Often enough, there comes a time when you're forced to take the foot off the accelerator, recline the seat further back, light a (stale) cigarette and ponder over the rat-race that you're part of. Even if its at an extremely superficial level from a pseudo-lefties perspective, it surely results in gloriously divine realizations which might be, in essence, commonplace wisdom that can be accumulated by spending your lifetime visiting old relatives that you see once in a year. It was during one such similar hiatus in the fast-paced life of Karachi road drives that I was also struck by a similar realization. Nothing as eloquent as Sick Boy's unifying theory of life or even Professor Abdus Salam's. For the record, Sick Boy is merely a fictitious character from an Irvine Welsh book, while Prof Salam hasn't had the good fortune to enjoy that either. Later on those two, though. So I sat back and had the same stale Marlboro from the same panwala that I get everyday, inspite of deciding to do otherwise, I wonder, whether I, too, have joined this rat-race that the pseudo-lefties despise. Whether I, too, in the course of my interactions prejudge those that I'm confronted with. Divide the world in two-halves - inferior and superior. And belittle or patronize those that are condemned to perpetual inferiority - that mass of humanity that are born to follow. And the superior ones, too, need to be brought down from their high pedestal. To rub their nose in the dust - or the dirty, infected protruding thumb of my left foot. To wait in the dark, like a fox, intriguing the downfall. To pounce on every opportunity - every slip-up, and pin 'em down. Like on the road, forging ahead of all the cars. But that never ends. This rat-race. Until we start treating others as equals. And Orwell said that some men are more equal that others. The darkness of the satire can send a morbid chill down a fascist's spine. And contrary to popular opinion, all fascists aren't spinless. Even if you think they can be mindless. But that's mere emotionalism.