IF there is one fear that my overly paranoid father has instilled in the ladies of our family since as far as I can remember then that is the fear of taxi drivers. We have grown up listening to his stories of how these men ‘run away’ with women passengers or their belongings. Last night (this was written during Ramadan – ed), I thought he would get a new addition to his stories, this time featuring his wife and daughter, had it not been for the Almighty’s favor on us.

Mother and I were returning from a souk. We were looking for a taxi and none of the drivers met all of mother’s criteria (he should be old, preferably with a beard, a particular nationality, preferably an Urdu speaker, and most importantly not someone shady-looking). Since it was 11 P.M., we got into a taxi driven by a young Saudi. Now instead of heeding to mother’s instructions of going straight on the road (a familiar route that takes us straight to our home), the driver turned right, much to my mother’s opposition. Next, he asks us something in Arabic of which the only thing I was able to make out was ‘Falafel fattoush?’ Hmm… he probably smelled our packed Tamia sandwiches. But whether I am carrying a falafel or a dead monkey, which I am sure he could have sniffed better, that certainly was not his business. Mother nodded her head.

Then he tells us ‘Akal’, meaning, ‘Eat’.

Yes sir, I wash my hands before I eat and can I do that in your taxi?

‘Anta Pakistani?’ was his next attempt at a conversation, to which mother said, ‘Aiwa’. For once, I didn’t mind letting go of my patriotism for my country India.

The paths were deserted and new, and we were getting increasingly worried. Mother kept telling the driver (in her broken Arabic) that he should have taken the familiar route, to which the driver would say something that sounded like ‘I know where I am going, I know it.’ Then in a very abrupt manner he turned to what looked like a dark highway!

That is when we totally lost it! Mother screamed ‘Stop’ and when he didn’t, she flung open the door of the moving car and I finally woke up from my ‘observer mode’. Now convinced that we were indeed being kidnapped, I didn’t spare a moment to threaten the driver to stop the car or else.

He stopped the vehicle in a corner of the highway and he too was screaming now. After a minute of arguing, mother, now a bit calm (she told me later at home she calmed down because she feared the driver would ask us to get down and we would then be stranded in the dark middle of nowhere), told him to continue moving but at slow speed on the same road when he named a few familiar places coming on the road ahead. Finally, on finding something recognizable we were relieved and within minutes home, Alhumdulillah.

After the scene on the highway, throughout the drive until we were back, the driver kept grumbling loudly, even going as far as to repeatedly asking us ‘Min khauf?’ meaning, ‘What is the fear?’

Fear, my dear, is what I have always known of traveling in public transport. It’s always a few jittery moments from when I step into the vehicle until I get down. Only this time, it reached a whole new level!

Back at home, and the air was filled with every imaginable form of laughter, as we came to terms with what had just transpired and recounted the eventful ride to my sister.

I am sure there are women who can relate to this fear. I do not think allowing women to drive is a solution, not that it’s anywhere near to becoming reality. Even if some day it does, from what I hear is, there will be conditions like there are for every scheme in Saudi Arabia. The woman should be ‘officially’ working and should be above a certain age limit is what I hear the conditions could be. Alas, I, and many others, may not fit the criteria. So the problem remains. An idea that was floated a few months back was that of an all-women’s bus or ‘Hafilati’. The proposal seemed to have died an early death.

Until then we probably are left to relying on our ever ‘busy’ fathers, brothers, uncles, and, not to forget, the taxi drivers. As for our taxi driver yesterday, he and others of his fraternity would probably do well with a few lessons in professionalism (behavior such as listening to the passengers, not interfering in their business, etc.), and we with lessons in directions and the Arabic language.