Fifth column My tryst with Careem was accidental, but quite remarkable. Late last year, one of the media departments from an Islamabad university had invited me for a lecture. I had newly arrived in Islamabad after spending nearly a year in Kashmir on the Indian side. Though I am not new to living in Pakistan or Islamabad, I was deeply traumatised having witnessed the wide-scale state-enacted violence in Kashmir following the murder of popular resistance commander Burhan Wani. I was given medical advice to not drive for some time as I needed time to stabilise. Therefore, I had to bank upon taxis. My budget only allowed yellow taxis – dilapidated automobiles often draped in ruin – with eviscerated interiors and dirty seats with layers of slime that gave them a faux leather shine. Besides, their rates fluctuated by such astronomical standards that negotiating a reasonable price was a hideous process; one needed a tonne of confidence and abundant time at hand to reach a reasonable deal. The university sent a pre-booked cab to my door step. With some surprise and a lot hesitation, I almost got ushered into an old but well-maintained sedan with clean interiors that did not smell stale. The driver stole my attention, with his affable demeanour and intelligent conversation. He mainly talked about politics – the biggest pastime in Pakistan – and I barely noticed anything till my destination arrived after less than half an hour’s ride. In his previous avatar, my driver – designated as a captain in corporate gibberish – was a human resource professional in the Middle East. He had to abandon his job to care for his ailing mother. Unbelievably, he was not only satisfied but gratified in his new role. “Usually, the clientele is educated and polished. So, the journeys are often smooth and hassle free”, he told me. Within a month I was hooked to the new service. After taking up a teaching job Careem became part of my diurnal existence, and mostly the experience was delightful. I met a plethora of ‘captains’ – from freshies who got behind the wheel as a temporary measure while they waited for the right job to thrill seekers and professional drivers who felt they gained more respect and a better clientele without the hassle to haul unsavoury human cargo to vagrant dwellers who sought excitement in the unknown. A ride to work and back became an illuminating experience as I interviewed the captains. One of them was a retired senior engineer who couldn’t bear the day-long nagging dual between his wife and daughter-in-law. He needed a purpose to live beyond the shadow of rancour that issued from his house. Then there was an aspiring footballer from Azad Kashmir with a long flowing beard. A fellow Kashmiri, he talked about the pain of Kashmiris and its yearnings for azadi, and his dream to visit Srinagar. In order to prove his love for Kashmir and its cause, he was adamant to offer me a gratis ride which I politely declined. I ended up with an undertaking to pay a visit to an upcoming Tableeghi Jamaat ijtima – a promise that I have yet to fulfil. Another driver ended up as my furniture supplier – his shop at Kacheri Road, Rawalpindi produced reasonably priced bespoke furniture. Another captain was a struggling estate agent who had made quite a fortune in the past but squandered it through bad deals. He unsuccessfully tried to find a house for me to rent in Bahria Town, a handy testimony to his waning appeal and influence. For another captain, a Pathan who had just left his job as a chicken shop assistant, I was the first customer. He was so confused and frazzled that he forgot to turn on his mobile app. It was half way through our journey that he realised his mistake, but was delighted when I paid him the normal fare that accrued daily. Less than a week later when I took another ride with him, he had abandoned his hesitation and assumed a poise that exuded confidence. As an added bonus, he was making more money than his previous vocation, a common refrain for most of the captains. As time went by, I seriously considered writing a diary and I stacked up mental notes on my conversations. I even contemplated a part-time job as a captain to feed my ever-expanding excitement. Just before Ramazan, the texture of my rides started to change. The pool of the cars became abundant, but ugly and dirty, and the drivers got erratic. They started to adopt longer routes and deliberately waded through congested areas to clock in more time or mileage or both to maybe make extra bucks. Suddenly, the rides would become irritating and I stopped talking to the captains, maintaining a grim silence through the journeys. In mid-June, on one occasion, I was charged two different rates for the same journey within the time gap of less than an hour, and even the mileage accrued was shown different. I made a written complaint. Careem promised quick action but that never happened. Finally, I stopped using the service. Postscript: On Thursday, November 24, my wife boarded a Careem taxi from the Daewoo terminal at Multan Road Lahore. She was travelling with our two and a half year old daughter and my wife’s octogenarian mother. Half way through, a complaint from my mother-in-law that he was driving too slow flipped him and he shouted filthy abuses. He also forced them out of the car on a deserted road. For the next hour my wife frantically tried to get hold of another taxi while fending off unwanted attention from passing male drivers. This scared the hell out of them, leaving them traumatised. Long after they had reached their destination, my wife’s voice was trembling as she described her ordeal. As their standard corporate practice, Careem has promised action. They sent several messages – both public and private – in response to my complaints raised through social media. They even called my wife twice, assuring prompt action. If my previous experience is any indication, nothing is going to happen! Twitter: @murtaza_shibli
