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The motoring journalist lot have it good – every few days, there’s either a fast German sedan knocking at your door or a screamin’ motorcycle that’s just begging to be ridden or heck, sometimes, even something as insanely flashy as an Aston Martin V12. And the variations are utterly ridiculous – for example, there have been days when, in the course of a day, I’ve piloted everything from a Honda Activa to a Mahindra Xylo to an Audi R8. Yes, that big a variation. And knowing my colleagues at BSM, I’m sure they’d be equally happy puttering around in a rickshaw at 10 kph in a cloud of blue smoke as they would be hurling down the highway, screaming their lungs out in an Italian supercar. We adore machines, of all shapes, sizes and horsepower ratings; however small, big, slow, odd, ugly or ridiculous. I especially have a soft spot for ridiculous ones but that’s just me, I guess.
Now, the machine I really really enjoyed driving of late didn’t come to me because I’d asked for it. Rather, the circumstances were such that I had no option but to drive it. For starters, it’s got an 800cc triple, a sporty sounding exhaust system and a suspension setup that feels like it’s been setup for Nordschlife. Don’t get your hopes up though – it’s probably something each and every Indian has driven at some point in their lives. It is none other than the legendary Maruti 800. To come back to driving it meant letting go of the finesse one acquired driving modern cars and getting on with what is scientifically called ‘hammering it’. After all these years, the little Suzuki has got its unique set of quirks to it – for example, the clutch snaps till about half way point and then decides it’s too tired to be snappy, so gives up and drags on. The brakes, or whatever is left of them, feel like fine sandpaper gently polishing the discs, so you need a planner to brake. You take mental notes - apply brakes on 18th, a Saturday, conveniently stop by Thursday, the 23rd. The steering requires lots of manual effort except on the extreme right, where it’s supremely light, the gearshift is surprisingly snappy and the lil’ motor itself is in a world of its own, closing it eyes and pretending the world around it isn’t falling apart. And you know what? It’s the most fun thing I’ve driven in a city for a long time.
There’s something to be said about humble lil’ cars trying their best – they’re so much fun! In this day and age, it feels like a bumper car with four seats and a windscreen, squeezing through gaps fat pedestrians would think twice about and given its light weight, it mostly manages to scuttle off the lights before anyone else. Do it a couple of times with the fuzzy radio in the background (the stereo makes Radio Mirchi sound like a police frequency) and it even feels a bit like you’re in the Italian Job, making a dash for the border away from the Polizia. Yes, it feels like you’re sitting in a shoebox with a windscreen. Yes, a rising moon is a better light source than the headlights. Yes, the struts actually pass on the job of absorbing bumps onto your spine and bum, except for the front-left strut, which is a complete sweetheart. I could pick a thousand faults with it and yet, I loved every moment of driving it.
The last time someone bothered to check, a bloke was offering the equivalent of the price of an iPhone to buy it, so really, it’s better utility staying in the parking lot. Its wound the odometer over around three times (or more) and is still quite reliable. Just goes to show that sometimes, to experience a car with loads of character, you don’t require a Swiss bank account; instead, you just need to open your eyes.
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