[sustran] Article on driving in Lahore

[Hassaan Ghazali]

Please find below an article I wrote which was published in the Friday Times.

Regards,

Hassaan

-- 
Institutional Development Specialist
Urban Sector Policy and Management Unit (The Urban Unit)
Planning & Development Department,
Government of the Punjab

A: 4-B Lytton Road, Lahore, Pakistan
T: 9213579-84 (Ext.116)
F: 9213585
M: 0345 455 6016
Skype: halgazel
http://hghazali.googlepages.com

*When conditions are right, everything will go wrong*

*****

My Week
By HASSAAN Ghazali

Supercharged as one is to take care of business on Monday morning,
it's the journey to get to work which is the actual struggle. Not too
many moons ago, the environs of F.C.C were what I knew to be home and
life was beautiful. Friends, fans, lovers and work were a hop, skip
and jump away and midnight munchies were easily sorted out with a
delivery of pizza or tikka kababs from main market. Sure the big shift
was rough and that feeling of connectedness to the city is sorely
missed, yet moving south and building big in the peri-urban fringe of
Raiwind has its fair share of advantages. That's not to say that they
become instantly apparent though. Atleast not until you've had forty
five minutes of dodging donkey carts, cussing lorry wallahs, avoiding
maulvis on mobiles and risking a meeting with the grim reaper on
Ferozepur Road (or the facilitation thereof)  just to get to work—and
then coming back again. It's enough to make negotiating the regular
urban spaghetti of rickshaws, buses and SUVs in the city seem like
driving on the motorway. The drive in and out of town is lonely and
bouts of autopilot make one more pensive, disengaging only for a
private muttering of public abuse and the extending of appendages and
digits at my fellow man. Pushing down on the pedal as I finally get
some room to speed up, I take a mental note to self that Gucci
cockroach killers were not meant for an activity this rigorous.
I think of calling Teechee for a chat but am quickly diverted from my
chosen course of action. I'm now totally convinced that cellular
companies are out to kill me. Why else would they now require me to
punch in carrier prefixes before contacts of subscribers on the same
network? Call me a stickler for planning, but why can't these service
providers consider such matters before they compel me to make a date
with my cell phone just to add the prefixes to about two hundred
numbers. Now it seems that if ever the need to call such a rogue
number while driving emerges then to try dialing is to almost die
trying. Narrowly avoiding two motorcyclists having a parallel chat I
take another note to self that I will not call Teechee. I will not
edit his number. I will keep driving. I will sit with my phone. I will
kill the cellular company and then posthumously bill it for time and
effort expended. Then I will chuckle.
That I've managed not to crash into someone so far is unexplainable
but the law of averages is quickly catching up with me and Leviathan
lurks somewhere for my dinky. How does anyone expect me not to go
bashing into someone? The canal is always a high risk corridor and
it's funny how all week I've only heard one thing—"Save Lahore's
Trees". Even the radio jockey had gone Daryl Hannah on me. I decide
that vandals from the left and right are threatening our city's
sustainability and ,ascribing it to the summer heat having affected
the populace, make the turn onto Ferozepur Road. Right about now I say
a silent prayer for protection and thanks that I have vehicle and life
insurance. This is also the time I rediscover how much I love
congestion! If it was your job to tackle urban issues in Punjab, even
you would end up loving congestion. Without it, how else could I
convince anyone that the carrying capacity of our public thoroughfares
has been breached and by now the mierda has really hit the fan? I take
a final note to self that I will get involved in the struggle to save
Lahore and the health of its people. That comes right after I actually
get to work in one piece.
It's true that if it weren't for Greymalkin, my nerves would be
wrecked! She's my pet cat who comes a-purring all chambermaid like in
the morning and is the solitary reason for coming home. Her feline
form keeps reminding me that I, like the traffic around me, should
flow, as does on day into another until finally the weekend dawns on
Saturday.
Then I can finally relax at home and watch the world cup final. Under
normal circumstances I don't give two hoots about the beautiful game
but maybe the bookies give me good odds and I can recover my losses
made over Germany. Surfing my way over to Ladbrokes, I try and make an
informed guess as to the winner and decide to hedge my bets with the
only side destined to win—the bookies. If there's a draw by the time
ninety minutes are over, then Monday would see me sharing my winnings
with friends. I don't think anyone other than oldies, hotties,
businessmen or couples go to restaurants anymore so it's probably a
good idea to celebrate at one of the nicer coffee shops after work. I
scroll through the phone to text the plan and see the rogue numbers
stare up at me. Wishing bankruptcy upon the cellular company, I freeze
that plan till I am able to sit down with my phone. By the looks of
it, both the bankruptcy and punching in prefixes don't stand to happen
anytime soon but life goes on and struggle, it seems, is a never
ending process for those that live in the boondocks.
***