Non-fiction
Driving Mr. Dad
I have sweet memories of driving a car in Dhaka. The car we owned was a small one, a Morris Minor, which my father had purchased second-hand when he was stationed in Dinajpur. However, Abba did not drive; and, while he had six sons, we were all very young when the Morris Minor joined our family. Soon thereafter, my older brother and I got our "learner's permit"--nonetheless, keeping a driver was still considered a necessity to take Abba to work and take us places. After I got my driver's license, I would always be on the lookout for an opportunity when the family car might be available, and take it out for a spin. Initially, I'd have an escort, the family driver, but soon I would take the car out all by myself and drive around in the Ramna area where we lived, or in the Dhaka University area where I was studying. My father had always resisted buying an automobile, since he did not have any savings to pay for the down payment. Auto loans were virtually non-existent in those days. Being a civil servant in the pre-Bangladesh Judicial Service, my father's salary and a large extended family to support left him with very little savings. We were not poor, but the family, like others in our situation, was on a tight budget. Government officials were provided with public housing and 'orderlies,' but judicial service officials, and even the Justices of High Court and Supreme Court, were not provided with government vehicles from what was known as the 'Transport Pool.' Before Dinajpur, my father was stationed in Dhaka. For about a year, and just before being transferred to Dinajpur, he was on deputation to Dhaka WASA. This job came with a transport, a Land Cruiser with a driver, for the incumbent's use. So, for a little while we were okay without our own car. In Dinajpur at that time, all the other officials of the local administration had transport provided by the government. The other judges serving in Dinajpur had their own private cars. My father, on the other hand, had an ex-officio chauffeur (an orderly who doubled as a driver) but no car, either personal or government-owned, since District Judges were not provided with official transportation. A District Judge who did not have a private car was unheard of even in those days. For a few months after the family moved to Dinajpur, Abba would go to the Court House sometimes riding with other judges, sometimes in a rickshaw! Complicating the scenario was the fact that the District Judge of Dinajpur and Bogra districts, while based in Dinajpur, would hold court in Bogra every month for about a week. My father would travel to Bogra by railway and on a jeep borrowed from the local officials, and this short trip would take up the better part of a day. So he soon realized that owning a motor vehicle was assuming the status of a "basic need". Finally, the other judges and the DC prevailed upon my father to buy a car, which he managed to accomplish with a little bit of help from Mama and his banker friends. Soon thereafter, he was transferred back to Dhaka, and promoted to the East Pakistan High Court as a Justice. In this new situation, the car came in handy for a number of reasons. Since all the High Court judges had an automobile of their own, if he did not own one himself, he would certainly have been considered an oddity. Also, a judge was entitled to fly the High Court flag on his/her car - a distinction few were likely to pass up. Furthermore, a judge's orderly was also expected to escort him to work and back, carrying the important court documents. However, in those times, before and after Bangladesh's independence, neither the High Court nor the government provided a driver for the judges. Many hired their own drivers, and some drove their own cars. As mentioned earlier, my dad never learned to drive. So a new driver was hired, and the salary of the driver was an extra financial strain on our family budget. Then came Independence. In the post-independence days, the new Awami League government cut the salaries of the Supreme Court judges. This, along with galloping post-war inflation, was hard on the family - we could feel the strain on the family budget. We still stayed in the same house on Minto Road, but the price of gasoline shot up 100% and so did the cost of maintaining the old Morris Minor. Spare parts became harder to find and breakdowns were frequent. We all started to think about helping out the family in keeping the Morris Minor running. Among my brothers, I had a greater experience as a driver, and a more flexible schedule. I was studying at Dhaka university and had only two or three classes a day. My older brother, Shadani, on the other hand, was in BUET where the curriculum was very demanding and students hardly could spare any time. So, when soon after Independence our driver left because of a more lucrative offer elsewhere, I felt I should do the honorable thing. I offered my services to my father as the family driver. Though a little taken aback by this bold gesture, he assented. Despite objections from my brothers who worried that I would monopolize the family car, I was given the honor of driving Justice Abdullah Jabir to the court, and back. My schedule became very hectic. I had an 8:30 class, and so I'd go to the university, and be back by 10:00 a.m. in time to drive my father to his court, which started at 10:30 a.m. On one occasion, when the professor decided to continue his lecture beyond 9:30, I had to sneak out in order to be able to be at my "job" of transporting my father to the Supreme Court. My driving improved considerably, and so did my ability to pass time doing nothing while sitting in the car. Often, when I would go to pick up my father, I'd have to wait in the car. The car did not have air-conditioning, so I'd always keep a towel and a change of clothes handy. I also would often take Abba to official ceremonies, and depending on the situation, either be sitting in the parking lot with other drivers, or idle away my time window-shopping. Since there were no cell phones, there were frequent hit and misses--he'd come out of a meeting and not find me where he was expecting me. Luckily for me, my father was an easy-going person. I was visiting my aunts, uncles, and my parents' friends regularly. I got to know all his colleagues in the Supreme Court. I also virtually had a car of my own, a rarity among university students in those days. My brothers felt envious of my exalted status in the family hierarchy and other "privileges" that I enjoyed as "driver shaheb." I did not have any transportation costs, since gasoline was always on the house. Pretty soon, all the traffic cops in Dhaka also started recognizing me, since when driving the "car with the flag", traffic cops at intersections would stop the other traffic and give us the pass. However, within a year, the novelty of driving a flagged car and having a car all to myself started to wear off. I also started missing my university classes. Furthermore, my father and mother, who had an active social life, had to curtail some of their activities to accommodate my schedule. I also started a part-time job at Bangladesh Times. All these forces were pulling me in a direction which might be characterized, in the absence of a better word, as "abdication." What finally broke the camel's back was an incident on my regular route to the Supreme Court. As I turned the circle in front of Ramna Park, I was almost hit by a rickshaw coming from the Shahbagh direction. I am not sure after so many years whether the rickshaw-driver or I had the right of way. One thing is clear--he had got off the rickshaw lane and into the auto lane. I slowed down, rolled down the window, and yelled "O miah, deikkha chalao na kay?" ("Hey man, can't you drive carefully?"). He looked at me menacingly, and yelled back, "Arey, khankir pola, tui gari kobey thaikya chalash?" ("You SOB, how long have you been driving?") I did not know what to do or say. Obviously, I had not expected him to retort in such a fashion, and call me names to boot. I don't know whether my father understood what was said about me in this quick exchange, or implied about my mother, but having to endure this humiliation in front of my father and the orderly sitting next to me made me realize that honor demanded I should get out and challenge the rickshaw puller. I overcame the urge to do so, realizing that my father was on his way to work. I was also not confident that I could win the fistfight. I remembered the saying, "he who leaves the battlefield lives to fight another day" and just drove on. I also promised myself to be more prepared the next time. As luck would have it, Mohammed Ali Bhai, who had worked as my mejo khala's driver before Independence, showed up from nowhere soon after this incident, looking for a job. Even better, 'Mohammed Ali Bhai,' as we called him, was willing to work for the same salary we had paid our last driver. He was hired on the spot, and I passed the baton on to him. Abdullah Shibli is an economist and IT professional based in Boston, Massachusetts, USA.
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