A trucker almost slammed into my vehicle last week.  No kidding.  And it was his fault, because it was my right of way.  To make his point, he looked angrily at me as though I was in the wrong. Road rage, and this bizarre way of driving is infuriating.  I used the worst expletives, abusive language that I thought I had forgotten in my teens.  I can never understand zigzagging on the road.  Speeding towards a red signal is a suicide squad move especially if it is a crossroad.  Roads have become a veritable disaster zone, with towing trucks hovering around like funeral hearses.  What’s the point in being reckless?  After all you have but one life to live.  Minutes after your funeral, everything is forgotten, flowers tossed away, chairs dusted, and the charcoal black suits go back to the dry cleaners.  Even death with all its solemnity is quickly forgotten by a society channeled by instant gratification.  Try telling someone that—they’ll probably die with laughter.

I recall my first drive test.  This mummified elderly Oriental gentleman at the Port Union Drive Test centre was my worst nightmare.  He was out to fail me right from the get go, and he did.  By demanding me to speed up (60 in a traffic jam!), and was irritable when I refused to go on 40 in the inroads because an elderly lady in the vehicle in front of me stuck to 30 on her speedometer.  He scribbled all along on his page, and finally with a flourish gave me the paper, insisting that I never checked blind spots, and did not shake my head to and fro for him to see.  What angered me was not the failure, but the fact that here I was trying to stay safe on the road and then I meet an examiner who is looking at his ‘fail as many as possible sheet’ as opposed to watching out for safety and security on the road.  Maybe that’s the reason why there is such a predominance of nefarious drivers out there.

But this article is not about driving instructors, or examiners, it’s about living the temporary life, finally it is about death, and it’s about something that none of us can possibly dodge.  Even though we know deep within that we are mortal, the truth be told—we are all deeply afraid to die.  That’s because we’re not prepared for the final countdown.  Sure we can face interviews by the dozen, battalions, terrorism and armies, conquests on the stock market, risky driving, natural calamities, freefall from an airplane, or a rock climbing expedition.  So how about preparing ourselves for a mock interview with God, and on Him being the Rightful Judge?  Asking ourselves how we’ve lived our yesterday, and how we are going to live our today is a good place to start.  Making notes in a diary is even better as most of us have short-term memories.  Because the end will come with a summons on how well we’ve lived our lives.  The question to ask is: are you going to be a candidate for everlasting life, or a death without a beginning? There’s certainly no multiple choice here.

Given the fact that honesty is a good place to start, we’re still living a vacuous life, chasing empty dreams, ambitions and aspirations—carrying empty baggage that’s full of rocks all our lives—sowing seeds of unforgiveness, thoughts of revenge, with absolutely no compassion for the poor, downtrodden or underprivileged, grievances against nearly everybody, full of gossip and maliciousness, lustfully drawn towards the desires of the flesh, food and satiation of our bodies.  It’s always for the moment; adulterously sleeping around, gambling, over-eating, over-drinking, partying, idolizing celebrities, cheating, calculating, manipulating.

I hate going to funerals—the visitations are depressing, funeral homes even more so where in one room lay the forlorn, incapacitated corpse in its casket, and in another room people are eating, drinking, and remembering the dear departed by looking at pictures and a slide show of images when the person was alive.  I was forced one recently because of family ties.  This particular mans funeral had his sons drive in 5 of his six cars.  The sixth vintage car had his casket in it.  The reason I remember this man with much fondness is because of the astute advice he gave me.  Here’s what he said “Son, drive like everyone else is a madman on the road.  And you are the only sane person.  That’s the only way you’ll survive the madness.”  Needless to add none of his vehicles had a scratch on them.

[Jude Paul Fernandes is the author of ‘Frost Bites’ which is available at the Toronto Public Library.  He is currently working on a novel ‘Lonely in Mumbai’ and can be followed @JudePaulFerns]