January 22, 2009

Talat Rahim narrates her run in with a tonga and the impact it had on her life

In today’s dark and violent world where bomb blasts and gun-toting terrorists are aplenty, where human beings are killed in ways one would not even kill an animal, a story of injuring and maybe even killing a horse would hardly rate as a shocking piece of news.

But I remember a time, it seems eons ago now, when such horror stories were few and far between and there was a far greater premium on life, both human and animal. If anyone was found guilty of killing an animal they would immediately be called callous, inhumane or an animal-hater. It was for this precise reason that my story, which I am sheepishly confessing to today, remained locked in the annals of my personal memory for so long. I felt so guilty at the time that I could only bring myself to tell my near and dear ones about it.

Recently, a friend came to pick me up for the usual Saturday night out. While at the wheel, she casually asked me why she had never seen me drive.

“Well,” I answered, lowering my gaze, hoping I would not have to tell her my secret. “I don’t like to drive in Karachi. I have always been driven around by the grace of God. Traffic on the roads is terrible and it is next to impossible to find a decent parking spot. Why bother driving when you can afford a driver?

“Today being a Sunday, my driver has taken a day off that is why I asked you to pick me up,” I completed.

“But you do know how to drive, right?” she asked, turning to look at me. She was much younger than me and had been driving around since her teens. She would expect a woman my age to know how to drive, despite having the luxury of a driver.

“I used to,” I replied, “while I was in my teens and in college.”

“So?” She looked at me quizzically. “Why did you give it up?”

At this point I was stumped. I decided I should tell her, even if it meant being mocked, scorned or ridiculed.

“Well, because…” I began to stammer but went on, “I killed a horse!”

“You what?” she almost screamed in disbelief.

“Yes. I ran into a horse-driven carriage (a tonga), while trying to over-take it. The horse fell down and the passengers sitting on the back-seat were left suspended in mid-air, while the occupants in the front came down with the horse. It was a ghastly scene, but absolutely unintentional and I was so petrified that I did not have the courage to get out of my car and see if they were all right. There were no cops around so I fled and did not stop until I reached home, driving at break-neck speed and breaking all traffic signals on the way.

As a result of my guilt over this negligent act and my irresponsible behaviour I swore to myself that I would not drive again. Despite a lot of cajoling, encouragement and pep talk from my family who said that if I did not get back behind the wheel immediately I would never find the courage to do so again, I have remained true to my word.”

“Oh dear,” sighed my friend, “but if you did not have the privilege of a driver you would probably have had to drive out of necessity.”

“I don’t know about that, but all I can say at the moment is thank God for small mercies,” I replied.

I do not know if I killed the horse or whether it was just injured, but my decision was made that day and wild horses will not get me to ever drive again.