By Tan Hui Yee, Correspodent

"HAS it broken down yet?" My colleague asks with practised ease.

It is hardly the kind of question you should ask a new car owner, but I hear that a lot these days.

My car, you see, is old. Not old like a chrome-edged, open-top vintage car. But old like a run-of-the-mill hatchback which first hit Singapore's streets when women wearing shoulder pads and leotards were considered sophisticated.

The shoulder pads and leotards are a distant memory now, but my car - five owners and at least one crash later - still roars through the roads.

It is a 1991 Toyota Starlet. There, I've said it. It is built like a tank and feels like one when you are steering it. It has air-conditioning vents with minds of their own. And a cassette tape player so I can relive those leotard days.

In the food haven that is Singapore, people greet each other with "have you eaten?" instead of "how are you?" I, the Starlet owner, get a special greeting.

"Has it broken down yet?" they ask.

***

HERE, says the used-car salesman, as he tosses me the key for the test drive.

I give the tiny four-seater the once over, noticing the bits of grime in the window corners that his cursory wipe missed and the automobile equivalent of age spots on the tired grey bonnet.

I duck inside, trying not to gag at the unmistakable smell of cigarettes, sweat and dirt woven into the fraying fabric seats.

My parents, who have come along out of curiosity, hesitate outside. Come in, I call out. They enter, but shift uneasily in their seats. I can almost hear them taking a deep breath as I put the car into first gear.

The salesman prattles on from the back seat about the fuel efficiency of the car. But I can hardly hear him above the roar of the 20-year-old engine, accompanied by that dull thudding from the dashboard that seems to vibrate along with the thud, and the chirpy Chinese dialogue from the radio station we happened to be tuned into.

I can't hear him, too, because I am secretly thrilled at driving something cheap enough to be mine in a heartbeat, in a country where cars are the most expensive in the world.

I've done the sums: A new Toyota Corolla, the mainstay of Singapore roads, costs at least $70,000. So does the Volkswagen Polo. Even a dinky Kia Picanto from Korea costs $40,000. I'm not ready to part with my future earnings for pieces of metal. I have only $10,000 to spare, which is enough for me to buy a Starlet and pocket some loose change.

Then again, maybe not this Starlet.

My mother looks thoughtful as we drive home in silence later. She's been in many cars in her life. In the space of 25 years, our family has gone through a tiny Suzuki, a Lada Samara, a Hyundai Excel, a Ford Laser and a Nissan Latio. The sedans may have changed in shape, size and colour, but they have always been brand new. That is the way it is in Singapore.

My mother pulls me aside and asks: "If I give you $10,000, will you buy a better car?"

***