GBNF: The two-wheeler industry in India in the 1980s

What do you remember from the ’80S? From what I’m told, it was a time when almost everyone was a smoker. By that, I mean almost every two-wheeler on the road was a two-stroke. Fast forward four decades and seeing a two-stroke on public roads is as rare as three pearls in one clam. The ’80s were a time when people adopting means of personal mobility was still on a rise. They were simpler times, sure, but unlike what many people would have you believe, simpler is not always better. There’s a reason why you see almost nothing that was common technology-wise from those times in the two-wheelers that you and I ride today. But as they say, we should always be aware of where we come from, know your roots if you will. We begin our ‘Eras’ series of stories in the ’80s and we put together the motley crew of legends that defined that era.

 

Bajaj Chetak and Priya

Riding a scooter from the ’80s is very different from now. Today, we associate scooters to be the most convenient form of commuting on two wheels. Electric start, super easy to ride and hardly requiring maintenance. The story back then, was something different altogether. We start with the Bajaj Chetak, or in this case, the Priya. Everything feels quite different from the moment you swing a leg over. Well, before you swing a leg over, you need to start the darn thing and that was an ordeal in itself. If you’ve watched any Bollywood movie of the time, you’d have seen a Bajaj Chetak and a man tilting the scooter a good 45 degrees to the right, letting dino juice get to all the right places (the carburettor) before attempting to kick start it a good three times, at least, before it would roar to life. All of this is after turning the fuel

cock on the carb to the on setting. Once you’re seated, is when the next difference is apparent. The seat is on springs and the handlebar is almost at knee level. The rear brake is under your right foot and not on the handlebar because that’s where the clutch and hand shifter are. Pull the clutch lever in and roll the grip away from you and you’re in first. And then as you get into higher gears, your knuckles start pointing toward you and that’s how you rode. Something that oddly was easy to get used to. Maybe I have an alternate career as a rickshawalla.

The Chetaks and Priyas used a monocoque construction and the engine was mounted on the right side, which meant that the scooters were inherently unstable and you had to constantly and actively correct that. Braking was also very unlike today. These scooters used a trailing arm front suspension, so when you would apply the front brake, instead of diving, they would actually raise. Which meant using the rear brake a lot more. Wherein lies the next big difference. When you’re seated in that position, reaching for the rear brake with your foot feels quite awkward. But awkward hardly matters when a cow is fast approaching.

Bajaj’s automotive story began in 1960, with a partnership with Piaggio to make and sell the Vespa in India. A partnership that wasn’t long-lived with Piaggio splitting from Bajaj in 1971. The cause? India was implementing an indigenisation mandate that pressured foreign companies to transfer technologies to Indian partners and also reduce the royalties. Not something that the international players were too keen on. After Piaggio’s departure, Bajaj continued to use the tooling of the Vespa, but re-badged the scooter as the Bajaj 150. Then in 1972, named after Maharana Pratap’s legendary horse, the Chetak came to being, with some design and engineering changes – changes that would really matter later on. Piaggio filed multiple lawsuits against Bajaj in the late ’70s and early ’80s when Bajaj started exporting the Chetak to the UK and the US, on the grounds that Bajaj was using Piaggio’s proprietary tech and design against them. This is where making the design and engineering changes to the Chetak helped Bajaj win many of these cases. It used the same Vespa-derived 145.45cc, single-cylinder two-stroke that put out 7.5bhp, 10Nm of torque and would deliver close to 35-40kmpl.

Demand for the Chetak was ridiculously high, but strict production quotas meant supply couldn’t keep up. Waiting periods stretched up to 10 years, and there were instances where weddings were postponed just to align with the scooter’s delivery date. This is where the Priya comes in. Nearly identical to the Chetak, the Priya was built by Maharashtra Scooters, in which Bajaj had a stake, and to whom the very same Bajaj granted a license to make a Chetak replica. Specs were more or less the same except for the Priya getting a three-speed gearbox which was eventually upgraded back to the Chetak’s four-speed. And that meant Bajaj could make two versions of the same scooter and significantly ramp up production. In the 1970s and ’80s if you had a government job, a house and a Bajaj scooter, it meant you were sorted. Or whatever the equivalent to being sorted was back then.

 

Vijai Super

Despite the launch of the Priya, demand for Bajaj’s scooters was so massive that even the government, given its socialist tendencies, admitted that one private player dominating the two-wheeler mobility space wasn’t a good idea. And thus in 1972 the government set up Scooters India Limited as a public sector undertaking and acquired Italian company Innocenti’s factory with all the tooling, machinery and schematics for the Lambretta GP150 and GP200. Effectively the entire manufacturing plant was shipped from Italy to Lucknow and in 1975 the Vijai Super was launched.

It was the Lambretta GP150, but Indianised, with the Lambretta reserved for the export market. The 150cc single-cylinder two-stroke made a little more power than the Chetak and Priya – around one horsepower more at 8.7bhp. What differentiated it from ‘Hamara Bajaj’, and quite significantly so, was it didn’t use a monocoque and had a tubular steel frame where the engine was mounted in the centre. That had a marked difference in the way the scooter handled, so much so that it was a favourite amongst motorsport enthusiasts that would race at the then-happening and now-fabled Sholavaram.

Get it started, let the clutch out and it does feel a bit sprightlier than the Priya. The fact that the engine is centrally mounted makes a huge difference while riding. Especially for me, used to modern scooters, the Vijai didn’t need too much mental computation on my part to ride. With all these scooters, you’re constantly bobbing up and down because of the springs in the seat. Good fun. While it was a favourite amongst racing enthusiasts, how they managed to ride and lean these scooters hard with tiny 10-inch wheels is beyond me.

There was also a 198cc scooter based on the Lambretta GP200 with real racing pedigree but poor marketing meant it didn’t get the success that it deserved. While offerings from Bajaj were considered family scooters, the Vijai Super always appealed to the enthusiast and when India won the Cricket World Cup in 1983, the winning team were gifted Vijai Supers. Did it really need more marketing? A lot more apparently, because despite being mechanically sound, the queues were at Bajaj. When the Chetak was on the top of sales charts, the Vijai Super was trailing far behind in fourth. In today’s market, fourth would be a big deal, but in that era, when there were only a handful of options to choose from, it means that things aren’t going too well. By the late ’80s the company pivoted to making three-wheelers such as the Vikram and then ultimately shut shop.

 

LML Vespa

Piaggio split with Bajaj in 1971, but that wasn’t the end of its Indian chapter. In 1983-84, the Italians partnered with Kanpur based LML – Lohia Machines Limited – and India once again got the Vespa. The LML Vespa XE featuring a 100cc 2-stroke, standardised the concept of having turn signals (a novelty!) and then in 1986 came the Vespa NV with the larger 150cc 2-stroke and a direct rival to the dominance of the Chetak. Being that it was half Italian, the attention to detail was much higher on the Vespa than on the Chetak. It had a larger and more distinctive glove compartment, the stepney cover was more visually pleasing than the exposed wheel on the Chetak and the overall design was more polished and sophisticated. The Vespa was a smidge smoother than the Chetak but wasn’t as hardy, especially in rural conditions. Targeting style-conscious youth with models such as the NV3 and Alfa, the positioning was slightly aspirational and priced at a premium. Around ₹14,000 when the Chetak cost around ₹10,000-11,000. For the first time, Indians weren’t asking, “What is available?” They were asking, “Kuch aur mil sakta hai?” Choice had entered the conversation. And markets change forever once choice appears.

Right off the bat, the Vespa looks like the most stylish option of the lot, it had the flair that you would associate with an Italian scooter. Riding one didn’t feel drastically different from the Priya, but one thing that stood out is that it felt quicker. Even the owner of the Vespa proudly came up to me and said something to the effect that this is still a fairly fast scooter and is even capable of touching speeds that felt close to 100kmph. I say ‘felt’ because time had done its damage to the instrumentation of the scooter. So, his guess of speed would be as good as mine.

 

Kinetic Honda

The Chetaks and Vespas were big and heavy. And then came the lightweight Kinetic Honda DX, fruit of a joint venture between the makers of the famous Luna moped and the Japanese giant. Launched in 1984, the Kinetic Honda featured a 98cc, two-stroke engine that put out around 7.7 horsepower. But that wasn’t the revolution. The revolution was this – no clutch, no gears and electric start. All things that were considered space age for the time. Half the time getting the Chetak to start would mean leaning the thing over to the right side to get the fuel to flow through the carburettor because of the offset engine and then kicking the thing to life. In the Kinetic, you pressed a button. Another interesting fact is that it was the only two-stroke of its time that didn’t need premix oil to be mixed. The convenience was next level. The CVT gearbox ended all the faff with clutch and gears on the

left lever. It also meant the rear brake moved from the floorboard and to the handlebar leaving a flat floor and adding to the convenience. It effectively set the template for the modern scooter.

The Kinetic Honda was the first scooter to be successfully marketed as a unisex two-wheeler. It was also light and compact in comparison to the Chetak and meant that it had nearly as many women adopters as it did men. Most youngsters in the ’90s learned to ride on their mum’s Kinetic Honda. I came about a lot later, but the Kinetic was the first two-wheeler I ever rode. For the time, the design too was very modern, with a proper instrument cluster that even had a fuel gauge.

Getting on the scooter after all these years brought back the memories of the first time I rode it. The excitement, the sense of freedom and all the adjectives you appoint to the feelings you feel when you experience motorised mobility for the very first time. Riding it is an immediate reminder that the majority of things we take for granted now in terms of features and tech began with this scooter. Yes, today it might feel a bit crude, loud and not as fast, but back then it was the polar opposite. After riding the Priya, Super and the Vespa, the Kinetic Honda was the only one that felt like it belongs to the now as much as the then. It’s light, flickable and compact while being roomy and spacious. The brakes don’t feel like they’ve been lifted from a medieval era, nor does the instrument cluster. It is, to this date, a scooter that I would enjoy riding often. Maybe it’s because of my history with it, or maybe because it was just that much fun.

But as they say, all good things come to an end. In the late ’90s, the market was moving away from scooters towards fuel-efficient motorcycles. Moreover, the decline in quality and the fact that the scooter didn’t get any major updates saw demand gradually but steadily decline. While Honda wanted to implement newer technologies and strategies and launch new, more modern products, top brass at Kinetic weren’t keen and that never happened. Committed to the idea of launching better scooters, Honda offered to buy Kinetic’s share in the JV but that didn’t happen either. This is how Honda Motorcycle and Scooter India (HMSI) came to be. And that is how the Activa was born. While Kinetic was game to make a motorcycle, Honda’s partnership with Hero meant that it couldn’t make motorcycles with another brand. The company endured for a while – they rebranded to ‘Kinetic’, continued to sell the DX with some updates that somehow worsened the product, tried slashing prices significantly, launched other products, but to little success.

 

Bajaj Cub

In the late ’80s Bajaj had gotten to a place where it had the liberty to experiment and look at the market from a different angle. The result of the experimentation was the Bajaj Cub. Launched not as a replacement to the Chetak, rather a more accessible alternative. The major difference with the Cub was that it was a significantly smaller scooter. Powered by a 100cc two-stroke engine, it was Bajaj asking if urban India really needed a larger 150cc scooter. The answer was yes, but more on that later. It came with a new electronic ignition system, which Bajaj said, would make kick starting it and running it easier and smoother. It also had smaller 8-inch wheels and came with a detachable footrest and an optional wrap around footboard. This also suggests that Bajaj had started experimenting with accessories and ergonomics. It was priced at approximately ₹9,500 and sat strategically below the larger Chetak which, at the time, would cost around ₹11,000.

The experience riding one was, again, similar to that of the Chetak and the Vespa, with one major difference being that it was a lot more compact. It still had the engine mounted on the right and that meant the lean to the right was still present. Couple that with the smaller wheels and you became a master in counter steering, albeit only to one side. Unlike the Chetak, the Cub came mated to a three-speed hand shifter. Despite having merit, the Cub lived a rather short life.

The Chetak was still a faster, more robust scooter and the sales chart screamed that it was the one that was more in demand. This meant that those who could afford one, would rather have a slightly less efficient scooter rather than a smaller one that didn’t have enough oomph. The Kinetic Honda’s success probably didn’t help either.

 

Royal Enfield / Enfield India Bullet

As you can see so far, the ’80s were a time mostly dominated by scooters. Motorcycles were not as common a sight. But the few that were there have certainly left a mark on the industry as we know it today. Boasting the longest continuous production run of any motorcycle in the world, the Bullet was one that was present at the scene right from India getting Independence. The one you could buy in the ’80s was very similar to the ones that you could get in the ’70s, ’60s and so on. Very little would change on the Bullet. Powering it was a 346cc cast iron, long-stroke engine that made around 18bhp. While that sounds like a lot, it weighed nearly 190kg, the long-stroke engine preferred to thump rather than rev quickly and speed wasn’t its forte. In an era where motorcycles were moving closer to 100cc than they were to 500cc, the Bullet sustained, staying true to its identity. Ridden mostly by figures of authority – the police and Army officers and occasionally the doodhwala, the Bullet 350 was not a motorcycle that anyone could just hop on and ride. Starting it was an exercise, riding it required commitment to its right-side gear shift. Stopping only with its drum brakes was an act of faith. All of this was relevant only when it ran.

I was particularly excited to ride the Bullet 350 because it was very similar to the one my father had at the time. Gears on the right, brake on the left and a decompression switch, that if not used wisely could lead to some interesting bruises (if you’re lucky) on your shin. This was the first motorcycle in all these years that has made me feel like I was giving my rider’s licence test. The gears on the right had me fumbling like a monkey that’s just discovered a banana. I knew what to do with it, but couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to make theory action. After some time and a lot of apologies to the owner, I got a hang of riding it and what a feeling. So robust. So full of soul. I certainly saw mine when I reached for the brake and nothing happened. Then I thought to use the foot brake and guess what happened. I went into third from second gear, because not only are the gears on the right but they’re also upside down, then somehow pressed the rear brake, got off and felt around to see if I needed new underpants.

Royal Enfields of yore had a very famous quality that required the rider to be the mechanic as well. I’ve heard plenty of stories from my father who would spend a lot of time by the roadside to mend his Bullet. You learnt to ride as much as you did to wrench, a quality that sadly, most riders today, myself included, simply don’t possess. Riding a Bullet wasn’t about speed, it was about presence, of which it had plenty. But by the mid-’80s, petrol prices mattered, and the Bullet felt like yesterday’s India, strong, but slow to evolve.

 

Yamaha RD350 / Rajdoot 350

And then, the shock – the Yamaha RD350. A motorcycle so inherently different from the Bullet 350, despite having similar displacement. The result of a collaboration between Escorts Group and Yamaha, the RD350 took India by storm in 1983. Officially assembled and branded as the Rajdoot 350, powering the bike was a 347cc, air-cooled, two-stroke, parallel-twin motor. To survive our Indian fuel and road quality, the motorcycle was adapted and appropriately detuned from the original Japanese version. It was available in two variants – High Torque and Low Torque. The former made a smidge over 30 horsepower while the engine on the latter was good for around 27 horsepower, down from the 39bhp output of the international-spec bike. With a top speed of around 150kmph, it was, by a big margin, the first performance motorcycle that India had experienced. Nothing at the time could come close to the performance of the RD350.

I’m going to tell you something that I’m honestly quite ashamed to admit. I’d never ridden a Rajdoot RD350 or the Yamaha RX 100 before this day. Hearing stories of its might and more importantly how expensive it is to buy one today, I approached it with a bit of trepidation. Not just in fear of damaging it but also as to whether it will live up to the hype that surrounds it. The very first time I rolled the throttle and got the bike in its power band, it confirmed the hype. It accelerated with such urgency all while sounding so mesmerising. Back in the day it was called the ‘giant killer’ and I can completely see why. The brakes, again, didn’t inspire the most confidence, but unlike the Bullet, they at least worked. What little time I spent with it, had me absolutely awestruck, I can only imagine what riding one back then must have felt like.

This motorcycle was also the first time the Indian audience experienced a six-speed gearbox and tachometer. All of this should have meant that it would be a raging success, but that was far from the case. The RD350 divided riders into two categories – those who chased speed and those who calculated cost. Sadly, at that time, India was an economy sensitive market that prioritised efficiency over everything else. With the RD350 returning only around 15-20kmpl and costing around ₹30,000 to buy (the SS80 was some ₹47,500!), it didn’t get many takers. India admired the RD but it never became mainstream. What it did become, was a legend.

 

 

Yamaha RX 100

Launched in 1985 to counter the rising threat of the Indo-Suzuki AX100, and more importantly to offer a small-on-capacity but high-on-performance motorcycle for the masses, Yamaha birthed the RX 100. It featured a 98cc, single-cylinder, two-stroke engine that made 11bhp and was mated to a four-speed manual gearbox. It weighed around 95kg without fuel and was capable of hitting 60kmph in under 8 seconds. Unlike the larger RD350 or the Bullets of the time, the RX 100 was also supremely reliable, while being significantly more affordable at an ex-showroom price of approximately ₹11,500.

Reliability that has stood the test of time. The first kick and the bike roared to life with its iconic ring-ding-ding soundtrack. One kick! The RX 100 is ridiculously compact, narrow and so easily flickable. The narrow, but potent, two-stroke power band and your eagerness to dump the clutch will result in a fun wheelie or three! When I think of a two-stroke, the first sound that comes to mind is that of the RX 100 and experiencing it from the saddle is an experience I’m now grateful for.

The RX 100 offered performance and thrill at an attainable price. It was the first motorcycle that properly and thoroughly democratised performance. You could even credit the RX 100 with starting street racing and tuning culture in the country. But it was still a two-stroke motorcycle. It still announced itself with a cloud of smoke, still required 2T premix oil and still wasn’t as frugal as the market needed it to be.

 

Hero Honda CD100

Then, quietly, without drama, came the machine that would change everything. The Hero Honda CD100, the very first motorcycle released under the joint venture between Hero and Honda. Unlike the RX 100, which was a performance-first motorcycle, the CD100 took a very different approach to motoring. The CD100 is when the paradigm shift happened. It was when the Indian audience shifted their loyalties from a scooter to a motorcycle. It is the reason you see sub-150cc motorcycles more than anything else on the roads today.

Powering it was a 97.2cc, single-cylinder, air-cooled, four-stroke engine. While it was not the very first four-stroke engine in the Indian two-wheeler market, the Bullet 350 has been a four-stroke since as early as 1949, it was the first 100cc, modern four-stroke motor. That meant mega efficiency and considerably lower emissions. Its 7.5bhp power figure was hardly the highlight number. Its claimed 80kmpl mileage claim, that was almost as much as its 85kmph top-speed, was what made it a big deal. It wasn’t fast, loud or romantic. What it was, was efficient.

The bike pictured here belongs to our very own Shivprasad Deshmane, videographer at evo India. He rode the bike from his hometown some 400km away in a single stretch. Again, for a 40-year old motorcycle to do so without breaking down, or needing major service before or after is a big deal. It goes to show how hardy these motorcycles are and how robust the engineering that went into them was. Simple, purposeful design. The CD100 is another bike I’ve ridden as a youngster, before I got my licence. It was never a thrilling motorcycle to ride. It didn’t go like stink, nor did it handle like a race bike. But what it did was get you from point A to point B, in probably less money than it would for you to take the bus.

Because it was a four-stroke engine, there was no premix oil, no smoke cloud. Longer service intervals and bulletproof reliability. An early commercial even featured a young Salman Khan, but the real star of the show was that slogan. “Fill it. Shut it. Forget it”. It perfectly captured the national mood of the time. In a country making every rupee count, this bike removed anxiety from ownership. Before the CD100, buyers asked: “How fast?” after it launched, they asked: “How far?” That shift still defines the Indian commuter market today.

 

The 1980s were an interesting time. Riding these scooters and bikes was a great reminder of the joys of riding a two-stroke. It was a ride overpowered by the smells and the sounds of simple engineering and no electronic nannies. For the time it was the norm, but today, it highlights the stark contrast between motoring then and now. Each one wasn’t just a product. It was a reflection of India at that time. And in the 1980s, India chose efficiency over drama. Not the fastest or the loudest but the one that made the most sense. The one that was the most practical solution. Historically, the practical solution was not performance, it was relative convenience and efficiency. The few that attempted to bring performance into the picture faded into legend. But each and every vehicle in this story has played some part in affecting the turnout of the motorcycle industry as we see it today. Some set very good examples of what not to do. But irrespective of that, each one of these have had a very interesting story to tell.

Shot at Amanora Park Town, Pune.

With thanks to Karl Bhote, Virendra Kale, Sumit Manoj Mahabaleshwarkar, Shreyas Sharad Dhamdhere, Pranay Mhavale, Shivprasad Deshmane, Mangesh Malwadkar, Akshay Kishor Shelar, Vishal Mane for their scooters and motorcycles.