Khalda brake tey mar!

I'm in a hired car on the GT road from Lahore.  Typical driver, driving rashly as if in great hurry. His phone rings. He lifts it, looks at the screen for a few seconds, answers reluctantly. His wife shouts, 'Have you paid the doodhwalla', milkman? 'Yes!', he says sheepishly. She goes on complaining about how milk was not delivered today and she has guests at home, no tea to offer them, doodhwalla is unreliable, evil, and life is shit, and so on and on... He manages to say 'Khalda brake tey mar!! Mien phone kardan unoo'.  Hangs up.

Calls doodhwalla whose excuse is that there was a wedding today. 'Whose wedding, yours or the villagers' ... 'or the cow they milk', I add in my mind. He is upset with the milkman, shares how the family back home is frustrated and gets him to promise to do it this evening, bring milk, wedding or no wedding.

Back on phone to Khalda, explains the situation, complains about her being so impatient, not circumspect at all, 'Awain tu baghair ticket dey charr jandi ain!' he tells her (reaching conclusions without any reflection).

...

A few mile to my destination, he ask expectantly, 'sahi agaye, dair tu nahin hoi na!'. He seems to want some praise or gratitude, even, for keeping good time. I, who is weary of his driving, say, 'I was never in a hurry!'. There's silence between us. The music plays on, Bollywood dancing figures keep flickering on the navigation screen like smudges of colour. The car rages on, piercing its way through anything that moves ahead.