Terrifying streets

The absence of a phone call service by ridesharing services makes customers unsafe

Last Friday afternoon, I missed the office van and knew the only way I could conveniently and safely reach my workplace in Korangi, was on a low-cost bike-sharing ride.

In the era of soaring inflation, opting for a cheaper transport mode such as a motorcycle ride is common for workers like myself, who have to travel to a place far away from home daily.

Around 2 pm, during the prayer break, I opened the service app to fill in the details and pressed ‘Go’. It takes roughly 15 minutes for the rider to show up at one’s doorstep so, I took the time to pack my bag and sort things in my room, till the pop sound notified me of the captain’s arrival.

I locked the door and stepped out where I came across a man wearing a green helmet. This helmet provided by the ridesharing company to the captain usually suffices to identify them. If a customer approaches the wrong captain or, if the captain isn’t sure, they would simply ask each other more ID questions like the customer’s name or captain’s name, or where the customer would want to be dropped off.

The customer may also ask questions in case they feel precious time would be wasted on a wrong ride. But yes, many customers including myself usually don’t ask that much unnecessarily before swinging a leg over the two-wheeler.

And so after treading down the lever, we left. The captain rode for 5-7 minutes before we came across the first bridge at Rashid Minhas Road. Here, I noticed another motorcycle pass by my right side. There were two boys, one of whom sitting behind was a teenager in a red shirt. I was simply looking around during the ride but this motorcycle caught my attention after it overtook my captain and gave him a strange hand signal, which I also immediately noticed.

The motorcyclists then moved further forward some 15-20 metres from us, and I couldn’t care less until I felt the guy sitting behind ‘spotted’ me. This teenage boy in red kept looking back at us every four to five seconds and this got me worried.

In a city like Karachi, where everyone shares the collective trauma caused by widespread physical and emotional violence, such behaviour can immediately trigger one’s fear, the fear of being mugged, beaten, harassed, raped, shot and injured or murdered, God knows what. The mysterious aspects of a potential crime scene can horrify anyone, either who has experienced such trauma, or those who internalise fear. Only those who are vulnerable to abuse know what they’re going through at that moment. In my case, I felt trapped by the unruly behaviour of the motorcyclists.

The boy in red then signalled a third motorcycle, who also passed by my right and I had coincidentally noticed it. However, this time the teenage boy communicated to the third motorcyclist that he needed help towing his bike.

When I saw this happening, I tried convincing myself that ‘all is well’ and that I need not overthink. But another thought kept me puzzled due to which I was not relieved at all; the captain of the ride service did not react at all. He was calm and composed this whole time while I felt anxious due to the other motorcyclists’ unruly behaviour, and we were on the same bike!

This made me a bit more suspicious of my captain and I decided that at the next ‘safe’ spot, I’ll ask him to stop over and end the ride. At the gas pump opposite Millennium Mall, I instructed the captain to pull over, which he did methodically.

He took off his helmet and looked at me with no display of emotion, no concern on his face. The second motorcycle (with the teenager pillion riding) reached the same pump where he queued for refilling. I sensed that this was all a show by the suspects to make it seem like there was no robbery attempt, to begin with.

I pulled out my cell phone from my bag, dialled my brother’s number and then put my mobile phone in my pocket while the call was active. I didn’t want to make it obvious that I was calling someone for my safety. My hands were trembling throughout this act and I didn’t want to say anything further to the captain.

However, anticipating that I would walk off immediately after payment, the captain asked me a few questions. “Why did you stop the ride over here?” he abruptly asked. I felt offended because it wasn’t his place to question the customer, and yet I replied. “I need to go somewhere else first, so just end the ride here and tell me the ride fare.”

At this point, my brother had also picked up my call and kept greeting me, which I deliberately had to ignore.

He pressed the ‘End ride’ button on his app and charged me for a full ride from Gulshan-e-Iqbal to Korangi. The fare showing on the screen was Rs 429. I was too nervous at this point to question his unjust demand so I handed over a Rs 500 note and expected Rs 70 in return. He gave me Rs 100 in change and commented, “Here, I gave you Rs 30 more.” The ‘potential criminal’ gave me back the change with a wry smile. He managed to get more money out of me while intimidating me in the process.

The captain then proceeded to ask, “Is someone coming to pick you up from here?”

Infuriated by his endless offence, I stepped back without saying a word and stood beside a rickshaw very close to the two of us, where I could see him from behind. I breathed a great sigh of relief and started making calls to my brother, my uncle and my boss. I took whatever help I could get at the moment but even then, the onslaught of thoughts and feelings rushed through my mind, as it would with any street crime or potential crime victim in Karachi. It made me alter my behaviour again and again. I panic-texted and made calls while wanting to push my phone back into my pocket, and so I did whenever I could. I refused to enter the popular fast food restaurant next to the pump, as my uncle had suggested. I stood there for a good 20 minutes just looking at the captain, who pretended to be on his phone like a typical, post-ride captain waiting to accept his next journey.

Because such scenes were often narrated within my own circle, between friends, by family members at home and by neighbours sitting outside, that during a mugging, the victim experiences in real time how ‘sharp’ the city’s street criminals can be. If they succeed in their crime bid, they flee. If they don’t they act all cool and collected.

My agitated uncle arrived at the spot but by then, the captain had left the pump. “Where are those hooligans? Are they gone now?” my uncle asked to which I replied in the affirmative.

He started his motorcycle and we took off from a different route to ensure our safety on our way back home.

At this stage in our megacity’s history, where massive criminal activities continue and there seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel, I honestly did not know how to feel and communicate the potential crime incident I experienced to my family waiting at home. I’m a regular traveller on bike-sharing services and I never tell a captain to end a ride unless I’m fully sure I’m being threatened.

After the day passed, the only thing I could think of was the negligence of ridesharing apps that put me at risk in the first place. It’s been years since the first complainants started posting online about the harassment or crime they faced using these services. I’m on a very long list of such complainants.

The tragic part, however, is that the unwillingness of ridesharing giants to establish direct contact with customers via telephone has exposed us to routine, inevitable harassment in some form or the other.

The ignorance makes these companies single-handedly responsible for making the streets a haven for crime in the city.