The post no one asked for
There is a distinct evolution in a car enthusiast’s life that no one warns you about. It’s the shift from buying a car for how it makes you look to buying a car for what it can do. When I purchased my Ford Figo, the priority list was short, selfish, and wonderful.
- Does it look good?
- Does it deliver a wide grin when pushed?
- Will I turn back to look at it after I park?
The Figo checked every box. It was handsome, holding a sporty stance that promised agility. It was a car bought with the heart and the ego. I cared about the steering feedback and the way the grille looked in any rearview mirror. It was an extension of my personality: fun, sharp, and a little bit aggressive.
For years, my Ford Figo wasn’t just a mode of transport; it was a co-conspirator. It was a scrapper. It was the car that urged me to take the long way home because there was a sweet stretch of tarmac with barely any traffic or those snooping cameras. It was compact, communicative, and arguably the most fun you could have on four wheels without breaking the bank.
But then, life happened. Specifically, a very small, very loud, and very wonderful version of life: parenthood.
The Physics of a Baby
Before the baby arrived, I assumed infants were small, so they would require little space. This is a lie.
A baby is roughly 5 per cent human and 95 per cent “infrastructure.” Between the stroller (which folds down to the size of a small asteroid), the diaper bag (which weighs as much as a medium-sized mountain), the car seat, and the emergency backup bags, the Figo began to feel less like a car and more like a high-stakes game of Tetris.
Every trip required strategic planning. If the stroller goes in left-wheel first, we can fit one grocery bag, but not the baby. It was exhausting. The Figo, once my partner in crime, had become a constraint.
Enter the Big Softy
We needed a change. We didn’t just need a bigger car; we needed a warehouse on wheels that happened to have air conditioning. Walking into the showroom for the XL6, the questions I asked the salesperson would have made my younger self weep with despair.
- “Does it look cool?” was replaced by “How wide do the rear doors open?”
- “What’s the 0-100 time?” was replaced by “Show me the ISOFIX points.”
- “How does it handle corners?” was replaced by “Is the suspension soft enough to not wake a sleeping infant?”
We chose the XL6 not because it sets the tarmac on fire—it doesn’t. We didn’t pick it because it’s the sharpest-looking car on the block (though it has a certain rugged charm). We chose it because Practicality, Space, Comfort, and Safety bullied their way to the top of the list, mercilessly trumping driving dynamics.
Driving the XL6 after the Figo feels like trading a pair of tight running shoes for fuzzy slippers. Where the Figo was stiff, sharp, and eager to dart into gaps in traffic, the XL6 is a gentle giant. It doesn’t want to rush. It floats. The suspension absorbs the bumps that the Figo used to communicate directly to my spine. It is, unequivocally, a “softy.”
The Luxury of Space
The first time we packed the XL6 for a weekend trip, I stood at the back with the tailgate open, waiting for the anxiety to hit. I tossed the stroller in. Then the bags. Then the baby gear. I looked inside. There were still about 4.2 acres left.
We usually run it in “Lounge Mode”-dropping the third row flat. This transforms the car into a comfortable, roomy four-seater with a luggage bay that could rival a cargo ship’s. My son sits in his car seat in the second row captain’s chair, looking like a tiny King on his throne.
A New Kind of Joy
Do I miss the Figo? Absolutely. I miss the weighted steering and the way it felt glued to the tarmac. I miss the ability to park in scooter spaces.
But there is a different joy in the XL6. It is the joy of low stress. It’s the peace of mind knowing that I don’t have to leave anything behind. It’s looking in the rearview mirror and seeing my family comfortable, spaced out, and asleep because the ride is so compliant. And, of course, it’s a Maruti. That means even an ant can fix it anywhere, without tools.
The Figo was for the driver I used to be, the one who chased the redline and wished it had a million horsepower. The XL6 is for the driver I am now, the one who chases quiet moments and safe arrivals.
It’s not a sports car. It’s a sanctuary. And right now, with a screaming infant and a mountain of luggage, that’s exactly what I need.
