Carseva

No street gear. No baggy jeans. No flash boots. He’s not a P. Diddy clone. He’s not a bad-ass gangsta. Give me a break, this guy doesn’t even have an entourage. No hangers-on. No minders shielding him from the media. Media? Um, yes, that would be me.
This bloke is a Formula 1 driver?

Then you look at the body language. The slender shoulders are straight, determined. The handshake is firm without being aggressively vice-like. If he’s feeling the pressure of being one of the rookies on the circuit, it’s not showing.

He is the epitome of complete relaxation, even though he’s on a tight schedule. It’s just before 8.30 in the morning and he’s in the lobby of the Langham Hotel (formerly the Sheraton) in Melbourne, where the doorman wears a top hat and tails. Karthikeyan has to be at the Jordan hospitality area in Albert Park just before nine o’clock, where the racing team is hosting a media breakfast.

He doesn’t have many minutes to spare, but he is courteous in his replies and generous with his time. Then we shake hands and he and his manager walk through the main entrance into the car that waits in the wide driveway.

He doesn’t drive this car. He doesn’t need to. But a few kilometres away, in a garage that is already swarming with Jordan personnel, sits a low-slung yellow car with his name on it.

NARAIN Karthikeyan probably typifies the new breed of Grand Prix driver. Not your garden-variety hell-raiser. Not the sort of person to be the loudest at a party. None of the flair of the late 1976 world champion James Hunt. But a more introspective, cerebral manifestation of the hi-tech world that spawned him.

The new face of the sport, if you like.

This morning, as you’re reading this feature, the first Indian Formula 1 driver is already at Albert Park, the venue of the Australian Grand Prix. Permit me to caution you. He’s not going to win this Grand Prix. Ergo, don’t judge him a success or failure based on whether or not he makes it to the podium.

The statistics of Formula 1 racing don’t favour drivers in the minor teams. But we must remind ourselves of the inescapable fact that he is already a success.

He’s a fully-fledged Formula 1 driver. He is part of the international elite. Michael Schumacher, as dominant as he is, with seven world titles and victory in 13 of the 18 races last season, didn’t begin his career as a winner.

These things do not depend solely on driving ability. They depend on technology. They depend on research. They depend on testing. They depend, most crucially, on team budgets.

DON’T judge him now. Just laud him for what he has achieved so far. Then judge him by how he progresses. He’s had a busy time here, after emerging from Customs and Immigration into the blazing summer heat.

You see, that is part of the problem in this city. You never know what the weather is going to be. We had two days this week where the temperature climbed into the mid-30s. Two very hot nights as well. Then the cooler southerly breeze tempered the conditions. Thursday and Friday were clear days in the region of about 22 degrees.

Yesterday it rained and the temperature went below 20 degrees for the first time in three weeks. Today, if the weather bureau got it right (and they usually do) it will be partially cloudy, with a top of 18 degrees.

Why is this relevant in a story about a Grand Prix driver? Because in a sport where tactical decision are critical, teams must decide on a race strategy.

We’re not just talking fuel load and timing of pit stops here. We’re talking tyres. In previous years, if the weather changed in the middle of the race, you simply called your driver into the pits and gave him four wet-weather tyres and in less than 10 seconds he was away again.

But all that has changed with the new rules that come into effect from this race, the first of the 2005 calendar, with 18 more to follow.

At Albert Park, for the first time, teams have to ensure that a single set of tyres lasts through both qualifying sessions (yesterday and early this morning) as well as the entire race. A tyre can only be changed during this time if it is punctured or damaged.

The only concession comes into play if the race director declares the track wet. In this case, teams will have access to wet or extreme-weather tyres.

The restrictions on tyres mean that lap times will be slower. This in turn means that race strategy assumes even more importance.

Both Jordans performed honourably during the first practice session on Friday afternoon, Monteiro and Karthikeyan finishing the first practice session in 17th and 18th place respectively.

With the McLaren-Mercedes duo of Pedro de la Rosa and Kimi Raikkonen dominating the second practice session, it was Karthikeyan who finished in 19th spot with a time of 1:28.168 and Monteiro in 22nd place with a time of 1:29.671.

LIKE the drivers, Albert Park itself was abuzz on Friday evening. Ten floors up, open-air diners in an office complex beside the track were enjoying a premium view of the practice laps. You could see the waiters clearly, with the black-and-white checkered flag pattern on their aprons. It’s not just haute cuisine that the diners were paying for. It was the ultimate spot to see — and be seen.

On Albert Road, leading to the main entrance, the row of merchandising stalls carried a bewildering array of products. There were teddy bears in team colours. Sunglasses. Keyrings. Temporary tattoos. Face-painting booths, where children could have removable paint applied in the emblem of any team.

Two of the women behind the counter at one booth were examining each other’s tattoos. On their forearms, proclaiming their racing allegiance, was a yellow, red and black corporate emblem. Ferrari, of course.

But alongside the stall was a bewildering array of national flags. Australia. Great Britain. Brazil. Germany. Portugal. And India. It’s enough to set anyone’s heart racing.

BUT, speaking of racing, today is the day that counts. Today is the day Karthikeyan’s blood is pumping a little faster. While you’re reading this, he is probably preparing for the race of his life.

He’s pulling on his garb in much the same manner as warriors of old. He shrugs into his snug overalls. Legs first. Torso next. Then one shoulder at a time. Fixes the collar in place. Inserts the earpieces. They’re designed not just to cut the noise but to provide a communication channel with his pit crew. Then the fireproof mask. Finally, the helmet.

Then he approaches the yellow Jordan that carries the hopes of the entire Indian nation. It’s not an easy fit. A Formula 1 cockpit embraces a driver within its tight confines. Comfort is not a consideration. These cars are built to two specifications. The first is speed. The second is safety.

He doesn’t just swing his legs in and sit down. He eases himself into the high-speed, low-weight, low-slung cocoon. His legs are encased in the narrowest part of an impossibly slender car. His backside and spine are supported by a contoured seat.

He sits there on the starting grid. Absolutely still. Waiting. Focused. He has temporarily discarded his peripheral vision, for his eyes are fixed on one spot.

He’s intent on a row of five lights on a gantry that spans the track.

THE first light turns red. Exactly one second elapses. The next light turns red. One more second passes. The third light turns red. Yet another second goes by. The fourth light turns red. Finally, one more second ticks past. The fifth light turns red.

When the lights are extinguished simultaneously, the race is officially under way. This can happen anywhere between 0.2 seconds and three seconds after the last red light has come on. The official starter pre-programs this time lapse, but it is kept a strict secret. No one knows exactly when the lights will snap off.

And then Narain Karthikeyan is racing. His life will never be the same again. Neither will ours.