Sherman Pieced Flag
by admin on Apr.23, 2010, under Leather Wallets For Men
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Sherman Pieced Flag
Why is it that every time you see a Confederate flag on a car, the car is a piece of crap?
I drove behind a car today with 3, count em 3 confederate flags on the back. I was afraid his bumper was gonna fall off and hit me.
Are the rednecks still so devastated by Sherman that they can't get better cars to put their 2nd place sticker on?
haaaaa,,,
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Stand Rock Indian Ceremonial 1997
Furiously Aghast
I want to drive the latest version of the Sherman, the famous Second World War tank, on Pakistani roads. Only a vehicle that big, ugly and ferocious can match and contain my road rage. There’s so much discourtesy, illiteracy and terrorism on our roads that one cannot escape being a victim of any of the above at least 15 times a day. The feeling of helplessness breeds anger, which in turn breeds a sense of violence. I have a feeling that my obituary (if I ever merit one) will announce road rage as the cause of death.
There are so many things that can work me into a state. For example, those seemingly educated, polished commuters in the back seat of luxury vehicles who remain completely oblivious of what irregularities and atrocities their chauffeurs commit. From incessant honking to over-speeding, wrong turns to wrong parking, these manicured, well-coiffed begums and men in sharp suits act nonchalant… their huge designer shades work as blinkers. I often have spotted such passengers sitting calmly, talking into their cellphones or filing nails or reading newspapers in the middle of a row, halting all traffic. At times, I have walked up to the cars, knocked at the rolled up windows and asked them to step out. Disdainfully dismissed just by a glance, they continue doing the ‘most’ important thing. And these are the so-called educated, enlightened and ‘concerned’ citizens.
God forbid if a motorcyclist or a pedestrian is hit by a motorist, it really doesn’t matter if the latter was not at fault. It becomes a social war between haves and have-nots. By this strange inferiority complex-ridden convoluted social rule, the motorist is always at fault and has to bear the brunt of it
Similar people shamelessly allow themselves or their bratty offspring to drive Titanic-size vehicles into narrow lanes. Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against big cars. For me size does matter. But I find it cruel and shameless to drive a huge four-wheeler on narrow lanes of Zamzama in Karachi or Liberty in Lahore where two cars cannot pass side by side. Have some decency and bring a smaller car that does not cause grief to other drivers and commuters by blocking the whole street. Surely, if they have such huge monstrosities, they must own smaller cars, too. On top of it, when they feign innocence after having caused a nightmare, I wish to point my Shermans gun at them and ka-boom!
I literally see red when I see people littering or spitting paan from their cars. The imaginary tank immediately springs into action forcing such offenders to collect the litter or lick the spot with their tongues. Ah! Some things remain in my imagination and never become reality. I will be the happiest man on earth if I just get to do it once in my lifetime.
I must say that motorcyclists and pedestrians are no fewer offenders. In their own, measly way they are also a big reason of my road rage. The concept of Zebra Crossing seems to have become extinct like the endangered species even before arriving in Pakistan. They will cross the street from wherever it’s convenient for them; it’s the motorists' responsibility to not only protect them but him/her from going to jail. The difference between raised footpath and metallic road just doesn’t exist in pedestrians’ eyes, minds and philosophy. They will walk on roads. Also, I have noticed a strange habit among pedestrians: they always cross the road when the light is green and vehicles are moving. I don’t what sadistic pleasure or sense of power they get disrupting and slowing the traffic down.
Similarly, motorcyclists are always trying to squeeze through narrow spaces between cars, lanes, on footpaths, vendors… they just can’t wait. They have to be on the move. No red light, amount of traffic, other drivers’ right of way… nothing can stop them. Seems they all work for courier services or used to drive ambulances in some distant, past life. And God forbid if a motorcyclist or a pedestrian is hit by a motorist, it really doesn’t matter if the latter was not at fault. It becomes a social war between haves and have-nots. By this strange inferiority complex-ridden convoluted social rule, the motorist is always at fault and has to bear the brunt of it.
Then we have another breed of road terrorists who invade the roads like locusts on occasion. For them there is only one way to celebrate a day of significance — come out in hordes on silencer-less motorbikes, head to the beach and split the eardrums of citizens. Irrespective of the nature of the day — Independence day, Eid Milad, New Year’s Eve, any political rally — this ugly mob of youth either believe in secularism and democracy and shows it by treating all days equally, or they are just devoid of plain common sense and fail to understand the difference. Whatever the case may be, this locust attack brings a great deal of noise pollution and torture to citizens.
Once going to drop a friend to Sea View (the mecca of these road terrorists), we remained stuck among them for an hour. Frustrated, I tried to push one of the hundreds of scrawny, dark-skinned, bare member of this breed. He lost balance and fell. Like a domino effect, he brought down about five or six of them with him. They caught up with us in seconds and surrounded our car. Thank God for the eternal Pakistani cry: I began screaming that he was eve-teasing my ‘sister’, shameless goon. In seconds, his own brigade members turned on him like a pack of hungry hyenas and we managed to get away. I still cherish my sweet revenge.
Here, I can’t even think of opening the Pandora’s box of road atrocities committed by trucks, buses and coach drivers. All veins in my head will explode and this piece will not even fit into a Proust-sized volume. Milk and meat delivery vans are also the proud flag bearers of this brigade. My mighty Sherman will simply crush them to pulp. It has zero tolerance to their existence on roads.
But the worst offenders and violators of road rules (if there exists any) are the government/official/protocol/military vehicles. They think they own the roads just because of a green/arrow number plate and/or flying a flag.
Once stuck in a jam at the former Schon Circle, a Pakistan Navy bus driver seemed to be driving with his horn, although from his elevated vehicle he could clearly see that there was no way to move yards ahead. I got out of my car and threatened to slap him if he did not stop honking. He tried to argue, I banged on his window and shut him up.
Similarly, on the narrow Clifton Bridge, a military jeep once was desperately trying to overtake all traffic… only to turn left! In his great hurry, he missed the turn leading left and hit the Civil Lines traffic light. And then from the extreme right, the jeep tried to turn left blocking all traffic. I got out of my car, shamed the official for breaking traffic rules in uniform and in an official car. I demanded him to turn the car back to Clifton or into
Civil Lines and come back all the way. He tried to argue and throw his weight. I asked his name and rank and took out my cellphone so that I could report him to the ISPR. The threat worked.
But the protocol/security motorcades are the worst kind of road terrorists save the President and the Prime Minister. These protocol cars first terrorise motorists with their hooter which sound like the Doomsday call. And then point guns (as if we are criminals) at the cars to move away from the VVIPs’ vehicles. Often taking advantage of their speed and hurry (knowing they cannot stop in the middle and break the protocol), I refuse to move away despite the security personnel’s frantic and ferocious gun-pointing, and get into an expressional argument with them. I mean how dare they terrorise us, thinking they own the roads? Meanwhile the VVIP who causes such terrorism remains hidden behind the dark windows of his luxury vehicle (often controversial Mercedes.) I imagine my Sherman gleefully riding on these protocol motorcades turning them into a sticker version of their glorious, pompous material selves.
But the straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back is the arrival of the President or the Prime Minister in town. Road blocks, traffic police humiliating attitude towards motorists and pedestrians, people dying in ambulances, school children locked for hours after getting off all of it boils every Karachiite’s blood every time these two ‘patriotic’ public representatives are in town. Finally, I have understood the phenomenon of suicide bombing. It’s the mounting sense of injustice, humiliation and helplessness by the mighty, callous show of power that turns ordinary, non-political, simple people into suicide bombers. I have felt this white, volcanic rage rising in me while waiting for the President’s or the Prime Minister’s motorcades. Irrespective of kind — social, societal, political, road or cultural — terrorism breeds terrorism. Only if these ‘patriotic’, ‘people-loving’ public representatives could understand that.
On top of it, City Nazim Mustafa Kamal claims that now these VVVIPs use choppers for intra-city commute and spare the people from horrors of their road travel. There is a wonderful old adage in Punjabi: you cannot do anything to two types of people; first the one who hurls abuse from across the river, and second who lies to your face. I just want to blow up my beloved Sherman in their faces.
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