Not in the driver's seat

Khaleej Times - Opinion (LIFE)
Asha Iyer Kumar

1 November 2011, 7:07 PM

There are some things in life that I really don’t miss doing. Driving around Dubai, for instance. Of course, I am eligible to hit the road, what with a license that I pocketed after my maiden traffic test.

It is a different matter that roads in Fujairah, where I accomplished this feat, are sparsely loaded and have modest speed limits. But that cannot take away from the achievement, for I must have certainly passed muster before being awarded the coveted ticket to ride.

Yet, when we moved to Dubai, one thing that I left behind in the quaint lanes of Fujairah was the zeal to sit behind the wheel and cruise across this throbbing city. There was something that held me from taking the car out and careening the highways of Dubai; something about the manner in which people went about the task of commuting on the roads. For long, I avoided putting a name to that which made me stay off roads, even as I strove to explain to people about my non driver status despite being a bonafide licensee.

Absence of a second car in the family, I said dismissively. For someone who works from home, has no youngsters to be ferried between classes, doesn’t party during the day nor has membership in social groups and ladies’ forums, a car is a needless accessory. I proclaimed that I didn’t intend shelling out money on such excesses, not when the world was on the brink of a double dip. Ahem.

Sometimes, I sounded off lofty phrases like carbon foot print and energy conservation, and threw in a heap of blah blah for effect — rising oil prices, global food crisis et al. I have no clue if my mindless babble made any sense to them, but it effectively stopped people from quizzing me further on the issue. And on occasions when we were in robust company and the audience was chirpy, I stole an impish glance at my husband and said, “I have a long running affair with my chauffeur,” all the while wondering if we were obliged to answer people’s queries about our choices in life! It wasn’t until much later that I could bring myself to openly admit that I had developed a severe driving phobia (it surely must have a scientific name?), courtesy of the insanity and insensitivity that is prevailing on our roads today. It is not easy to own up to your failings and then expect empathy, especially when it has got to do with something as commonplace as driving a car. From surprise to ridicule, from suggestions to counsel, from sniggers to open guffaws — I took them all, while staunchly maintaining that I did not intend to become a statistic in the road casualty records of the country.

“Just venture out,” some suggested. “It is fun. The freedom it gives you is unsurpassed. Just do it.” Kidding, are they? Do they know that I freeze in my seat when I see a wannabe Formula One racer flashing from half a kilometer behind me, that my limbs become dysfunctional when a thoughtless bloke cuts across under my nose without as much as a signal, that the veins in my head squeeze and throb when I hear a haughty, impatient honk behind, that I become utterly disoriented when I see vehicles ahead weave a tapestry on the highways, that I nearly suffer a panic attack every time I imagine driving on our roads?

This, by no means, is fun or freedom to me. There is a metro station at five minutes’ walking distance from my residence, a bus stop equally close by, I live in a locality that has everything one can ask for — from groceries to restaurants to salons to lending libraries to shopping malls, and when I need to go out and about, gallivanting, I let my husband be in the driver’s seat. Sometimes, I am genuinely happy not doing some things.