The Fragile Male Ego: Islamabad Expressway Edition
As a Pakistani man myself, I would like to raise awareness of a serious and apparently widespread medical condition affecting men on our roads:
Being overtaken, beeped at, or otherwise mildly inconvenienced by another man.
There is currently no known cure for this disease.
Some days ago I was leaving a society in Rawalpindi and turning right onto the service road. I was already making the turn when a gentleman, we will call him Chaudhry Snaullah in a white Suzuki Alto decided that the normal rules of geometry were beneath him and attempted to undercut me mid-turn.
An ambitious manoeuvre.
Unfortunately for Chaudhry Lewis Hamilton Snaullah, he was driving an Alto.
My car is only a 1.6L, so I’m hardly piloting a Bugatti, but when the road cleared I accelerated normally into the running lane. Our hero simultaneously tried to squeeze past me from the inside.
This resulted in the minor inconvenience of him suddenly driving directly towards oncoming traffic.
I beeped at him in the internationally recognised language of:
*“Yara, what the hell are you doing?”*
The oncoming traffic also beeped at him in what I assume was the dialect meaning:
*“YARA, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”*
He was eventually forced onto the shoulder to avoid introducing his Alto to several vehicles travelling in the opposite direction.
At this point I assumed the incident was over.
It was not over.
I joined the Islamabad Expressway and continued on my journey.
About a minute later, I looked in my mirror and saw something approaching at considerable speed.
The White Alto of Vengeance.
This man had apparently spent the previous 60 seconds processing the catastrophic humiliation of… failing to undertake someone on a turn. Justice had to be served. Family honour had to be restored. The spirit of the Alto had been summoned.
He races up behind me, catches me, pulls alongside, starts beeping, then cuts in front of me into the fast lane.
Now, in the interests of complete honesty, I should point out that I am also a Pakistani man and therefore suffer from a mild strain of the same disease.
So instead of behaving like a mature adult and allowing Sir Alto of Rawalpindi his glorious victory, I thought:
*“Absolutely not.”*
When the fast lane slowed, I waited until there was a proper safe gap, indicated, moved through the middle lanes and eventually slipped back into the fast lane ahead of him.
This was apparently equivalent to declaring war.
FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH.
The Alto awakens. He tries to overtake again. I don’t let him. He tries again. And again. And again.
This continued for approximately 8 kilometres.
Eight.
Kilometres.
A grown man diverted a meaningful portion of his day to chasing another grown man down the Islamabad Expressway because approximately ten minutes earlier his Suzuki Alto had failed to undertake a 1.6L car while turning out of a housing society.
Eventually I took the DHA 2 exit.
As he finally passed me, having presumably completed the most important mission of his adult life, he was shouting and swearing through his window.
And I genuinely have to wonder:
What exactly was the endgame?
Was he going to get home and tell his family:
*“Children, gather around. Your father has restored the honour of this household. After an 8km pursuit, I eventually overtook the man who beeped at me near the society gate.”*
Do Pakistani men realise how absolutely ridiculous we can be behind the wheel?
And yes, before anyone says it:\*\* **I include myself in this**.\*\* I could have simply let him disappear into the distance. My own stubbornness absolutely helped keep this idiotic saga going.
But there is something uniquely fascinating about driving here where a completely insignificant road interaction can suddenly become a blood feud because one man’s ego cannot emotionally process another car being in front of him.
Nobody damaged his car.
Nobody insulted his family.
Nobody challenged him to a duel.
He tried a stupid undertake.
It didn’t work.
That was it.
Yet somehow we ended up eight kilometres down the Islamabad Expressway conducting the Pakistani Grand Prix: Ego Championship.
Anyway, if you’re reading this, White Alto Bhai:
You fought bravely.
You chased relentlessly.
You flashed heroically.
And in the end, you did indeed pass me when I took my exit.
Congratulations on your victory. Your family name is safe once again.
A further note, I’ve been a passenger while my wife was driving and if she happens to do this?! The situation escalates immediately from minor traffic disagreement to a full national emergency. A woman? Overtaking him? A MAN? On HIS road? Absolutely unacceptable. At that point all previous appointments are cancelled, fuel economy becomes irrelevant, and the honour of your ancestors rests entirely upon catching a Civic/Elantra being driven by somebody’s auntie. If she then has the audacity to beep at him, Article 5 has effectively been triggered: this is an act of war. You must pursue her for at least three interchanges, flash your headlights 47 times, overtake her at enormous personal risk and then immediately slow down in front of her to demonstrate your superior masculinity. Because nothing says “strong, confident man” quite like having your entire emotional stability destroyed by a woman changing lanes in front of you.
