“Call me anything,” laughs Suneel, “but please, not an influencer.”
The co-founder of PakWheels, Pakistan’s largest automotive community, winces at the title. After decades spent testing cars, dissecting policy, and shaping automotive opinion, he’s still introduced as a YouTuber.
“People forget,” he says, “that I worked for years to build something from scratch. And now, suddenly, I’m just an influencer?”
The humour barely conceals fatigue. Behind it lies the candour of a man who has spent his life watching Pakistan, its systems, its streets, and its people run on uneven gears.
Watch the Full Conversation here:
Grounded Confidence, Not Vanity
Suneel insists he’s not arrogant—just prepared. “Before sleeping, I ask myself: who did I do wrong today? I’m not worthy of the love people give me.”
But on work, he’s firm: “If I’ve done my homework, I’ll stand by it. That’s not arrogance—it’s evidence.”
He recalls an auto company challenging a PakWheels cost analysis. “They said our numbers were wrong. I told them, prove it. ” Four hours later, silence.”
That steady mix of self-scrutiny and stubborn precision has become his signature.
Pakistan’s Reverse Robin Hood
“In Pakistan,” Suneel says, “we have a reverse Robin Hood.”
He explains how luxury car import duties are slashed while taxes on small cars rise. “A two-crore rupee discount for the elite, funded by a two-lakh hike for the poor man’s Suzuki. Hundreds of Alto buyers are subsidising one rich man’s Lexus.”
It’s a snapshot of a larger dysfunction. “Five months of every year vanish in rumours before the budget. How can an industry run on speculation?”
What India Did Right—and Pakistan Didn’t
Suneel’s admiration for India’s auto industry is grounded in realism, not rivalry.
“They decided: everything will be Made in India. They protected their infant industry until it could stand alone. Now Tata and Mahindra are exporting worldwide.”
Pakistan, he argues, keeps pressing reset. “Just when our 2016 policy started working—Hyundai, Kia, competition—we reopened imports. You can’t teach a child to walk if you keep kicking the walker away.”
His prescription is simple: “Policies don’t need to be perfect. They need to be consistent.”
The Romance of Old Steel
When talk turns to cars, Suneel’s voice softens.
“My first car was a Mitsubishi Lancer. Then an Indus Corolla. People ask why I still keep them—it’s nostalgia. You never forget your first car, or your first heartbreak.”
He calls his relationship with vehicles “a romance.” “I talk to them every morning. They’re not machines—they’re memories.”
It’s easy to see why millions follow him online: Suneel doesn’t just review cars; he humanises them.
Electric Dreams, Pakistani Realities
Ask about electric vehicles and Suneel switches gears.
“EVs are fine for the elite—not for everyday Pakistanis.”
He breaks it down: “An EV’s cost is rich man’s capital, but poor man’s hope. Sixty percent of its value is the battery. Replace that after six years—you’ve lost the car.”
A recent motorway trip left him stranded when charging stations failed. “If I didn’t have half a charge left, I’d still be there,” he jokes.
He supports gradual adoption—“start with two-wheelers”—but warns against fads. “Technology changes yearly. Today’s EV is tomorrow’s antique.”
Work Ethic and the Pakistani Shortcut
“I wash my own cars,” Suneel admits matter-of-factly. “Drivers quit every ten days.”
But the confession hides a critique. “Our problem isn’t poverty—it’s attitude. Everyone wants to be a boss. No one wants to do the work.”
He tells stories of drivers earning extra by siphoning fuel. “We’ve glamorised shortcuts,” he sighs. “There’s opportunity everywhere, just not for the dishonest.”
A Nation That Forgets Its Heroes
Suneel’s criticism extends beyond cars. “We don’t celebrate our heroes until they’re gone.”
He names economist Arif Zaman, artist Sadequain, and pop icon Nazia Hassan—each a symbol of unrecognised brilliance. “Do kids even know who Nazia was? She filled airports in India. But we remember TikTokers, not legends.”
In India, he points out, the Ambanis turn weddings into marketing diplomacy. “Here, we call every rich man a thief.”
The Road to Reform
Despite the frustration, Suneel is an optimist disguised as a cynic.
“If we just fixed policy for fifteen years—no U-turns—the auto industry would thrive,” he insists. “But every time we start walking, someone moves the finish line.”
He smiles. “Cars remind me that motion is life—even if the road is full of potholes.”
The Man, The Machine, The Message
Suneel is a paradox—realist and dreamer, critic and patriot.
His voice resonates because it’s grounded. In an age of loud opinions, his is a steady engine hum: practical, passionate, and poetic.
Beneath his jokes about “reverse Robin Hood” and nostalgic rants about the Indus Corolla lies a simple plea—for a Pakistan that values craftsmanship over chaos, policy over politics, and above all, pride in its own people.
Comments are closed.