Respect

Today was cold and dark with rain beginning about 1/2 an hour before sundown. I headed out to my ESL class with this prayer 'God, I'm grateful to have a car on a night like this, even this tiny car the size of an aluminium beer keg and without seatbelts.'

I turned on my headlights and noticed of all the hundreds of cars coming at me, only a handful were using theirs. The raindrops smudged the dusty windshield. I reminded myself to drive a little slower, keep a sharper lookout for the bike riders and pedestrians on the side of the road. No sidewalks here. You share the road with everything from pedestrians, donkey carts, farm tractors, motorcycles, push carts, and even ice cream venders.

Swish swash the wiper blades made an interesting sound. The syllable pattern and pitch matched the word potato, but not like an American would say it, but po-taaa-to - swish swish swish - like the Brits say.

I tried to think of a different word to fit the pattern, but the only one that came to mind was to-maaa-to. So, I thought, my little car has a British accent. That amused me greatly.

Po-taaa-to
To-maaa-to
Po-taaa-to
To-maaa-to

The rhythm of the wipers kept me company. The rain slowed to a light drizzle. I fiddled with the wiper control to find the intermittent setting. It had none. I turned off the wipers to get potaaato/ tomaaato out of mind, but road spray forced me to turn the wipers back on.

Po-taaa-to
To-maaa-to
Po-taaa-to
To-maaa-to

I drove on with greater care, dodging the recklessly fast drivers and narrowly avoiding the dangerously slow ones, wondering "Why can't we all just follow the speed limit?" I stopped at a red light and gazed about at the other cars.

Two cars up I saw a metal sign on the left bumper of the car. Not a bumper sticker like you'd see in the States, but an actual hand-made, metal sign like a license plate. I leaned left and read the word - RESPECT. Is that all it says I wondered? Respect for what? Life? My personal space? The law? Pedestrians? The environment? The cars moved on and I was able then to see the whole sign. 'Respect' was all it said. I turned off the wipers and drove in silence, contemplating the message.

Again, I had to switch on the wipers, but no potaaato, tomaaato then it became rubi dubi squeak squeak. Sometimes it was only rubi dubi squeak. I tried matching an English phrase to this new rhythm and pitch, but then realised I was paying more attention to the wipers than to the busy downtown traffic that played dodge'm cars on wet roads. It began to drive me crazy. It seemed safer to drive without the wipers, as I found them so distracting.

Again, I thought back to the sign on the car. I realized that the writer of the sign had it right; the minimalist approach was the best. By putting only the word 'Respect' he had invited the reader to interact with his message the same way an artist invites the viewer into his painting. It allows one to provide his own interpretation to the message. In one word he had summed up all that was wrong or missing in the Pakistani driving experience - respect. That's what was missing. That's what is needed.

As I sat there driving, thinking, almost as if on cue, a rainbow formed in the darkening sky, as if to validate my epiphany.

Respect.