A Driving Conversation

The day wasn’t normal. It was the first time I was applying to a university, and it was also the first time I had a point of disagreement with my knowns to some extent. Anyways, the exam underwent in the Expo centre and I was late to leave for home as I started to explore opportunities in the ‘Education Expo’ arranged by a media outlet next to the examination hall.

The headache of the result was not bothering me, as I had a firm believe that I was going to fail (and that my family knows it.) The thing which was bothering me was if my choice that is still doubtful any good for me?

I did one thing then. Just took an auto-rickshaw and left the education expo. The driver asked me to wait a minute and let’s see if someone of the same route needs to be dropped as it will only be good for other.

You don’t get to listen such stuff from most of them as he also said that it will also help me in terms of paying the fare. The conversation started in a simple way,

“I didn’t know an exam was going on there, I just dropped a passenger nearby and had to wait hours,” said he
“You should be booked then,” I asked.

“Yes, I made a commitment to someone. If I knew that an exam will be there, I would never have agreed to such a close and cheap ride

“But then I thought about my words to the passenger, and if I can’t keep a simple promise to someone, then I’m not worthy to anything.”

I didn’t settle for this only. I tried to carry on the conversation.

“Yes, if you can’t have the trust of someone, then you don’t qualify to be a human.”

He was quick to agree with what I said as we both were on the same page.

The rickshaw driver was middle-aged, healthy, had fair skin with small curled hair and seemed to be living on the financial edge. It became evident for me to think of himself from a village in Punjab as I listened to him, and especially his tone and accent. Reaching the Karsaz flyover, I asked my favourite question, “From where do you belong?”

“Lodhran, it’s near Bahawalpur.”
“You should know Jahangir Tareen then.”
“Yeah, he is from our village.”

I got what I wanted. I needed someone who could shove off my despair and could have a discussion I liked the most. My instinct knew that he was capable of lifting up my morale, which he quite did it later.

“By the way, who do you think as our next Prime Minister.”
“It depends on our agency who they want to take the seat.”

Once again, I was not baffled listening to these words. In fact, he was ‘on spot’ saying that. I think connecting everything to the establishment conspiracy is a lame tactic but an effective one these days. I was sure this man is a die heart fan of Nawaz Sharif, but it happened to be the opposite.

“What about Nawaz Sharif being jailed?”
“They deserve to be there, and rot.”

A surprise package, indeed.

“What about Imran Khan?
“Sir, the agency is behind him,” he said with a sigh.
“Brother, who wasn’t supported by our agencies to get the PMship? Everyone wants to be backed by them,” I justified
“You’re right too”
“Okay leave it, what do you think about his personality?”
“What I can say is that he is a fine man to be there. I think he is honest and wants Pakistan to prosper.”
“Then you should vote for him,” I suggested him.

I wasn’t expecting what he replied next. He said that he hasn’t voted in his entire life and will never wish to. ‘I don’t want my name to be on the list of voters. If I vote once, then I have to do this whole thing again in every election.’ I explained the entire electoral process and talked to him if I was a correspondent of election commission or an NGO. After several questioning, it actually dawned on him that he had his vote registered, and that voting isn’t a rocket science.

All it required now was to make him vote. I asked him where does he live in Karachi and if he had any idea where his polling station might be. He nodded with uncertainty. Now I had this another thing to solve. I knew only the method of sending NIC number on 8300 to get updates, and nothing else. I hesitated for some while asking him for ID card but continued to have the conversation in politics and respectable politicians.

Reaching the nursery, I made up my mind to ask him for the ID card and his cell phone (this pity creature, myself, don’t own a mobile, and is against smartphone used by teenagers. Ironic.) I asked formally and he handed me both the things without having any doubts.

This whole thing was new to me. I never thought that I would be searching for someone’s polling station in his cell phone while being a passenger. Anyhow, I asked if he had credit and after the confirmation, did what I needed to. I sent the message and received the bad news that his vote is registered in Lodhran and that he’s unable to vote here.

Actually, I myself received my ID card couple of weeks ago and my vote wasn’t eligible to be registered. I knew this and I just accepted this, swallowing a hard pill of not being on the actual ground to support your party was hard. But this time I felt bad because I could see that he was disappointed to know that he couldn’t vote. I was furious with the system. On asking, he told me that his family has been living in Karachi for more than fifty years and none has cast a vote. I told him that he must have made this ID card in his hometown, which he accepted. I suggested to him that he should renew his NIC after the expiry date in Karachi and all family stuff related to NADRA should be done here.

On giving the fare, he told me that in every election, MQM’s gunday knock to his door and ask him to come with them. He further told me that on replying that he belongs to Punjab and may not have his vote here they used to say, ’Just go inside and do what we told you to do.’ He said he never did that and I also directed him the same but to report in the police station too. I myself then asked in a mini-second to not report as I didn’t want him in trouble. He handed me the change and we both exchanged regards sincerely.

In this whole journey, which nearly took half an hour, we put our trust in each other and exchanged many things. Sometimes the thing which starts a particular conservation ends up becoming one.