Putting a powerful engine inside a small, light car is no big deal. American kids did that with their hot rods way back, till Detroit picked up the idea in the 1960s. And a host of small US-European ventures had European carmakers shopping in the US for massive V8s to shoehorn into tiny engine bays. So pray tell me, if the idea ain’t new, why the hell does the Volkswagen Golf GTI have such an awe-inspiring, legendary reputation? To drive it is to find out.
I am on the highway leading out of the city in a blue GTI from 1982. To be honest the car is not in 1980s showroom condition. Small cables are exposed inside and the gear linkages seem to be worse for the wear. The engine needs some TLC, as the drone seeps through the firewall into the cabin. The seats need some bolstering, the plastic parts need to be cleaned up, serviced and refitted, while the fabric upholstery could do with a general stitch-up job. The new owner of the car – who prefers to be unnamed – is in the process of bringing the peerless GTI back in form – but I hijacked him mid-way just so that we could celebrate Volkswagen’s arrival in the country by featuring the one model in their lineup that has enthusiasts drooling.
He is in the passenger seat and is explaining how he is going to put the car back in shape, but I wonder if he noticed that I have the pedal nailed and the speedo is showing in excess of 110 kph. Heck, for the condition that the GTI is in, and having spent 25 years on Mother Earth already, the first-generation Golf is relentlessly pressing ahead. In its era, if I were driving it on an autobahn, I would have to flash my lights and get other cars to make way.Because none of them would have suspected that a puny hatchback would actually pose a threat to bigger sedans. And that exactly was the GTI’s favourite party trick. It had extremely discreet touches that distinguished it from its slower siblings, and would have passed off as a regular Golf if you didn’t notice the red pinstriping on the grille, the larger-than-standard front spoiler, the barely flared wheel arches... and it’s only if it loomed close enough in your rear view mirror to see the GTI badge on the grille, that you realised you had to move over.
Ah, but that would have been the 1980s in Europe, and I am in the late-2000s in India. Drivers of other cars around me don’t give way – well, if GTI meant something to them, they would have, but that’s obviously not the case – so it’s time for the classic Indian trick of honking their brains out. The GTI’s steering wheel has not one, not two, but four large, hard-to-miss buttons that activate the horn. Honk, honk! The Sumo in front of me moves ever so slightly. A quick downshift to third sends the revs up in the atmosphere, the engine note becomes a loud snarl and I am through.
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