KARACHI: The other day, I, after a long, long time, decided to use public transport. There were multiple reasons for it, one of which was to observe how difficult or easy, in these times of confidence-damaging inflation, people of low-income groups are finding this particular mode of transportation.

It turned out to be an enriching socioeconomic experience. Karachiites who live on the sociological fringes of the city are a terribly, terribly resilient lot, and yes, that includes the womenfolk.

My route began from DHA Phase V with Gulistan-i-Jauhar as the final destination. I hopped onto a minibus from Saba Avenue at around 11am. There were a handful of passengers. The conductor, who hung from the door a la Shah Rukh Khan in the climax of the film Dilwale Dulhanya Lejaynge was blasé about the goings-on because it was Sunday morning. There was sweet lethargy in the air. When the bus turned left to enter Khayaban-i-Shahbaz, he came to me and asked where I wanted to go. I replied, Qayyumabad. He said Rs25. This left me bewildered. “Isn’t Qayyumabad a couple of miles from here?” I inquired sheepishly. His response was: mehngai (inflation).

I coughed up the amount and started to peruse the vehicle. It was a rickety, creaky structure and its engine made sounds as if the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk had tummy issues. I wondered: with so much fuss about noise pollution, how passengers could put up with such sputtering and stuttering, especially when they’re coming from or going to work. Don’t they need a cosy mode of travel? The seats barely had legroom and could be a perfect punishment for a criminal who is a touch more than five feet nine inches tall with a bit of fat around their stomach. Apart from that, the bus was an eyesore.

It is totally unfair to compare our society with any of its Western counterparts. But for context, a measure of the latter’s being civilised is the utmost importance that they attach to public transport. Anyone who has been to London would know that the quality of its public transport system — underground tubes and buses — is what makes it one of the most citizens’-friendly cities in the world.

From Qayyumabad I waited for another bus for almost 20 minutes which was supposed to take me to Gulistan-i-Jauhar. Nothing doing. Sundays are meant to be lazy. In the meantime a few Qingqi wallahs were imploring me to join them for what they suggested wouldn’t be heavy on my pocket. So when the bus that I was looking for didn’t arrive, I gave in … and decided to opt for the Qingqi. The driver had already told me that he’s going to take me to Nipa for Rs50 after which I could get another ride for not more than Rs20.

We (not you rich people) all know that the Qingqi is a six-seater rickshaw. This means half a dozen passengers can sit in the cabin behind the driver facing each other. But the driver allows two men (it can’t be women) to sit next to him, basically flanking him, making it a nine-person ride which is utterly unsafe.

I sat in the back seat in the right corner with a thirty-something man who was carrying four or five heavy bundles of assorted stuff. Two young girls then came and sat in front of us. They exuded confidence and were constantly chatting to each other. They were heading for Tariq Road. Finally, two more men sat on each side of the driver, and off went the Qingqi.

The man with assorted items got off at a stop after 15 minutes, replaced by an old man. He was shabbily dressed, must be in his early sixties, with light stubble that indicated he hadn’t shaved for a week or less. Some five or six minutes into the ride, the girl that was sitting right in front of me started to scream at the man.

“Old man, don’t act smart with us. I’ve been noticing you ever since you came aboard. Look at your age and your behaviour. Trying to be cheeky with girls more than half your age? You have one foot in [your] grave. I can give you a slap right now, what would you do?”

The tirade carried on for a couple of minutes during which that old man kept silent with his head down, trying to evade eye contact with that girl. The rest of the passengers were stunned. What had happened, no one knew.

At Tariq Road, the two girls got off, paid the amount that was due to the driver and disappeared into a street giving a terrifying look to that man. When the journey resumed and one stop later that man got down from the rickshaw, the journalist in me couldn’t help it and asked him what had caused the girl to hit the roof. He answered, during the ride when the Qingqi hit a speed-breaker, he lost balance and his hand inadvertently touched the knee of the girl sitting beside the one who had shouted at him.

Obviously, it wasn’t an inadvertent mistake. He was lying. There was more to it that met the eye. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed silent when the girl was unmasking him. Kudos to the young women for being brave! I felt so proud of them.

The entire episode got me thinking: what good our provincial and federal governments are if they can’t provide the people who vote them into power with comfortable, inexpensive and safe public transport?

Published in Dawn, August 18th, 2019