We had just moved into Muscat from Kolkata. What impressed me most were the empty roads and the big cars. Driving was a pleasure and we often used to go for a trip down Sultan Qaboos Steet, viz the Highway. A poem written in ballad style to commemorate those early simple pleasures.
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We're out upon the highway, folks. and it's a full moon night.
A couple of pegs inside us, feeling pleasant but not tight.
The speedometer's creeping up, the engine seems alive,
The ROP-s can take a walk, let me enjoy my drive.
We feel like taking off somewhere - the beach at Al Bustan?
Or should we gun for Wahiba and stay there if we can?
The talk goes to Salalah trips, but that seems much too deep.
Then someone says: "Aw what the hell - at least let's go to Seeb!"
We take off down the highway road and pass Wattyah fast,
And Qurum comes up in a blink, Al Khwair too does not last.
Bowshar and Ghala both are gone before ten words are said,
The car is on the outer lane and Seeb one stretch ahead.
This is one stratch all drivers love, when speed turns 120,
The 3-lane track goes on and on, the steering's floating free,
O'ertaking's such a lazy loop, the other cars so staid -
When something zips out suddenly, a Mustang painted red!
Must be some madcap local kid, the father's youngest son,
Trained on his papa's racing camels and spoilt since he was one.
Our blood boils for a nanosecond - good drivers we, no less.
If only we had similar cars, we would have shown him, yes!
The Seeb round-about is here - we think with heads a-bowed,
Should we go back the way we came, or take the service road?
The moon decides the route for us - the main roads to be shunned,
Romance is in the air tonight, although air-conditioned.
The service road's a winding stretch, all dark with headlights low,
It serves our purpose fairly well, though driving's fairly slow.
But all good things come to an end, and coming up for air,
We find our service road has served - we're almost at Al Khwair.
"Oh do we have to go back now?", we jointly groan aloud.
"The night is pretty young as yet, McDonald has a crowd.
"Why don't we join the merry throng and flit from shop to shop?
"The kids can ditch their school tomorrow - let's boogie till we drop."
Alas, we are all steely folks, all set to do things right.
We can't afford a lousy day, in spite of a lovely night.
We've done the highway run tonight, where most of Muscat lay,
And as one pretty girl once said, "Tomorrow's another day!"
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