CHAUBURJI A few days ago I saw a sight that made me stop my old crate amidst a squeal of tires and burning rubber. Standing there right before my eyes was a sight for aesthetically sore eyes - a beautifully decorated 'tonga, or as Lahoris put it 'taanga, drawn by an equally impressive white horse. One could actually write a thesis on this popular mode of travel that has almost disappeared that in times gone by, ruled the streets of the sub continent. There were 'tongas that were run by the government as public transports, while there were others that were privately owned and plied by families. One could always tell the difference between the two as the former were painted in a uniform dull color, while the latter were artistically ornamented. They even had registration number plates screwed or nailed on one side of their wooden structure. The 'tonga wallah, who doubled as coachman and groom, was a pampered commodity in those days, as chauffeurs are apt to be today. This individual was stereotyped as a witty character, who was always ready to provide an update on the social and political situation of the country interjected with choice 'good natured expletives directed at the horse and any other target that happened to catch his fancy. Only an expert on vocabulary would be able to dilate as to how this two wheeled carriage got its name, but to me it perfectly represented the phenomena of an unfortunate horse dangling in midair attached to his leather harness, as was wont to happen if a heavy load was placed in the rear with nothing to counterbalance it in front. The 'tonga has a rural cousin called 'rehra. This is akin to a horse drawn SUV and comes sans the 'tonga canopy and seats. There was however another and more exciting utilization of this vehicle and its genuine horse powered engine on the once desolate Walton Road. This was the weekly race of the 'rehras, which reminded one, of the great spectacle in Ben Hur. The race track was the stretch of tarmac between, what is now, 'Defence Chowk and 'Qainchi Mor. I witnessed one such race from a safe distance - you could sense that something was afoot by the tense knots of men standing expectantly on both sides of the road craning their necks forward in an endeavour to be the first to spot the competitors. You could hear the racers much before you saw them, hooves pounding on the hard surface, the horses wild eyed with nostrils flaring and drivers equally overcome by adrenalin, standing up in the wildly swaying vehicles, shouting and flogging the beasts with the loose ends of long leather reins. I am told that such a race does take place even now somewhere in the suburbs of Lahore. If it does, then maybe it should be turned into a regular weekend sport to attract local tourists. The roads of Lahore were also witness to another vanished phenomenon - double-decker buses. Those of us who have been to London must have experienced the thrill of riding the upper deck of one of these vehicles. Even Cliff Richard got inspired by one and decided to travel across Europe in it, singing his heart out in the hit movie 'Summer Holiday. There was even a double-decker called the 'Love Bus that visited Pakistan en route to India or Afghanistan, I forget which. This was the era of the 'flower people, the hippies with their long hair, unkempt bizarre clothes and psychedelically painted vehicles. Then one day someone got the lame-brained idea that these buses ought to get off the roads of Lahore and with that the double-decker passed into oblivion. One may perhaps catch a glimpse of their rusting hulks somewhere in the former 'omni bus junk yard, wherever that might be, and perhaps someone in a position to do something will read this column, restore these vehicles and put them to use for sightseeing tours around the city of Lahore or turn a few into travelling restaurants. The writer is a freelance columnist.