“SIR jee, there should be a system in this country,” the cab driver started talking just after the vehicle rolled out of Rawalpindi’s bustling Chandni Chowk.
What kind of a beautiful system was he talking about? The mistake was made, giving him the indication to go on. He took the opportunity like a good actor.
“The system of education, sir jee. There should be only 10 children in a class, not a child more, no sir, no place for the 11th child.”
“Why?”
“The teachers would give special attention to the students. There should be schools and schools everywhere in Pakistan.”
All right, no harm in the proposal, but why did he start talking about the educational system so suddenly? Perhaps it was the bundle of books in my hand that prompted him to dilate upon his “education policy” instantly, without any formalities.
Cabbies love to talk. They want to give their expert opinion freely on every subject, from politics to religion and sports to general attitude. You name it and they would start yapping. Perhaps it is the loneliness of the all-day long drive that they just need to pour out any thought that they think is in line with the appearance of the passenger.
Mostly they would curse the traffic system and the way people violate all traffic rules. But at the same time, taxi drivers would drive madly to get out of a traffic jam as early as possible, breaking all rules. They themselves break traffic rules, but if someone else does that and hinders their speed, expletives would flow off their tongues. And if, by chance, they abide by the rules, they would just not stop at lecturing about others’ ignorance, thinking they are perched on a high moral pulpit.
As the vehicle reached the Rawal Road, the cabby started lamenting the general indifference of people. “Sir jee, the problem is that we are not worried about our country. Everyone is happy and wants to make more money.”
Bald and lean, his movements were fidgety. He wanted to get ahead of every vehicle on the road. His cab was in a good condition.
“I am a true Pindiwal (referring to Rawalpindi),” suddenly he changed the subject, perhaps sensing that his criticism on the indifferent attitude of the people was not making any impact and there was no response. “My ancestors lived here, we did not come from outside and I remember many things.”
That was the signal that more was to come. “I live in Sultan da khu,” he said hastily to put his memories in the right perspective before starting the monologue.
“During the 1971 war, sir jee, I was quite young, but I remember everything quite clearly. A shopkeeper in our locality had a radio and people from nearby places would come to his shop to get the latest news related to the war.
“Today, sir, everyone has TV, and no one talks to other people,” he returned to social behaviours. “Money is a necessity, but it is not that important. Our Buzarg (elders) have said time and again that money is a false god; it is part of life, but not the whole of it.”
Realizing that his journey towards spiritualism was having little affect, he decided to remain silent for some time.
In the meantime he would not let anyone go past him and try to get past everybody else. It was as if he wanted to fly out of the mass of cars in front of his vehicle. Sometimes, he would mumble an expletive, trying not to be too vociferous.
As we reached the Chaklala Scheme III area, the historian in him woke up again. “This was the area full of brick kilns, sir jee. I used to have a Morris then and I would bring an old woman to the nanga (naked) faqir here. You know, he would give amulets. The nanga faqir would have nothing but chains all over him and people would come to him to get his blessings.”
Why are the roads so uneven? Because of the brick kilns, it is so obvious. There used to be only one road in this area. It was a very slow and bumpy journey back then.”
To him, when the military rule came, everything changed in the area. “Today, look at the construction and look at the houses. These are not houses, sir, these are mahals (palaces).”
At last the journey ended and when haggling over the fare started, he offered not to take a penny displaying a martyr’s face about to lose everything. This is the most lethal weapon of a cabby when he sees that his client is not paying any attention to his pleading.
He got what he asked for and did not ask for the way out because he was, after all, a Pinidiwal.
