Ashish Jha 
I remember it clearly. It was my first time. That’s the thing about the firsts of all the big life experiences – you remember them. You tell stories of them. I was in 8th standard when I got into my first brawl. A kid with raging adrenaline, I was more excited than intimidated. Five boys from the other section (8C for the detail-minded) stood in a group in front of the three of us. They looked as clueless as we did. I rolled up my sleeves, made a fist and flexed my forearms. I felt like a hero. Until I didn’t.
The fight ensued. It seemed to have lasted long enough for us to have grown a dense moustache. Only, it didn’t. Our classmates complained that they weren’t even afforded enough time to rush out and gather as a cheering mob. Rascals.
If you’ve not experienced early-teenage boys fighting, especially those fighting for the first time, you’ve missed a grand spectacle. For the most part, it’s a bunch of young chaps pushing each other, pulling out shirts tucked neatly into the trousers and trying to hit… air. But on rare occasions, a punch would land. The two sides traded a few, once we figured out how to fight properly.
I managed to punch a couple of our opponents pretty well and dodged a few blows aimed at my face. I was Rocky Balboa. Immediately after that mental ego massage, I got punched. Hard! So hard that it might as well have been a hammer attached to a vacuum cleaner running at full blast. It sucked out all air from my gut. That fight felt exceptional and excruciating in equal measure.
Today it’s nearly thirty years since that fight. In all these years, I’ve travelled through dismal attempts at a proper education, countersteered my way from a traditional career, and have had thoroughly luckless life moments. But somehow, crazily enough, I ended up doing a few things that I’ve always wanted to. Driving cars of all kinds – from terrible to terrific – was one of them, and I’ve been lucky to have driven a few.
Occasionally, a special set of wheels comes around for an experience – one that you can’t say no to. I’ve driven quirky French things, genius Japanese tools, exotic and temperamental Italian stuff, and German items obsessed with excessive engineering. I’ve made a fool of myself in at least one of every kind.
Recently,Porsche offered me a drive experience in two cars that I’ve been craving to get behind the wheel of – Cayman GT4 RS and 911 GT3 RS. Stupidly, I almost said no to the offer.
It’s often said that you shouldn’t meet your heroes – that was my mental excuse. From the modern era of the motorcar, the Porsche Cayman is among my favourites. The GT4 RS is its most delicious version. Then there’s the 911 – the consummate sportscar. The 992-gen GT3 RS is the most phenomenal example of engineering infatuation. But these weren’t my heroes. So I said yes.
The walk through the garage was buoyant. There were some Cayennes,Panameras of different kind, the TaycanTurbo and Cross Turismo, the 911 Cabrio, the 911 Turbo S – the spread was superb.
Suddenly, the human cacophony was silenced. The perkiness of my feet was overcome by a calming halt. The ‘Shark Blue’ Cayman GT4 RS and ‘Racing Yellow’ 911 GT3 RS emerged from behind the garage door – inching slowly, quite the contrast to the reason for their existence: speed.
More on them later; first, let’s drive the 911 Turbo S around some randomly placed cones in a parking lot.
Young enough to be a pensioner, Paul, a former racer and highly experienced driver-trainer with Porsche, was effervescent in explaining to a bunch of motoring hacks the way around the cones. He made it sound like even a clown could easily get around them and nail the slalom course. You had to be an idiot to get it wrong. I got it wrong.
Let’s just say that I shortened the course by a few seconds. When I came in after my first practice round, I requested Paul to get into the passenger seat and guide me. Constant throttle in first gear, it was all about finesse and delicate inputs. If you’re new to the concept, a slalom course will see you drive by feeding opposing directions on the steering wheel around each cone arranged in your vision.
Paul marked out my mistakes and made me a whole lot better in just that one lap. He made an overgrown ape look like a driving champion – never undermine what a pro trainer can do. After three practice runs in the 911 Cabrio, we were to do a timed run in the 911 Turbo That’s a totally different car; a completely different experience. I clocked the second fastest time, barely 0.2 seconds behind a guy I feel no shame losing to. Redemption!
Stimulated by 250 hours of wind tunnel testing, 860 kilos of downforce, S-duct, active aero, and the symphony of explosions at 9,000 revs, a bunch of crazy engineers birthed the 911 GT3 RS. It’s a racecar that’s just about right for the road or a roadcar that’s just about right for the track. The ‘or’ should be ‘and’ I feel.
A middle-aged, mildly-tubby guy with squeaking joints getting in and out of a spectacularly purpose-built super-sports car is a sequence of visuals bordering vulgarity. Go past that and in me, you’ll see a razor-sharp, former failed-racing driver tearing down the track. Or not.
The GT3 RS is so outrageously engineered that we did not even scratch the surface of its capabilities despite going at a decent clip around corners. It was a lead-and-follow exercise. In the other cars, the drivers gripped the steering wheel tightly, their eyes squinted, and their reactions tried to settle the directional vs rotational debate of the wheels. I know this because I drove the other cars in the lineup too. Nothing felt anywhere near as fantastic and effortless as the GT3 RS. Perhaps that’s why it didn’t feel special enough to me.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t imply that the GT3 RS is not special, just that it didn’t create music in my head. It didn’t make me feel weak in the knees. It didn’t make me feel fizzy. It didn’t make me want it. And that could very possibly be because we didn’t even push it hard enough for it to ask, “Is that all you’ve got?” A day of unshackled driving and my emotions could change about the GT3 RS, I humbly submit.
It did things to me that are illegal to mention on a portal that doesn’t have the age verification guardrail. On the track, it flowed beautifully and fought a tiny bit. It flirted just the right amount. At redline, it sounded like thunder in its adolescence
It’s not the flagship Porsche. It’s lesser than the 911. Yet, in ways that can’t be explained, it’s really not. It sings and makes you sing along. It feels like a crunchy autumn leaf – crisp and light. It gives you the same smile that a perfectly baked cake does. It’s not a sensory overload yet it makes you work to enjoy it. It’s what an evocative motorcar should be.
Over the years, I’ve had several moments of gentle drifts and small slides in cars – some intentional, some accidental. They make you giggle. Wrapped in the offering for the day as the highlight event was a drift session. Nigel, our pro instructor, has had years of racing and drifting experience. The layout was done to encourage us into a transitional drift – throttle in, break traction, countersteer and hold the slide, let the grip come back, throttle again, drift again, and gradually come to a stop. Think of it as negotiating your way around a tightly written ‘S’ while going sideways.
From the passenger seat, Nigel cheered me on. “Roll up alongside the blue cone, blip the throttle and catch the slide,” he said. I did exactly that, apart from the last bit; so I spun. Second, third, fourth attempt and it was much the same. Then, I managed a reasonable slide but lost the momentum to make it around the second part of the layout.
In the final one, I ended up circling the first cone itself. I could see my peers standing outside and laughing hysterically. I was laughing just as wildly inside the car.
Like in that fight back in school, I felt like a hero, until I didn’t.
