. That gave rise to an oft-repeated joke about the litany of defects found in the average "Amby": the only thing in the car that doesn't make a sound is its horn. Market reforms from the 1980s onwards saw the Ambassador muscled off Indian roads by more modern vehicles, and production was halted entirely in 2014 after years of flatlining demand. - 'Get with the times' - Kolkata, the headquarters of Hindustan Motors, is the last place where the cars are seen in any great number -- a reminder of the tethers binding the city to India's past. Grand public buildings evoke the immense riches that flowed through the city's tree-lined boulevards back when it was the second-largest city in the British Empire, after London. Nobel laureate poet and polymath Rabindranath Tagore was born and died in Kolkata, where the national anthem he composed was sung for the first time during India's long independence struggle. The city is also renowned for its thrumming nightlife, with crowded and dimly lit restaurants serving up chicken Kiev alongside the same suite of old-world European staples that have been listed on their menus since the late colonial era. But its importance has shrunk dramatically since that heyday, first with the relocation of India's capital to Delhi in 1911 and then with Mumbai's ascension as the country's most important commercial hub. Many of Kolkata's younger generations have left in search of better opportunities elsewhere, giving it a median age at least six years older than other big Indian cities, according to census data. The city's skewed demographics prompted its pre-eminent novelist Amit Chaudhuri to once quip that while Delhi was for seeking power and Mumbai was for chasing riches, Kolkata was for visiting one's parents. "People like me are under pressure to get with the times," retired Kolkata schoolteacher Utpal Basu, 75, told AFP. "Old cars go, new ones come," he added. "But it will break my heart when the city loses another icon."
Khaleej Times
17-02-2025
- Automotive
- Khaleej Times
India: End of the road for Kolkata's beloved yellow taxis
Kolkata locals cherish their city's past, which is why many in the one-time Indian capital are mourning a vanishing emblem of its faded grandeur: a hulking and noisy fleet of stately yellow taxis. The snub-nosed Hindustan Ambassador, first rolling off the assembly line in the 1950s with a design that barely changed in the decades since, once ruled India's potholed streets. Nowadays it is rarely spotted outside Kolkata, where it serves as the backbone of the metropolitan cab fleet and a readily recognisable symbol of the eastern city's identity. But numbers are dwindling fast, and a court ruling means those that remain -- lumbering but still sturdy -- will be forced off the roads entirely in the next three years. "I love my car like my son," Kailash Sahani, who has sat behind the wheel of an Ambassador cab for the past four decades, told AFP. "It's a simple car -- no electronics, no frills," the 70-year-old added. "It's unbelievable how much things have changed... The end of these taxi cars also marks our end." Sahani is among thousands of Kolkata cabbies relinquishing their vehicles in line with tough emissions standards introduced in 2009 to ease the city's endemic smog problem. Only around 2,500 Ambassador taxis were still working at the start of this year, down from 7,000 a year earlier, according to Bengal Taxi Association figures. Another 1,000 will be retired this year, and West Bengal state transport minister Snehasis Chakraborty told AFP that the remainder will be gone by the end of 2027. "The car is strong. Parts and maintenance are cheap and if it breaks down, it's easy to find a mechanic," said Bengal Taxi Association spokesman Sanjeeb Roy. Their disappearance, he added, "represents all that's wrong with India's changing economy". - Litany of defects - The Hindustan Ambassador was the cornerstone of India's automotive industry for decades from its 1957 debut at a factory on Kolkata's northern outskirts. Modelled on a similarly regal sedan car from Britain's now long-defunct Morris Motors, the car was a triumphant achievement of industry in the first years of India's history as an independent nation. A deluxe model, its windows adorned with lace curtains, was for years the main means of conveyance for government ministers and captains of industry. But the car's shortcomings also served as a reminder of deep structural problems with the quasi-socialist economic system that prevailed in India at the time. Buyers sat on wait lists for years because pervasive red tape stopped Hindustan Motors from raising production to meet demand, while a near-monopoly on sales left no incentive to maintain quality standards. That gave rise to an oft-repeated joke about the litany of defects found in the average "Amby": the only thing in the car that doesn't make a sound is its horn. Market reforms from the 1980s onwards saw the Ambassador muscled off Indian roads by more modern vehicles, and production was halted entirely in 2014 after years of flatlining demand. - 'Get with the times' - Kolkata, the headquarters of Hindustan Motors, is the last place where the cars are seen in any great number -- a reminder of the tethers binding the city to India's past. Grand public buildings evoke the immense riches that flowed through the city's tree-lined boulevards back when it was the second-largest city in the British Empire, after London. Nobel laureate poet and polymath Rabindranath Tagore was born and died in Kolkata, where the national anthem he composed was sung for the first time during India's long independence struggle. The city is also renowned for its thrumming nightlife, with crowded and dimly lit restaurants serving up chicken Kiev alongside the same suite of old-world European staples that have been listed on their menus since the late colonial era. But its importance has shrunk dramatically since that heyday, first with the relocation of India's capital to Delhi in 1911 and then with Mumbai's ascension as the country's most important commercial hub. Many of Kolkata's younger generations have left in search of better opportunities elsewhere, giving it a median age at least six years older than other big Indian cities, according to census data. The city's skewed demographics prompted its pre-eminent novelist Amit Chaudhuri to once quip that while Delhi was for seeking power and Mumbai was for chasing riches, Kolkata was for visiting one's parents. "People like me are under pressure to get with the times," retired Kolkata schoolteacher Utpal Basu, 75, told AFP. "Old cars go, new ones come," he added. "But it will break my heart when the city loses another icon."
Khaleej Times
17-02-2025
- Automotive
- Khaleej Times
Inddia: End of the road for Kolkata's beloved yellow taxis
Kolkata locals cherish their city's past, which is why many in the one-time Indian capital are mourning a vanishing emblem of its faded grandeur: a hulking and noisy fleet of stately yellow taxis. The snub-nosed Hindustan Ambassador, first rolling off the assembly line in the 1950s with a design that barely changed in the decades since, once ruled India's potholed streets. Nowadays it is rarely spotted outside Kolkata, where it serves as the backbone of the metropolitan cab fleet and a readily recognisable symbol of the eastern city's identity. But numbers are dwindling fast, and a court ruling means those that remain -- lumbering but still sturdy -- will be forced off the roads entirely in the next three years. "I love my car like my son," Kailash Sahani, who has sat behind the wheel of an Ambassador cab for the past four decades, told AFP. "It's a simple car -- no electronics, no frills," the 70-year-old added. "It's unbelievable how much things have changed... The end of these taxi cars also marks our end." Sahani is among thousands of Kolkata cabbies relinquishing their vehicles in line with tough emissions standards introduced in 2009 to ease the city's endemic smog problem. Only around 2,500 Ambassador taxis were still working at the start of this year, down from 7,000 a year earlier, according to Bengal Taxi Association figures. Another 1,000 will be retired this year, and West Bengal state transport minister Snehasis Chakraborty told AFP that the remainder will be gone by the end of 2027. "The car is strong. Parts and maintenance are cheap and if it breaks down, it's easy to find a mechanic," said Bengal Taxi Association spokesman Sanjeeb Roy. Their disappearance, he added, "represents all that's wrong with India's changing economy". - Litany of defects - The Hindustan Ambassador was the cornerstone of India's automotive industry for decades from its 1957 debut at a factory on Kolkata's northern outskirts. Modelled on a similarly regal sedan car from Britain's now long-defunct Morris Motors, the car was a triumphant achievement of industry in the first years of India's history as an independent nation. A deluxe model, its windows adorned with lace curtains, was for years the main means of conveyance for government ministers and captains of industry. But the car's shortcomings also served as a reminder of deep structural problems with the quasi-socialist economic system that prevailed in India at the time. Buyers sat on wait lists for years because pervasive red tape stopped Hindustan Motors from raising production to meet demand, while a near-monopoly on sales left no incentive to maintain quality standards. That gave rise to an oft-repeated joke about the litany of defects found in the average "Amby": the only thing in the car that doesn't make a sound is its horn. Market reforms from the 1980s onwards saw the Ambassador muscled off Indian roads by more modern vehicles, and production was halted entirely in 2014 after years of flatlining demand. - 'Get with the times' - Kolkata, the headquarters of Hindustan Motors, is the last place where the cars are seen in any great number -- a reminder of the tethers binding the city to India's past. Grand public buildings evoke the immense riches that flowed through the city's tree-lined boulevards back when it was the second-largest city in the British Empire, after London. Nobel laureate poet and polymath Rabindranath Tagore was born and died in Kolkata, where the national anthem he composed was sung for the first time during India's long independence struggle. The city is also renowned for its thrumming nightlife, with crowded and dimly lit restaurants serving up chicken Kiev alongside the same suite of old-world European staples that have been listed on their menus since the late colonial era. But its importance has shrunk dramatically since that heyday, first with the relocation of India's capital to Delhi in 1911 and then with Mumbai's ascension as the country's most important commercial hub. Many of Kolkata's younger generations have left in search of better opportunities elsewhere, giving it a median age at least six years older than other big Indian cities, according to census data. The city's skewed demographics prompted its pre-eminent novelist Amit Chaudhuri to once quip that while Delhi was for seeking power and Mumbai was for chasing riches, Kolkata was for visiting one's parents. "People like me are under pressure to get with the times," retired Kolkata schoolteacher Utpal Basu, 75, told AFP. "Old cars go, new ones come," he added. "But it will break my heart when the city loses another icon."
