Friday, 26 December 2014

Jaguar F-Type Coupe India review

We drive the 543bhp Jaguar F-Type R-Coupe in and out of town for a full week.

  The monsoons may have had a slow start, but on this evening in early August, it’s pouring buckets. From my vantage point inside Jaguar Land Rover’s very swanky corporate showroom in Worli, Mumbai, all I see is an opaque sheet of rainfall. The flooded conditions seem apt to put any of the Land Rovers on display to the test, not the 543bhp (and 69.3kgm), rear-wheel-drive rocketship I have just  been handed the key to. I’m itching to drive, but better sense tells me to hold out. I just can’t let impatience and unnecessary bravado cut short my week-long stint with what promises to be Jaguar’s most exciting sports car in decades. A lot of Jaguar literature and a few coffees later, I notice the downpour has reduced to a mild drizzle. Visibility is better and traffic seems to be in motion too — that’s the green signal I’ve been waiting for.  I want to make a fast getaway, but quickly realise I’d need the equivalent of a racehorse’s blinkers to keep me walking straight to the car’s door. It looks just so damn hot, I simply have to stop to take one hard look at it. Eventually I peel my eyes away from the F’s shapely form, making a mental list of all the details I’d like to see up close later on. Like the door handles that pop out as you press the unlock button on the key fob, which is such a neat touch. 

 It’s quite a drop into the cabin, but the beautifully contoured bucket seats offer a comfortable landing. On the outset, frontal visibility seems good and I’m quite taken by the welcome gesture or Jaguar handshake. It’s performed by a platform hidden atop the centre console that rises to reveal the air-con vents, a bit gimmicky but literally a very cool touch. Starter button depressed, the engine rumbles to life to settle at a gruff idle. Gear lever clicked to D, and I’m off. But I’m not in the clear — rush hour has begun and traffic is thickening. All plans for an initial joy ride are cancelled and I decide to call it a day. It’s on the journey home that my right foot gives in to temptation and I weigh down hard on the accelerator at the first opportune moment. What follows has me thrilled and petrified at the same time. The Jag’s tail momentarily steps out of line as the Pirellis struggle to put down all that power on the wet surface. Meanwhile, the exhaust roars loud enough to alert every living being in the vicinity that there’s a big cat on the prowl. This is going to be a very fun week. . 

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