Car Slaves

 

Sitting in the middle of the recent Hari Raya traffic jam, I remember an old cartoon showing a Martian peering into a telescope directed at Earth. He says to his companion, 'The planet Earth is populated by beings that move on wheels. They breed little two-legged creatures to guard, clean and move them. These smaller creatures live their lives around the wheeled beings and are slaves to them.

Staring into a darkness lit with brake lights of different shapes, I started thinking how completely accurate the Martian description was. We have become slaves to the car which dictates our every move.  The car decides when to leave the house, how long to suffer on the road, which toll to avoid, and when to refill our Touch ’n Go cards. If we do not own a four-wheeled being, we summon one with a tap on a phone, as if cars have become a new species of domesticated household pet, obedient, responsive, and always on call.

But how did we get here?

Post-independent prosperity brought two magical facilities of modern life: the housing loan and the car loan. Together, they promised the Malaysian dream of owning a house and a car. The small repayments meant we quietly transferred our financial freedom to the banks for fifteen or more years. We thought we owned these amenities, when in truth, the banks owned us. The car in the porch was not merely a convenience. It was debt on wheels.

But before the banks claimed us, we first claimed the car as something almost sacred. A family’s new car was treated with the reverence reserved for a newborn child. Before it even reached home, it had to be blessed. Hindu owners took it to the temple for a special archanai, where holy water was sprinkled, sandalwood paste applied, and lemons sacrificed beneath the tyres. Catholic and Anglican families drove theirs to church for a prayer and a generous sprinkling of holy water. Malay Muslim families held a doa selamat at home or at the surau. Buddhist monks tied yellow strings to rear-view mirrors. Sikh families offered an ardaas at the gurdwara. Chinese families welcomed their new vehicle with incense, oranges, and auspicious rituals. An idol or symbol was a permanent occupant of the vehicle.

The car emerged spiritually fortified, followed by a ritual every morning, when it was washed and cleaned, if not by the owner, by the maid standing on a stool to reach the roof of the car.

And like any family member, the car had its rites of passage. First came the newborn blessings. Then the wedding years, when it was dressed up with ribbons, flowers, and a “Just Married” sign. After that came the school‑bus years, when the car became a mobile cafeteria, library, counselling centre, and a repository for lost toys and stationery. And finally, the last rite of passage: the funeral convoy, where the car that once carried us everywhere, now accompanies us on our final journey. The car quietly witnesses our entire life cycle, patiently waiting in the porch like a loyal family member who never quite learned to talk but always knew where we needed to go.

Early houses had no porches or garages. So, we invented the makeshift garage: four poles holding a roof of zinc sheets. By the 70s, housing developers surrendered and built proper car porches, even for the smallest terraced houses. These became social spaces that became places to read newspapers, dry clothes, play games, and occasionally park the car.

But today, the car connects us to something far less innocent. The petrol that keeps it alive comes from regions where wars are fought, and civilians live under drones and airstrikes. The quiet sedan sitting in the porch is linked by an invisible pipeline to deserts where people are bombed for the very resource that keeps its engines running. The car that once symbolised our independence now reminds us of our dependence on banks, on oil, on global markets, on conflicts we will never see but cannot escape.

And that is the final irony: in domesticating the car, we have allowed the car to completely colonise us. It rules our schedules, shapes our cities, empties our wallets, and ties us to distant wars.

And yet, as the jam finally begins to move, I realise the car is still our companion; flawed, demanding, and occasionally exasperating, but always ready to carry us home.