Lighting Up My Fire

One of the beauties of Lahore is the unbearable visual trauma one has to suffer while driving at night. I admit that my fellow Pakistanis take pride in breaking other traffic laws and playing with the lives of other countrymen while driving, but nothing ruins my day and gets my already loose tongue wiggling for verbal revenge than a car running on high beams. I mean let's face it, perhaps we have a lot of spare electricity these days to light up our city roads with, because whenever I am coming back from work at 2 AM., there are always a lot of street lamps, shining a light on my miserable commute back home. This reminds me of the load-shedding and our business community’s opportunistic practices, resulting in recent price hikes in the cost of power generators and UPS devices, adding more misery to an already miserable nation.

I switch on the radio, and a good song from the eighties is playing. I start reminiscing about the olden days, the fake Ray Ban Wayfarers and the Sony Walkmans we used to show off in our school. I turn a corner and there is a car parked in the middle of the road with huge headlights staring right at my eyeballs. A little surge of pain in my eyes and a little blurt of anger, but nothing that my Lahori tongue cannot handle. I wonder if it is an old man who cannot see properly, a lady who cannot drive properly, or maybe some guy who lost his cell phone or wallet on the road, trying to look for it.

The super-caffeinated, wannabe-elite, pseudo-intellectual mind of mine starts wandering away from the issue at hand; feeling insignificant at worrying about such a trivial inconvenience, reminding myself of the very fashionable rhetoric of the elite that we should be worried about restoring the judiciary, or global warming etc. My sudden but artificial concern tries to convince me that I am an important man and my concern will surely help in restoring the poor judges and cooling down the planet. Another jolt of pain in my eyeballs because of those rude bright lights and I notice the street lamps, those wonderfully bright lamps in most posh areas and main roads in Lahore. I realize the irony, that I don't have time to play midnight cricket in this wonderful light, like I used to, as a kid, such is the rat race and the pursuit of the very elusive wealth and comfort in a capitalist society.

A few sighs and my attention shifts back to the irony of the situation and the piercing headlights staring straight at me. I wonder why anyone would have high beams running on a parked car, on such a brightly lit road. Even if he switches off his headlights, the street lights are bright enough for him to even find a needle. My belief in the general goodness of mankind sets in, even as my eyes start to pulsate with pain. I try to look away but it does not help. The light falls on the more sensitive part of my eyeballs, rudely making me change my mind about that driver’s general goodness. A few, neither so accidental, nor so polite slips of the tongues and I stop my car, get out and start walking towards the parked car. I tell myself that I am an educated guy, and this guy probably isn't, so I should not stoop to his level and fight with him, I should humbly request him to lower the headlights down. A part of me tells me that if he begs to disagree, I shall beg to give him a piece of my mind.

I keep walking, trying to recognize the car which is nothing but a silhouette at this point. As I get closer, I recognize the German monogram on the front of the car, and I am duly intimidated. I am calculating my options when I spot a Japanese SUV truck parked right behind the car. Intimidation turns to inferiority complex, when I realize that the double cabin truck must have about 5 possibly armed guards, sitting in a vehicle that is 20 times more expensive than my sorry little automobile. The guards spot me and two of them get out from the backseat. Inferiority turns into sheer fright when I see two Soviet made, loaded Ak47s staring right at me. The guy driving the big car must be a VIP, or a businessman, or a politician, or some guy with a lot more money than I do, placing him much higher in the socio-economic food chain. I weigh my options, should I go on and talk to this guy about lowering his headlights, my lack of bravado tells me otherwise. One of the guards with a menacing moustache frowns at me, flushing my much nurtured ego and self-esteem down the psychological toilet. I am suddenly glad at my lack of proximity to the vehicles realizing that I can still turn back without losing much face. My analytical side reminds me about what I saw on Discovery Channel a few nights ago, a bear conceding territory to a bigger bear, without a fight, knowing it cannot win. Self preservation, the most basic of all human instincts, kicks in, and I pause for a moment, a very awkward moment, and turn back towards my car. I try to walk as casually as I can, sit in my car, close the door, producing a humiliatingly cheap thud and drive away.

I try to reconcile myself with the thoughts that I shall live to fight another day and maybe I should get one of those H.I.D. lights for my pretty little car too, once I get my next paycheck. Who knows, maybe I would. The song has changed on the radio. It is Jim Morrison singing in his husky yet beautiful voice, the hit single “Light my fire.”