Review - Mitsubishi Pajero

I had not even reached puberty, was rather far from it, when I first truly understood the meaning of the much famous phrase for lovebirds – “going weak in the knees”. The feeling of warmth in my heart, having that mesmerized expression in my eyes, feeling lost in our own little world when I used to be with her. Heck yes, I was in love! I remember my mom castigating me for not being like the other boys and keeping home to play with the so-called boys’ toys (read Hot Wheels and He-Mans and Supermans and...), instead I used to be with her, most of the time that I could afford.

Back from school, when other kids suffered from trepidation of going out in sun (Delhi is extreme when it comes to summer heat, me tells you), I used to hold my beloved and head off to the unknown. And she never complained. Ever.

Only that ‘unknown’ here was essentially an under-construction site just a few blocks away. I was just an eight year old kid afterall, what did you expect, that I’d head off in the forests? Not that there were any, but still, goodness gracious man, get real! Mommy darling would’ve beaten me to bones if she were to know that I went to the woods with my love interest. Oh, and please don’t act as if your mother wouldn’t have, if you did much the same.

Anyway, that under-construction site offered us with ample lonely and empty spaces where we could get intimate, where we could go mad doing things with each other. And we both loved every moment of it.

I’d swing my leg around, grip her tight and have that frown on my forehead that is so typical of young boys. If you watched Rambo – First Blood as a growing-up kid, you’d associate with the feeling of wanting to be Rambo himself, standing in front of the mirror with that forehead of yours having a determination-overloaded frown. That’s exactly the frown my face used to boast of when being with her, in that surrounding. Then I’d ride her. Ride her to the point of madness.

I used to drift her, kicking up dust in air, make her jump over muddy pits and go bananas over small hills of sand. She would send every bit of sensation of thrust while riding over stones and undulations to my gentleman’s area. Oh, how I loved every moment spent in her company. I adored her more than what a boy, being in his growing-up years, is expected to adore the voluptuous examples of opposite gender beautifying the glossy pages of Playboy and Penthouse.

As I said, I was in love with her – my bike (I hate to call her a bicycle). But then, I grew out of my ‘growing-up-boy’ mould and my bike occupied a corner in the backyard.

As the years passed, I realized that it was not the bike I was so much in love with, but things that I used to indulge myself in, astride her. As you would’ve guessed ever so correctly by now, my romance with off-roading activities started way long in the past. Heck, I was so mad for this that I even took a car as humble as Maruti 800 on a rally event (my first of the proper rally kind), only to enjoy the thrills of going off-road, but I ended up getting pasted to a tree. That is, however, another story, for another time.

Going off-road is the ultimate thrill for me. It allows you with sovereignty. It tests your skills. It lets you explore the real unknown; gifts you with opportunities to unite with nature, travelling to places that were once only on that “places to somehow visit before I die” list of yours. Mind you, the keyword here being ‘somehow’.

I’ve driven Gypsy in the northern barren lands, and loved it. It’s as capable in the rough as a mountain goat, and as uncomfortable too. But who cares for its inability to pamper your bottom when it manages to make you exercise your face muscles by endowing a mile-long grin on it by giving a pants-on-fire adventure while behind the wheel. Sore butt, but joyful still. Talk about painful satisfaction!

However, the times are changing. SUVs  –  the very machines that were symbolic with off-roading – now are asked to be more of a fashion statement than being faithful to their DNA. That’s why you see enormous wheels bulging out from the arches of Classics, Scorpios, Safaris and Gypsys. Our head-banging friends of north India want ear-tearing, headache-inducing decibel capability from their audio units rather than smile-inducing mud plugging potential from their SUVs.

However, in the rabble of such wannabe folks, there are a few purists who want to own a comfy, luxury SUV that won’t break their grandparents’ bones while letting them take pleasure in exploring the countryside.

Such blokes do not much care for their vehicles being looker enough to walk the ramp. This is where the Mitsubishi Pajero fits in perfectly. It is old, and old-school, agreed, but is still hugely impressive and capable. I personally think Pajero looks good enough, never to really become what the bigwigs of haute couture call ‘out of fashion’.  It has an audacious, manly presence and an appeal that is classic SUV.

Inside, it is not what you’d call plush but isn’t even military-spec barren. You get few switches and buttons. And some dials and knobs too. But nothing is complicated to the point of making you pull your hair, so you get a hang of things instantly. In typical road-test lingo, one could use words like practical and roomy for the cabin.

We guys believe that you happen to be one mister I-know-my- cars, if you’d want to own a Pajero. And if you do want to own one, you would not care much for inconsequential factors like how many folks can you tug along in the last row of seats or how brilliantly or otherwise the air con works or even for the plastic that feels it has been taken off from a “made in China” plaything. What you would care for instead is the sheer ‘Pajero-thing’(as we lovingly like to call it) – taking the road less travelled.

Sure, there are luxury off-roaders that can do what the Pajero does, some do better even, but you’ll still find something missing. An element of raw pleasure. I’d driven this car for over 2000km in 5 days, I am already quite some way through this report but I still cannot find a word to describe that element. When you climb a 35-degree incline in, say an Audi Q7, you feel that there is no effort going in while executing the act. You feel disconnected. Makes you feel that it was mostly the work of IT engineering blokes hired by Audi. The Pajero, on the other hand, makes you believe that it was both the car and you. More you than the car. It makes you feel manly and you swell the chest with pride.

It was raining during the time of testing and I spotted a great off-roading site. A lot of digging work was going on there and huge cranes were going about their business. All this – the rain, muck, cranes – it seemed like the Pajero belonged there. I spotted a reasonably steep incline and lined up the Pajero to have a go.

Fingers and vocal chords were exercised between stand-in lens-eye-for-the-day, Rohan, and me during our gesturing and yelling acts while the Pajero walked lamely ahead in 4-High. A few feet into the climb, she just wouldn’t move. I shifted into 4-low. Voila! The Pajero proceeded ahead as smartly as a drunkard walking down the alley. She needed half her abilities to make it through.

Impressed, we looked around to try her out on an even steeper hill of wet land. A hilariously scary incline stood tall in front and being the nine-year-olds that we are, decided to try to make it to the other side of the 30 odd feet of peaty mountain. Rohan, in his typical Banglorean accent, mumbled “I’m F-ing bricks man, that thing is going to make the Pajero topple! You nuts?” 4WD, transfer case in low ratio and the Pajero started its climb.

I kid you not, I was literally shouting, “YES, YES. Come on, come on!” inside the cabin as the slow progress up the wet and muddy hill endowed a mile long grin on my face. Heck, but the Pajero refused to move an inch just a short while later. It was evident that eagerness to keep climbing was making this old-horse sweat it out as much as it could, but sadly, and after much done-to-death effort, the Pajero surrendered. It ran out of breath. And then it dawned on me - the 115 bhp, 292Nm engine is very good for usual use but imagine how good would it be if it had more torque hiding somewhere in its kitty!

Disappointed that we could not dismiss Mother Nature’s steep formation of mud, grass and water, the only respite was to shed our resentment by being pure junkies. A naturally formed pool was spotted and we hit it as fast and hard as we could. Splash! Ah, what a feeling, finally. It was so addictive that we kept ourselves at the brink of insanity for a really long time and made the most of the perfidious, extremely slippery surface that lay below. There were spots where we got stuck bad, but the low-ratio worked its magic time and over again to get us out.

Local villagers braved the rain and gathered by numbers to understand what exactly we were on about. Unable to understand the reason behind our madness, they started to enjoy too and gestured at us to give them some more visual treat! It was a moment of celebration, so it seemed.

We stepped out of the Pajero, walked to those water-soaked chaps and initiated a conversation. Everyone chit chatted, laughed and shook hands as we asked for their permission to leave. Leaving them with one more memorabilia, we executed donuts for them – in a Pajero! God himself must’ve been thinking that we blokes were at the boiling end of retiring into the insane zone of human antics.

The more we drove away from the serenity of this quiet village, the more we started to miss the true-blue character of the Pajero. Mitsubishi primarily had off-roading activities in mind when developing the Pajero. On the regular highway roads, it is nothing special but then again, the Pajero is not meant to be evaluated for its corner-carving capabilities or ride quality. Sitting in the Pajero and expecting to glide over authentic Indian roads would be much like riding a cart and expecting a Mercedes  S-Class treatment.

It feels a bit too wavy. It isn’t uncomfortable really, but there are better, more plaint suspension units on rival SUVs. But the question I urge everyone to ask after this statement is – are the Captivas and CR-Vs worthy match for the Pajero in the wilderness? Your guess is as good as mine.

I am about to conclude the review now and if you’ve managed to stay with me thus far, let me tell you that this hasn’t been a regular road test review, I know . This has been more of an experience. And it is the experience of driving the Pajero where it really belongs. This sets it far apart from the current crop of soft-roaders.

The following final few words would make you understand this almost 2000-word review in one statement – Mitsubishi has won the most gruelling motorsport in the history of mankind – Paris-Dakar – a record twelve times. Yes, your read it right, twelve! The car to do it was Pajero. And this platform, in some way, was the genesis of this feat. Respect.