Six Years, One Flood, and Endless Nagaon Roads: My Honda Civic Story
You know, in Guwahati, you see two kinds of car people. The ones who buy a car for what it is (an SUV for potholes, an Alto for the city). And the ones who buy a car for what it means. My Honda Civic, a 2019 petrol manual in that deep Meteoroid Grey, was always about the meaning.
I run a small tea brokerage business. My office is in the city, but my heart is on the highways leading to the gardens in Jorhat and Dibrugarh. This Civic has seen it all—from the slick, newly laid roads of the Saraighat Bridge approach to the dusty, monsoon-ravaged stretches near Kaziranga. After six years and 95,000 kilometres, here’s the truth no brochure will tell you.
The First Love: Why a Civic in Assam?
Everyone asked me, "Why not a Creta? Ground clearance?" I said, "Because I want to enjoy the drive, not just survive it." The moment I sat in that low-slung driver’s seat, with the dashboard that feels like it goes on forever, I was sold. It felt special. It felt like I was buying a machine, not just metal.
The Long Haul Logbook: Joys & Jolts
The Unmatched Highs:
1. The Highway Soulmate: On NH27, heading east at dawn, this car finds its purpose. The 1.8-litre i-VTEC engine doesn’t feel turbocharged frantic. It builds speed with a smooth, linear whoosh, like a strong, steady current of the Brahmaputra. The steering is telepathic. You point it through a sweeping curve near Numaligarh, and it just glides, planted and confident. It’s a driver’s car, pure and simple. You arrive refreshed, not fatigued.
2. The Build That Endures: Assam’s humidity eats metal. The salty-muddy mix after floods is worse. I’ve seen newer cars with rusted edges. The Civic’s paint and panel fit? Still tight. The doors close with the same solid thump. The interior plastics have survived our brutal summer sun without fading or becoming sticky. It’s built like a vault.
3. The "Zero-Nonsense" Reliability: In six years, it has never left me stranded. Not once. Not in Haflong’s mist, not in Tinsukia’s heat. Just routine servicing: oil changes, filters, brake pads. The engine bay is a lesson in organised engineering—everything accessible, everything lasting.
The Reality-Check Lows:
1. The Scrape Symphony: That low nose and long overhang are a curse on our state’s speed breakers and steep driveway ramps. I’ve scraped the underside more times than I can count. You develop a sixth sense, a slow, diagonal approach to every obstacle. It’s taxing.
2. The Flood of 2022: My area in Guwahati saw waterlogging. The water rose to the middle of the wheels. I had to move it to higher ground in a panic. For a week, I had nightmares about water in the electronics. Thankfully, it was fine, but that anxiety never leaves you. A Civic owner in Assam lives a cautious life during monsoons.
3. The Cost of Parts: When something does need replacing (like a cracked taillight lens from a flying stone), genuine Honda parts are expensive. And you can’t compromise with local jugaad parts; they never fit right. You pay the premium for the pedigree.
4. The Thirst: On a smooth, open highway, it’s fine (14-15 km/l). But in Guwahati’s traffic, the figure drops to 9-10 km/l. When petrol prices scream, the Civic’s fuel tank feels like it has a hole.
The Assamese Context: A Round Peg in a Square Hole?
This is the eternal question. In a land of Brezzas and Cretas, the Civic is an outlier.
1. For the Good Roads (and they are increasing): It’s an absolute king. A joy.
2. For the Bad Roads (and they still exist): It’s a nervous companion. You wince, you crawl, you plan your route.
It forces you to see the road differently. You stop seeing it as a path, and start seeing it as a driving course. You seek out the smooth tarmac on the old Trunk Road just for the pleasure of it.
The Final Tally: Would I Do It Again?
Sitting here, looking at it, slightly muddy from last evening's shower, the answer is a complicated yes.
The Civic hasn’t been the most practical choice. But it has been the most rewarding. It has given me more sheer driving pleasure than any other machine I’ve owned. It taught me what balance, feedback, and engineering grace feel like. It’s my sanctuary.
Who should buy one here?
Only if you have a second, higher-clearance car for the rough stuff.
Only if your daily route isn't a crater-filled gauntlet.
Only if you value the art of driving over the act of commuting.
For me, it was worth every scrape, every careful detour. It’s not just a car I own; it’s a passion I maintain. And on that perfect stretch of road, with the windows down and the i-VTEC singing, there’s simply nothing else like it.
It’s not for everyone. But if it’s for you, you’ll understand.
Drive with patience, and cherish the smooth stretches. 🚗💨
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Rahul Sharma 1 month ago
That ‘highway soulmate’ description is why I rent one whenever I have a long coastal or mountain shoot. The stability and the long hood make for a perfect camera platform. The low stance is a pain in Shillong’s steep entries, but once I’m on the road to Cherrapunji, gliding through those curves with my gear in the back… it’s meditative. It’s not a tool; it’s a co-artist. The fuel thirst? I budget for it as a ‘creativity expense.’
Temjen Ao 1 month ago
Sir, your ‘flood anxiety’ is what we brace for every monsoon. We get calls daily: ‘Water came up to here, will my Civic be okay?’ We check the underbody, the ECU compartment, the air filter box. The car is well-sealed, but luck plays a part. The ‘cost of parts’ is true. A genuine headlamp assembly costs more than some people’s monthly salary. But the ones who own it, they pay. They don’t want to compromise the car’s soul. They are… custodians.
Shrinivas Reddy 1 month ago
Dada, you’ve written my father’s story. He bought it for the ‘meaning’ too. When he drives from the gardens to Guwahati, he says it’s his ‘thinking time.’ The highway is his office. The ‘scrape symphony’—oh yes! Our estate road gate has a hump. We have a ritual: he gets out, I guide him over it, inch by inch. It’s absurd, but it’s part of the love. He would never sell it. He says, ‘This car has dignity.’