For all the luckier folks who don’t get time to go through my car reviews, this is a continuation to my last review in which I had shared my puppy love with Ford Ikon in India. The moment that Ikon had left my doorstep, my life had become identical to the neighbourhood pregnant girl who sat on the balcony waiting for her lover. No, I didn’t become pregnant in the physical sense, but my mind had. Day in, day out, only one thing revolved and rotated my head. That picture of the red Ikon. All I did the whole day was to sit in front of my computer and keep staring at the flaming red wallpaper of the Ikon on the Ford website. Food, water, sleep and even toilet had taken a back-seat. Seeing my Devdas-ic mannerisms, mommy dearest phoned up Papa in London to buy the Fiesta as soon as possible. My ticket was pre-poned and I was kicked out of India two days later.
My first step out of my flight, and I was giddy at the very thought of meeting my dream-girl, oops, I mean my dream-car. Walking through the endless doors and corridors of Heathrow, I don’t remember how many hugs and kisses I had got from my family members who had come to receive me. All throwing on me one after another, I stood like a statue with my eyes rolling in every direction for the British twin of the Ikon. At last I breathed out, “Where’s our car?”. Everyone looked with bulging eyeballs and open mouths at me, thinking “How court less this boy is...we have come to receive him, and he is searching for the damn car.” Used to such comments and sniggers, I stood with a wooden face. But of course, Papa had received the signal and after about 15 minutes of waiting, came my beauty.
.::Look, look, my girl is here::.
Papa, very sensibly, parked the car on the boardwalk for my drooling and scrutinizing while the relatives were arranging themselves in their tin of bolts. As I went nearer, with every step, the desire to hug my car became stronger, but thankfully, my brain intercepted my heart and I stood there, staring, with eyes full of tears of excitement.
The same catty eyes of the Ikon, the same swooping muscular bonnet, the same smooth windscreen, the same side profile...ah! I was thanking God with every single touch I made with the car. With my backpack on the bonnet I sat on my haunches and started scrutinizing the lower side profile. Simply loved the beefier, smarter alloyed wheels and tauter wheel arches.
But it was the rear that gave me a jolt. The beautiful boot of the Indian Ikon was cut off and instead I had a Zen-style hatchback with oddball curvaceous tail-lamps staring in my face. Feeling a bit short-changed of receiving my bride with a mini-skirt, I thought a look inside should be of some relief. Before going in, I must add that I loved the sparkling silver paint my girl came in...it looked so exotic!
.::Inside—Sporty, yes! Comfortable, no!::.
My first impression about the Fiesta was its size inside, which was visibly condensed compared to the Ikon. Aesthetically, it wasn’t very different from the Indian girl. Everything fell to hand easily and I instantly felt at home inside. Though, the know-that feel soon withered as my bottom started to ache.
I turned over to Papa who was strapping his seat-belt in the front seat. “Why don’t we have seat covers?” I asked. “Its brand new beta, just took it from the showroom. You wear your seat belt first, before we are fined.” All strapped, I felt myself driving a F1 car.
Low-slung, racer-like driver position, closely packed pedals—no wonder, at Ford they make cars around their drivers. But the ecstatic feeling didn’t scale any Everest-ian heights for we were bathed in a sea of grey. From the foam ceiling to the plasticky dashboard to the floorboard, everything was a dull shade of grey.
The front seat, though as hard as the front bonnet, was very supportive with all the adequate curves, and though my trysts with the rear-seat are as frequent as sensible Bollywood films, whatever little I have experienced wasn’t that impressive. Its too low, too narrow, with too little leg and thigh support and can only rival tin-boxes from the Suzuki stable if there’s a competition for space. The inadequacy of the rear-seat didn’t come as a surprise to me since Fiesta’s wheelbase is some 30mm shorter than Ikon. Enough of drooling...now its time to drive!
.::It’s the heart that matters::.
“What’s the engine’s capacity?” was my first question as I pushed in the key. “1.25 litres” came the reply. “What!!! Only 1.25, why not 1.6? I hate puny weeds, u know Papa!” I started frowning. “But you have also come 2 days early, isn’t it. I just brought the car they had for ready delivery.”
Twitching my lips, I pressed the pedal, and since the fact that this engine’s capacity was way less than the Indian Ikon, I kind of ignored the way the car rocketed. It was only when I touched 80 mph on the motorway, that I realised there was still so much meat left to be tasted. I plonked it in the fifth gear and the car zoomed forward with renewed zest. This unending exciting nature that the engine possessed had me smiling all the way back home.
(It was early next morning that I realised, going through the manual, that the mill was a 1.25 Zetec powerplant putting out 74 bhp at 5200 rpm). The leather-skinned gear-stick had got the same precise click-clock feel of the Ikon, and made sure that the engine breathed till the last horse-power.
.::Come, twist and shake with me::.
A chopped off bonnet, a shorter wheel-base, beefier tyres and a stiffer suspension, all this has given such mind-numbing tautness to the Fiesta, that it comes out with flying colours, once the driver or the tarmac starts to demand. The next morning I actually started some tyre-scorching stunts in the car-park itself. Pushing the pedal until the speedo showed 80 mph and then zooming off just besides the nearest Mondeo, I was awestruck by the directness with which this car obeyed the driver with no twitching from the proposed line.
On the motorway, I have just touched 110 mph for a sweeping moment since the laws forbid me from crossing 90mph, but the experience wasn’t that confidence-inspiring. I felt the extra-tautness made the Fiesta too susceptible to the cross-winds, making it feel fragile and incompetent on high speeds—a virtue that the Ikon possesses. In parking speeds, the steering feels rock heavy (quite like the Ikon), and whenever my mates start pinching my chweet biceps (or the lack of it) with questioning eyes, I point straight to the steering of my Fiesta.
That said, the communication between the tarmac and my fingers is never broken, thanks to this feeler of a steering which lightens at speeds above 5 mph. And do I have to talk about the ride? Well, since the number of potholes in London is far less than in Rishikesh, I can’t really assess Fiesta’s competence in off-road conditions. Seeing its stiffness and tautness, I am sure to get more backpains than in the Ikon, but then who cares in London.
....THE AFFAIR CONTINUES IN THE COMMENTS SECTION...
