THERE’S a traffic rules’ awareness drive under way in Karachi these days and all one can wish for the traffic police department is good luck.

For as a battle-hardened survivor of Pakistan’s streets and byways, I can assert that if a person can navigate his way around our roads, it’s safe to assume that he’ll be fine anywhere in the world — except perhaps where vehicle operators are expected to even approximately follow the rules.

I hope the drive has some effect. The anarchy that rules our traffic cannot be denied, particularly in urban and/or commercial areas.

Here rule infringement is compounded by heavy volume and, in many areas, a bewildering variety of vehicles: cars and buses grimly competing for space between wagons, trucks, rickshaws and motorcycles, with bicycles, donkey-carts, the occasional oxcart and the mosquito-like Qingqis — a form of conveyance created by attaching a rear-facing bench to the common motorcycle — thrown in.

Beyond the humour there is to be found in this subject, there are serious, and dangerous, issues with the way people pilot vehicles in the country.

First, there is a lack of knowledge about the rules and conventions. Forget wilful lawbreaking; in too many cases, people are simply unaware.

For instance, how many people know that at a roundabout, the traffic coming from the right has the right of way and the vehicle already on the circus has right of way? Vehicles approaching from one of the spokes are the ones that are supposed to stop.

Similarly, how many are aware that on a highway of three lanes or more, the lane on the extreme right should be used for overtaking only?

The traffic police tried to enforce this on Islamabad Highway by placing obstructions at regular intervals so that it was impossible to drive continuously in that lane. That meant a lot of utterly baffled motorists would abruptly and dangerously cut left when necessary.

Traffic is organised by a whole plethora of rules, from motorcyclists staying on the left, to overtaking only from the right, to picking a lane depending on speed, all of which many road-users don’t appear to know.

A licence can only be obtained after passing a driving test that includes answering a set of questions about the rules. In actual practice, though, the system is subverted.

First, a large number of people operate vehicles without licences. Second, many obtained them through short-cut or fraudulent means (sifarish, for example), which meant that due process has not been followed.

This has become difficult now with the computerised system; but was rife when the old booklet-form licences were issued. I just had the latter converted to the former, and was not required to undergo any test.

Then, there’s the problem posed by illiteracy. How can a road-user follow the street sign if he can’t read it? It’s easy to check the eyesight of a person who can read, but too many cannot.

If these are some of the reasons why urban traffic is a nightmare, the fact of it being a nightmare is itself another. As the commute becomes a more and more frustrating task, those who can afford it hire drivers, thus often becoming part of the problem rather than the solution.

Not enough employers are concerned with whether the person doing the dirty work for them is following the rules, or how much he is impeding other road-users.

Consider, for example, the scene outside every shopping centre where the sahib or begum sahiba must be dropped or picked up — from the very doorstep of the shop — uncaring of the stream of traffic that has been brought to a halt behind them.

You may have noticed that many cars driven by drivers have the rear view mirror turned up towards the roof, and/or the wing-mirrors turned in. It turns out, there’s a convention regarding this: the mirrors are turned away to protect the privacy of the person in the rear seat.

For the same reason, I was told, a good driver never physically turns to look behind him while reversing. Guesstimates rule, never mind safety.

The onus of following traffic rules should lie not just with those who pilot vehicles but also their employers and passengers. Sadly, this is not in practice.

I could speak at length here of the tangle that ensues from the uncaring and impatient attitude of road-users, but that feels jarring in a country where babies are routinely hooked precariously under parental arms on speeding motorcycles, where children ride in the front seat, where people don’t wear seatbelts because they see it as a blot on their manhood, or where motorcyclists wear helmets but never mind their wives and children.

And on the flip side, the general impression of corrupt and unfair traffic police departments is, in many cases, true too.

And now to end with an anecdote that gives hope about rule-breakers getting their comeuppance. Many years ago, when Peshawar was known for the rugged and pragmatic nature of its citizens rather than the grief that it is now associated with, a fat cat who couldn’t be bothered about finding parking in a busy commercial area left his Toyota obstructing the traffic. Within minutes, a chaotic queue built up.

Half an hour later, two burly Pakhtun men accompanying a laden donkey-cart decided to clear the way. There was no place to move the car, but there was an open gutter running along the side of the road, about three-feet deep and 15-inches wide.

So they called over a few others, picked the car up, and placed it astride the channel — front wheels on one side, back on the other. And everyone carried on in the happy knowledge that the fat cat’s favour had been returned.

The writer is a member of staff.

hajrahmumtaz@gmail.com