Mad Max

In the film Mad Max, a worldwide oil shortage plunges Australia into a barely policed outlaw society where it’s survival of the fittest as armed gangs roam the streets with reckless abandon.

Sound like any place you know?

The frustrations of driving in Pakistan would force anyone to contemplate installing a machine gun turret on the roof of their vehicle. I know that there are places (I’m looking at you, Lahore to Islamabad) where they have new-fangled inventions like ‘rain-proof’ tarmac. But in the rest of the country we have roads that wash away in the lightest drizzle, leaving potholes that violate the earth like the Deepwater Horizon.

And the layouts of the road are no better. Physics-defying configurations transform three lanes into two in the blink of an eye, and the ensuing bottleneck is a free-for-all running of the bulls. Our underpasses become lakes, our bridges fall down. But by far the worst factor is the human element. Bus drivers careen about at top speed, their burnt-out vehicles wailing like banshees from the underworld. They stop where and when they like, oblivious to their surroundings whilst swarms of motorcyclists weave a rich tapestry through the vehicles, edging in every direction.

Car drivers joust amongst themselves, racing down streets, viciously denying each other vital opportunities to pass one another. At night, the use of high beams is mandatory, particularly if the driver isn’t sporting retina searing xenon lights. Occasionally they will be forced to slow down to detour around a rickshaw, alerted well in advance of their presence by the inevitable plume of smoke rising into the air and an ear-shattering din.

And then there are the VIPs, or Very Impatient Pakistanis. The official ones can be recognised by their green license plates. Typical behaviour includes colour blindness (red light = green light), tinted windows and extreme speed. The unofficial variety is large and bulky, identified by their security entourage. And it’s this security, that most official VIPs also sport, that is particularly worrying: police mobiles bristling with cops and their semi-automatic weapons pointed directly at innocent citizens who have the affront to dare drive on the same roads.

The final peril is from the movement of HTTs (Holier Than Thou). The country is their oyster so that they can better serve us. Streets are blocked, people are denied access to their homes, and the police, our civil servants, are given free rein to harass us with words and weapons until we are beaten back into our rightful place. Surely there’s a better way? For the everyday traffic nightmare, the change must come from us. Some people shake their heads, saying Pakistanis will never learn, but I know that’s not true. Just look at our behaviour abroad. The same Pakistani that runs red lights drives like a perfect gentleman abroad, cowed into submission by the threat of heavy monetary fines or the suspension of their right to drive. We have to realise that just because everyone else is going the wrong way or running a red light doesn’t mean that we have to as well.

As for the HTTs, they seem to be so elevated they can’t hear us. And that’s not good for them because the only two options left are for us to speak louder, or for them to be brought down closer to us, in a legal and lawful manner of course.

Published in The Express Tribune, June 19^th, 2010.