My first car was a 1959 Fiat. When I bought it, it was already old enough to qualify for senior citizen benefits. I was in my late twenties and felt like royalty. A king does not question the age of his chariot. He only enjoys the fact that it moves, usually.

There were no bank loans then, so cars were rare and owners were proud. What the admiring public did not realise as I cruised past was that my Fiat was held together by optimism, prayer and excellent repair work. You did not replace parts. You repaired them. Sometimes you repaired them repeatedly until they gave up in exhaustion and decided to work again.

A common sight in those days was a car owner lying flat on his back under the vehicle, legs sticking out, spanner in hand, while wife and children stood around looking worried. When the engine finally coughed, spluttered and roared back to life, the relieved family broke into gleeful applause as the proud, grease smeared father pulled himself out from under the car.

Today, such scenes belong in museums. My present car is sleek, silent and smarter than me. Recently it began giving poor mileage. The mechanic peered at it gravely, shook his head and said there was a leak somewhere between the pipe and the tank. His solution was immediate and confident. ‘We will replace the full unit, sir.’ I asked whether it could be repaired. He looked at me the way doctors look at people who still believe in home remedies.

Replace has replaced repair.

And it is not just cars. It seems to be a way of life. Instead of repairing a marriage, replacing a partner appears more efficient. Instead of repairing a friendship, blocking someone and finding a new one feels simpler. Gadgets are discarded at the first sign of rebellion. Even socks are not darned anymore. They are exiled.

Repair takes patience. Replacement takes a credit card.

Repair requires getting under the problem, sometimes quite uncomfortably, examining it closely and admitting you may have contributed to the breakdown. Replacement allows you to walk away with dignity intact and lessons unlearned.

The irony is that repair gives you something replacement never can. Triumph. That quiet, glowing satisfaction when something broken works again. When a relationship heals. When trust is restored. When the engine of life starts again with a familiar sound and you realise it was worth the effort.

Yes, repairing is messy. You get grease on your hands. You see smirks and hear jeers. But when it works, you do not just save money. You gain character.

So today, before discarding something that once served you well, try repairing it. Get under the problem. Tighten a bolt. Say sorry. Listen longer. Give it one more attempt.

You might just hear that wonderful sound again. The splutter. The start. And somewhere up in heaven, quiet applause…!

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