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My 1972 Premier President: Purchase & ownership experience

15th March 2024, 09:33 by Rahul Nagaraj

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Sounds like a 20th century mini-Ferrari!

BHPian vishy76 recently shared this with other enthusiasts.

1972 Premier President

What I like:

Classy timeless looks. No other car from the pre-liberalisation era comes close to the 1100D for me in this regard
Lusty engine mated to a very slick-shifting column shift-operated gearbox driving the rear wheels
Routine maintenance and service costs are still very reasonable. Not a car that demands much attention in this regard
Peppy performance with a lovely exhaust note. Sounds like a 20th century mini-Ferrari!
Very good handler by 1970s standards. Tonnes of fun to flick around thanks to the low weight and RWD layout
Very easy to work on. Routine maintenance, electrical troubleshooting and servicing are child’s play and most if not all parts are easy to access under the hood

What I don’t like:

Parts are becoming tough to procure, especially cosmetic ones. Needless to say, they also cost a bomb with most stockists taking advantage of the scarcity
Quite the rust magnet. Needs special attention and care to keep corrosion in check. The paint quality wasn’t great from the factory either
Safety is non-existent by today’s standards. No seatbelts on this 1972 President either. A minor hiccup if you plan to daily it
Interior space and ergonomics are typically Italian (read: very cramped). Not a car you bought for being chauffeured around in
Some jobs can’t be undertaken by your average neighbourhood mechanic. Needs a seasoned old-timer who knows what he’s doing
Prices are shooting up to unbelievable levels. I don’t think it will even be worth buying one 2-3 years down the line

Backstory

My family shifted to Bombay in 2009. I still remember the first time I came to Mumbai. Merrily got off at LTT, and the next thing I see is my dad trying to hail a cab. The only cabs I was used to seeing then were the usual Tata Indicas and Indigos. The word Fiat only meant the Uno a friend of mine used to own when I was in Senior KG and a Sienna, a gentleman in my apartment owned when we were in Ahmedabad.

The sight that greeted me was quite strange then. A beaten-up black and yellow car pulled up with a roof carrier. The taxi driver gingerly opened the boot but also had a long length of rope in his hand. The rope would be put to good use since the boot had a larger-than-life cylinder in it and could only squeeze in 2-3 soft bags. The rest went on the roof carrier. When he opened the rather small doors, I was again greeted with another spectacle. The front had a single-piece seat (which I later came to know was called a “Bench seat”). The dash didn’t exist! It was simply a protrusion on the firewall with a small cavity on the passenger side which formed the glovebox. Ingress was tough, to say the least. My dad insisted I sit in the middle at the front or the back but nowhere close to the doors at any cost. Closing the doors took 2-3 attempts (are you even in a “Fiat” taxi if you manage to get the door closed right on the first attempt?)

The next 30-35 minutes were probably the scariest ones in my life. My innate curiosity was replaced by horror as the taxi driver was weaving through Mumbai traffic as if it were the last day of his life. Half of my brain was worried about the bags atop the roof carrier while the rest had gone into survival mode. I am not a very courageous soul in all honesty. I loathe flying on a turbulent day, absolutely abhor rollercoasters and in general detest when someone else drives fast with me in the passenger seat. However, now that I have an 1100D/President/Padmini myself and know how “good” the brakes are, I think my fears no matter how childish & illogical weren’t precisely unfounded.

That one drive in a Fiat taxi had left such an impression that I almost never sat in one again for 2-3 years. The only Fiat taxi I would ever sit in would be the one belonging to a friendly taxi driver who used to operate out of a stand close to my home. Tripathiji as he was called, had a rather well-kept Padmini largely devoid of the snazzy stickers and chrome bits one would expect of a taxi. What the car did have were whitewall tyres, something which I still remember almost 15 years later. Tripathiji was my grandfather’s trusted driver. He would always drive at a steady pace, never cut lanes and never brake late, quite an exception for a Mumbai taxi driver, just like his Padmini. My dad would ask him to take us on drives to various parts of Bombay back then, since our Corsa had been shipped by container from Chennai to Mumbai & was taking ages to arrive.

Some observations I made as a kid sitting at the back and later taking the “Fiat shotgun” position (middle one between driver and passenger) as I like to call it:

The gear lever was oddly placed, to say the least. I had roughly figured out the positioning of gears in a floor shift car but was never able to do so for a Padmini. This would hold true up until only a year back
The car had a very prominent whine when accelerating in 1st. Especially, prominent as taxi drivers would take off like a rocket from traffic lights
It looked & felt “old”, but it did have guts. In the right hands and with generous gear shifts, the Padmini could actually keep up with Mumbai traffic quite effortlessly.
The doors were a sore point always. Never aligned correctly and always needed 2-3 attempts to shut. One of the reasons why my dad never allowed me to sit close to the doors

This was pretty much what I would expect of every Padmini I ever sat in (whenever I did sit in one that is). However, one fine day it did change. My grandparents had come down from Vadodara and Tripathiji was unavailable. We hailed a cab from the same stand, but when I got in, I was in for a rather pleasant surprise:

This “Fiat” didn’t have a single seat at the front. Two individual (bucket) seats with headrests, almost like a Maruti 800
The gear lever was where it was supposed to be (floor shift)
The car had AC as well though it was obviously never switched on
Ran a lot smoother and felt more “car-like” to ride in than the cruder Padminis I had ridden in earlier

January, 2023

My family was based in Baroda while I was pursuing engineering in Bombay. Life was going well.

BHPian Beemerbug006 is someone I have known even before he joined the forum. Since I was in Bombay for my higher education, I never missed an opportunity to visit him at his residence in Shivaji Park, Dadar. Apart from owning a lovely Maruti Zen, Nikhil is a very familiar face at classic car meets owing to his photography skills. The presence of skilled old-timer mechanics known to him at Shivaji Park meant he would often be entrusted with fixing an old car or two over a weekend. I would also take the opportunity to visit him at this time and ride in one of these.

On one such unassuming weekday in Feb, I landed at Shivaji Park post-college. Nikhil didn’t waste much time and immediately took me to his trusted auto electrician. And there she was. A white Padmini Deluxe BE is being worked on by a rather grumpy old man. After some prodding, I was told the car had been procured by a friend of Nikhil’s. He had been tasked to bring it back into running condition, after which the owner had “other plans” for it.

On the surface, the white Padmini didn't have much going for it. Although the “aam junta” would give it curious looks on the road, I could imagine it attracting attention for all the wrong reasons at a Fiat meet. The wheels were tastelessly sprayed in black and so were the pillars. The rear end was jacked up to massive proportions, giving the car a very awkward stance. On closer inspection, the paint job was a massive botch-up. Overspray at every possible nook and cranny, paint overrun visible from a mile away and missing bits of wiring.

After the electrician (who was seemingly frustrated at this point) had reinstalled the starter, we jumped in and went for a spin. Mind you, this was when the car didn’t have any sort of insulation on the floorboard. On a rather humid Bombay evening, we were sweating it out in the Padmini. After Nikhil was convinced the car was running fine, I was told to take the wheel and learn.

Hopping into a Padmini and driving off is not something you can do if you are only used to driving ‘traditional’ cars, no matter how experienced you are. The organ-type ABC pedals, judicious amounts of play in the steering, and the non-vacuum assist brakes (all four drums if I might add) are traits which can pose a serious challenge at first. However, after about 3-4 km of driving, it seemed I had gotten used to the car.

Over the next month or so, the car’s charm got to me. I never quite understood what it was. Maybe it was the back-to-basics driving feel, maybe it was the fact that there could never be an idle moment when driving the car, or maybe just a good old Italian character. I had fallen in love with it. So much so, that I casually pitched the idea to my old man who gave me a go-ahead for the same.

The Hunt

The initial budget was pegged at a rather conservative 70k. I checked out a couple of examples and was less than impressed. I almost sealed the deal on a 1965 1100D, but later realized there was too much tinkering involved to bring it back to shape. The car was also missing most if not all of the cosmetic bits which should have made it an 1100D.

After this rather uninspiring hunt, my dad gave me the go-ahead to up the budget while also setting some stringent criteria:

Should be a petrol column shift. Diesels simply weren’t going to make the cut
Should have valid paperwork
Should be a fundamentally solid car. Minimal rust, no LPG/CNG BS conversions, no mechanical jugaads or hack jobs
Should be a car which needs TLC, but not a grounds-up restoration immediately

Budget: 1.3-1.5L

Post this, two cars appealed to me on FB classifieds. The first one was a 1990 Padmini listed for 1.2L. The seller wasn’t very keen on making a sale. When I told him I would send someone to check the car out, he made excuses that the car had gone for a minor touch-up bla bla. Decided to put this on hold.

The second car was quite an interesting one. The ad didn’t explicitly mention the car's name. It simply said, “Old is Gold 1973 all-original parts clear paper up to 2025”. The price listed was also a very random number. However, I still decided to DM the seller. Nikhil identified the car as a Premier President and we decided it would be prudent to send a friend and Fiat veteran Russel to check the car out on my behalf.

Russel gave the car a thumbs up. He opined that there was minimal rust barring the cross member, the paint job was in above-average condition and the car in general felt genuine.

After a lot of back and forth with the seller on the phone, we agreed on a price. While I had stretched my budget by a fair margin, Nikhil and Russel were both of the opinion that it was worth it for the car I had landed wasn’t a Padmini, but a ‘President’.

The Delivery Saga

I had wired a token amount to the seller and had the ad taken down. I promised him that I would come down in the next week or so, see the car in person one final time and make the final payment.

The next week, on the 21st of March, 2023, a very close friend and fellow BHPian Atharva and I hopped into his Vento and made quick progress towards Pune. The day was an odd one because it had rained cats and dogs in the morning and showers didn't subside until we crossed the Lonavala ghat section. The plan was simple:

Reach the seller’s location. Inspect the car, make final payment and take delivery
Based on the car’s condition and if we had enough time, drive it back to base with the Vento as backup or load it on a container and have it sent to Bombay

The plan (in theory at least) was very simple. Post reaching Pune however, we were in for a rude shock:

Firstly, my outstanding navigation skills meant we somehow ended up about 20 km from the intended destination
Secondly, while coming down a flyover, the Vento TDI decided to throw in a surprise by springing up an overheating warning.

After descending, we parked to the side, only to find the coolant boiling over. Having dealt with TDIs numerous times on VWs, the sweet smell of fresh coolant from the timing belt casing told me it had to be the water pump that had given up.

The seller was not very happy to learn about all this. Somehow, I managed to beat all odds and reach the seller’s place while Atharva limped to the closest FNG with his Vento.

After an inspection and a short spin in the car, I took delivery. The fuel gauge read between ¼ and ½, with the seller also assuring me that the car would easily make it to the outskirts of Pune. Initial impressions were not outstanding:

Most of the original trim was intact including the grille, the speedo, interior grab straps and even the ashtray
The alignment was screwed by a very good margin
Front shocks were done, if not the entire front suspension. The car was bouncing like a pogo stick over less-than-ideal Pune roads
Sounded like a truck thanks to the broken exhaust plumbing
The brakes were a far cry from the white Padmini I had driven in Bombay

I didn’t really have time to think about much else.

All I knew was that:

I bought myself a 50-year-old Fiat
I had to somehow figure out a way to take the car back to base with me while also finding a way to take Atharva and the Vento home

I drove the President down to the FNG where Atharva had taken the Vento. The bad news was in store. The water pump would only be replaced by 23rd March since the 22nd was a holiday. Out of frustration and impulse, we both hopped into the Fiat and decided to aim for Bombay. It was around 1.30-2.00 pm.

We had somehow managed to navigate the worst of Pune traffic and make it to the outskirts. The President was to climb a flyover on the Katraj-Kondhwa road. All was going well when suddenly, the car decided it didn’t want to obey throttle inputs anymore. A bit of sputtering followed and then imminent death. I was clueless. Fortunately, Russel sent for a towing van with a rather enthusiastic driver. He took 1.5 hours to reach but charged a mere 2200 bucks for a 20 km tow across Pune to Russel’s garage in Khadki.

At the garage, we removed the float from the fuel tank, only to find out that there was no fuel in it. Trusting the fuel gauge had been the biggest mistake I had made, it seemed. Russel also pointed out a couple of other things that needed attention including the radiator hoses. However, he opined the car would make it to Bombay if we just fueled up and left.

It was already 5 pm. We were exhausted. My risk-taking bandwidth was over. Atharva took a cab back to base, while I decided to give myself some time and retire to a family friend’s home in Pune. The car was fueled up and taken. The next morning, I decided to drop the car off at Russel’s garage and leave for Bombay. I asked him to do whatever he deemed necessary to make the car mechanically reliable. We decided to do the following:

Replace the entire exhaust system

Replace the spark plugs

Set the tappets, tune the carb and set distributor timing

Get new wheel caps (got Padmini ones)

Get the brake lights and front indicators to work

Remove the roof carrier and antenna

We also wanted to replace the crusty cross member, but it wasn’t in stock. All in all, Russel did a very good job considering the shoestring budget I had given him. I gingerly asked him to load the car up in a container and have it shipped to which he disagreed. He was of the opinion that the car could make it to Bombay effortlessly.

After some back and forth over the same, we found a middle ground. Russel would drive the President down to Lonavala, following which I would take over. The date was set, 27th March, 2023.

D-day (take 2)

I once again left for Lonavala post-college with a trusty friend (no prizes for guessing who). We reached Lonavala, met Russel and went over all the work that had been done. Post a refuel, it was time to hit the highway, or actually the expressway.

While the initial plan dictated taking the President down the ghat via the old Bombay-Pune highway, the steep slopes we encountered on the way to Lonavala made me decide otherwise. In the end, I had barely driven the car for 15-20 km and there was no clarity on the overall integrity of the brakes or the suspension.

All this meant I made a last-minute decision to take the expressway. As we exited Lonavala, quite a few things were going through my mind. How would the car respond as I pushed it to higher speeds? Would the brakes hold up? Would the engine temp remain in control at higher speeds?

I joined the highway and merrily started filtering through slow-moving truck traffic. I saw a couple of gentle left-hand sweepers ahead and decided to push through them to see how the car would respond. To my surprise, the President played along quite well. The short 4th gear, RWD layout meant the front wheels only had to steer the car and the short wheelbase meant I was pushing the car into corners at 50-60 km/h and thoroughly enjoying it. Yes, the alignment was still not perfect and I had to practice due diligence over expansion joints thanks to the bad front shocks.

What was even more surprising was the fact that the car didn’t really feel strained at 60-70 km hr (48hp isn’t a lot of hp). Engine temps had dropped below 70 degrees centigrade at 60-70 km hr. The President seemed to be happier than even I was. After a single halt to check for any leakages from the radiator, I put some nice music on my trusty old BT speaker, opened both front quarter glasses and cruised towards Bombay.