I cannot identify with today’s cars — not even to save my own life. They defer to matters of cost, practicality and efficiency, all the while pretending to lead lives of thrill and adventure. I call bovine droppings on those lofty declarations, and will do so until I can. But then again — what even is a ‘car’ anymore? I grew up in a building that looked like it was under siege by a battalion of white Hindustan Ambassadors. I was ferried around Mumbai in the now-extinct Premier Padmini taxis. Back then, I could’ve never imagined a future in which the sedan was on life support — no, I do not mean those sub-4-metre automotive afterthoughts clogging our roads. Which is why it felt like poetic justice to send shockwaves through that four-wheeled monotony in the BMW M5.
After years of sliding into airy monovolume cars without a care, I found myself watching the M5’s A-pillar flash past millimetres from my head in cinematic slow motion. As I landed on the bright-red driver’s seat, the near-miss was instantly forgotten when I saw the M1 and M2 buttons on the steering wheel. Shiny red buttons in a car always seem to hold a power far greater than their size suggests, and I’ll never stop falling for them. With anticipation spiking and my ears bracing for ignition, I thumbed the equally red start button, and was met with… deafening silence.
You see, this seventh-generation G90 M5 is a plug-in hybrid that can go nearly 70 km on electric power alone. Now, I have nothing against part-EV part-IC machines, but should that contradiction find itself built into an M5? Realising that nothing is sacred anymore, I dived into the maze of menus on the M5’s screen to assign the aforementioned red buttons their functions. Long story short, the M1 got assigned words such as ‘comfort’, ‘hybrid’ and ‘automatic’, while ‘sport plus’, ‘dynamic’ and ‘max’ went to the M2. The array of customisation for the hybrid drivetrain, adaptive suspension, transmission, brakes, energy recovery, 4WD/RWD and everything else was so mind-boggling, I found myself asking whether all of it was really necessary.
As the M5 started rolling silently, it felt like any other premium EV would. If anything, all those M-accents and the prevailing silence felt like a gross mismatch. I prodded it a bit, and it rolled forward with more urgency but still silent. Tired of the ongoing blasphemy, I desperately pushed the M2 button — and the real M5 exploded to life. An angry V8 rumble swelled up under the bonnet, the quad exhausts performed a delightfully excessive eruption that sent birds flying from the trees, and I thought, ‘Nice of BMW to make a real-life simulation of the Big Bang.’ The steering wheel, the suspension and the brakes weighed up to match the sense of occasion M. This was definitely more like it. I came to a stop and stuck it in neutral.
I simply sat there, eyes closed, right foot tapping the throttle for my whole body’s benefit, glad I was alive in a way that only proper engines can make one feel. Then I buried the pedal into the floor, and my eyes involuntarily opened wide to see the digital tacho blasting past 7000 rpm, and the exhausts issuing bangs, crackles and pops when I let up. I did that a few more times to great hair-raising effect, and bystanders stayed well away, not daring to approach the aural violence. Now it finally felt like the most powerful M5 ever made, primed for launch.
With a combined electric-IC output of 727 bhp and 102 kgm, the M5 is well within its rights to go on a tyre-obliterating rampage, and I just had to let it. Flooring it from a standing start, the M5 slammed my head into the seat and the rest of me became acutely aware of being pressed into it. The V8 demanded that I kept pulling the right paddle through its 8-speed ’box in rapid succession. Even when I thought it had had enough, it roared, ‘Another one!’ It was sobering to realise at a decidedly stupid speed that with the optional M Driver’s package, the M5 could drag four doors and a boot to 305 kph, flat as a sedan should be. My mind couldn’t help but go, ‘This thing is far too serious to be made in a place called Dingolfing.’
As diabolical as the M5’s acceleration was, nothing ever felt out of control. Now, I wasn’t brave enough to turn off traction control and see what shapes the M5 could make, but even in the most hardcore driving mode, there was nothing to back up all those videos I see of BMWs flying into Indian road barriers at weird angles. The M5’s straight-line stability was excellent and nothing changed when corners of all possible radii appeared, either. I did wish, though, that the steering communicated more than the M5’s substantial heft. I don’t know how else to describe it; whenever I pointed the M5 into a corner, the wheel made sure I recalled BMW’s spec sheet — kerb weight: 2510 kg. Oh, boy.
Now, having put on a not-so insignificant amount of weight myself over the years, I empathise with the M5. It doesn’t make us any less fun to be around, but we certainly could’ve done without the extra poundage. Whenever the V8 wasn’t pinning my spine into the seat and holding it together, the suspension and low-profile tyres did their best to dismantle it. That’s where the weight was most apparent. And however considerable the M5’s talents may be, the laws of physics announce themselves in a loud parade in the four spots where the rubber meets the road. I had no doubt that some of the world’s best brake pads and tyres were straining to bring the M5 back from the velocity hallucinations down to real-world speeds. If the laws of physics had a smell, it’d be the one around the M5 after an extended high-speed run. It was like they were burning alive. That is also the reason why you shouldn’t take acceleration numbers for the M5, whether official or personal, too seriously. And even if you wanted to match them on a daily basis, you’d pretty much have to slap on new tyres every morning.
I finally parked the M5 and stepped out, and the world was a much slower place than before. I thought I saw the M5 heaving deeply in a most satisfied manner. I looked at the carbon-fibre bits all over the car and noted the weight saving irony of it. And those red seats suddenly looked like cows turned inside out. That wouldn’t be how I’d cap off what is undoubtedly a triumph of engineering, though the spirit may have wandered off somewhere. The M5 proved to have a split personality sharing the body of a two-and-a-half-tonne beast, hot, heavy and hybridised in all its glory. As the days went by, I found myself using M1 for the sane stuff through traffic until I got to a sparse-enough place to engage M2. It was like the M5 was making a solid case for itself, promising and indeed delivering the best of both worlds. But that was never the point of a car like this for me.
Why should a concept such as the M5 contain a softer version in itself? Isn’t that what the regular 5 series is for? Should BMW make a separate C5 model for those who want a great V8 in a plusher layout? Doesn’t the i5 already exist for those who want an electric 5 Series? Of course — I’m all for technology, but not at the cost of purity. And so, the dilemma of the sedan overlaps with that of the M5. This is a problem of essence and of relevance, and there are no real solutions except those that speak to your heart. There used to be a time when if someone said ‘car’, the mind would immediately paint the silhouette of a three-box sedan, before asking them, ‘Why’d you just utter that single word?’ The sedan’s priorities matter little when times and thoughts are as muddled as they are today. And after all of that, I didn’t open the M5’s boot, not even once. I didn’t want to risk finding its charging cable in there and wondering how we got here.
