Dr Ravi Prakash's Garage, at the Edge of Bengaluru, Houses 300 Cars, Over 250 Bikes, and 19,000+ Books on Automobiles

Let’s start with some numbers this time. 300. 250. 100. 19,000. No, that’s not an IP address that some tech geek will have to come unravel for you, because that is approximately the length and breadth of Dr. Ravi Prakash’s collection. Over the years, he has amassed over 300 cars, more than 250 two-wheelers, about a hundred odd buses, trucks, carriages, and bicycles. He even has a dedicated space for a library of 19,000 books, all on transportation. These do not count the vintage enamel signage, books, films, curios, and any other memorabilia associated with cars.

A cardio-thoracic surgeon by profession, Dr. Prakash lives on a sprawling 14.5-acre farm on the edge of Bangalore city. Having driven for nearly two hours to get there, scything through IT city’s dial-up connection speed traffic, his farm feels like an oasis. Lush greenery and an AQI to shame our national capital with, it’s an ecosystem all on its own. The man himself is warm enough to thaw an ice cube and greets me like we have known each other for years, even though we were meeting for the very first time. 

Dr. Ravi Prakash’s Collection

Conversation flows easily as we head to his office, my eyes discreetly scanning the grounds for signs of the motoring life. I don’t see the wheels I’ve seen on the reels. Not until he ushers me into an office. I step in, stop, and gape. Right in front of me is a penny-farthing – a bicycle that I have only read about in novels from two centuries ago and seen only in encyclopedias. Right behind the penny-farthing and another antique bicycle with wooden wheels (this one dates back to before pneumatic tyres) is a pristine Benz Patent-Motorwagen. 

The Benz Patent-Motorwagen, a three-wheeled petrol-powered contraption, and the invention of genius Karl Benz is considered the world’s first modern car. At first, I assume it’s a replica, but he tells me it isn't. "Only twenty or so were ever built, and I imported this," says Dr. Prakash.

The farm outside has given way to a micro museum. Surrounded by antiques of myriad nature, I also realise that a lot of the stuff I see has to do with either automobiles or transportation. 

“I started way back. The first car I acquired was in 1978. You know, this car was willed to me, and this car belonged to Lord Mountbatten. And later it was bought by General Mahadevan, who was the Northern Command Chief,” says Dr. Prakash. The vehicle in question is a rare 1937 Sunbeam Talbot 2-litre sports car. “That’s the only one in India,” he adds. I’m gobsmacked. And I haven’t even seen the tip of the iceberg. 

Ten minutes into our chit chat, Dr. Prakash’s wife, Sabena, arrives. Equally warm and cordial, over the years, she has become a petrolhead and enthusiast too. “Over the 30-odd years, I have attended enough rallies,” she tells me. “The idea was to get children, families, everyone into the ecosystem. It has mainly been a man’s domain,” she adds, and I couldn’t agree more.

So it is even more refreshing when the proud parents tell me about Rupali, their daughter. “We do drive them on and off. My daughter, Rupali Prakash, is involved regularly. She helps me look after, and she also gives these cars for some of the weddings, some of the movies, and things like that. I would say it's one family who are totally, totally involved, who eat, sleep, and drink. Starting from my wife, it is an acquired one, but she imbued this very, very early to both my daughters. The daughter who lives here in Bangalore and another daughter who lives actually in London,” says Dr. Prakash.

He also has a few cars in the UK, where his daughter manages those. Unfortunately, I don’t get the chance to meet Rupali, who stays in Bangalore, since she is travelling out of town, but Dr. Prakash tells me she is a walking bible on automobiles. “She knows all about cars. She knows all about engines, all about mechanics. And she does her homework and research. Once in a while, she has groups of people coming into the farm, and then she takes them for a walk, and she introduces them to the parent wagon, onwards to all the cars, all the designs, and how the mechanicals are, and what the different, you know, everything. I mean, sometimes I get blown out by what she says,” says the proud dad. The enthusiast in me is gratified that petrol runs not just in his veins but also in the veins of every other member of the family.

At some point in our very rambling conversation, he suggests we take a walk around the place and see the cars. Excited, I follow. I feel like Charlie Bucket in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, except here there are neither tests nor a search for an heir. Behind every door to every hangar, they are too big to be called a garage, lie neatly parked rows of wheeled histories. American muscle cars, British people’s cars, sports cars, luxury saloons, cars of historic significance, everything that you can think of. Then there are the vintage enamel boards that are hanging from the rafters in each hangar. Dr. Prakash has lovingly collected them from around the world, and together they not only tell the story of transportation but also communication around things automotive, and its evolution. I could spend years here and still not get bored, still find new things to discover.

We chit chat amicably like old friends, exchanging notes on common connections – we have one or two, as I discovered, and eventually get around to the very nature of the collection. “Do you collect all kinds or only the special ones?” I ask.

“I collect all kinds. Earlier, I was involved only with the Brit and German cars. But later when the idea, you know, propped up in me saying that I need to build a museum,” he drops casually before adding, “This is what the museum is going to be.” He points at an artist’s illustration of a grand-looking building.

My ears perk up. I prod him for more, but the nudge is unnecessary because Dr. Prakash is quite forthcoming about his plans. He plans to build a museum of transportation. It is quite clear that his desire to acquire this tremendous automotive history is not just for personal satisfaction but also to inspire others to preserve instead of choosing to discard. We continue our rambling chit chat for some more time, during which time he finally takes me to the famed Sunbeam that started it all back in 1978. The very car that was once a plaything of Lord Louis when Mountbatten was the all-in-all of the dominion of India. Lunch follows – a simple but delicious meal of home-cooked dal, chicken, and crispy dosas that Sabena herself fries and serves.

As I leave, I am given a huge silk scarf with a Delage motif, designed by Rupali, and a pack of organic jaggery from the farm that Sabena runs and manages. I bid goodbye, and as I emerge onto the road and follow the blue-to-yellow-to-red line on Google maps back into Bangalore city, all I can think is “What a story!”