Rawalpindi jingle truck workshop

Our brief stop in Islamabad / Rawalpindi gave us an opportunity to seek out a workshop where so-called ‘Jingle Trucks’ are created and maintained. The term is a bit of an Americanism, but neatly describes the multi-adorned and extremely colourful lorries, trucks, wagons, any commercial vehicle really, that ply the roads in Afghanistan and Pakistan (jingle referring to the bells and tassels commonly found dangling from the bumpers). Trucks are painted with a base of bright orange, yellow, green and blue primarily, with additional decoration subsequently added by hand – pictures of birds and other animals, pastoral scenes, human eyes, delicate calligraphy, even kids with guns, all highlighted with intricate patterns, designs and motifs – anything goes based on the whims of the artist and the requests of the owner. Further adornment can also be made – separate, stand-alone pieces of art being produced to attach to the side-panels or the towering, ovehanging canopy above the cab. It’s not exactly high-art, and the results like anything else depend on the skills of the artist, but at it’s best it’s absolutely stunning.

We’d tracked down a place where we thought a workshop might be, based on some old information from a Lonely Planet guide, however when we arrived there was nothing doing, only shacks and stalls along the highway. We persuaded our taxi driver (through a combination of pretending to be hearty truck drivers, mechanics & painters and some helpful images on our phones) to see if he could find something. After a few conversations with locals, we found an unpromising small dirt track and trundled slowly down it. The taxi driver’s face lit up when he realised we’d stumbled on not one but two yards.

The first had ten or eleven trucks in various states of repair. One or two were wrecks, nothing more than brightly painted carcasses littering the peripheries. Most were serviceable though – some older vehicles with bonnets up and mechanics labouring away on specially designed platforms, some new ones having initial spray paint applied and others attended to by several artists, who were neatly and swiftly hand painting side-panels and wheel-hubs. Even though this was a busy place of work, we felt very welcomed here. Everyone was happy, even keen to be photographed at their work and were pleased at our genuine excitement to be there. We met a guy who looked utterly exhausted, surrounded by pots and tubs of bright paint. He’d apparently just finished the whole side of a new Hino truck. He was clearly chuffed with it and even managed a smile (almost) when we asked if we could take pictures.

The practice of majorly pimping one’s truck is pretty big business in Pakistan. It’s said to have originated in the 1930’s when British Bedford trucks were being exported to the sub-continent clad in particularly bright colours. Truck drivers soon realised that they could use the vibrant colouration as effective advertising and an arms race developed where bolder and brighter colours became more desirable as a means to demonstrate that your truck was in prime working order (the theory being that if your wagon looks fabulous, it’s also likely to be in good mechanical order and therefore a more reliable hire for prospective merchants). Apparently truck tarting is more important to a haulier than the maintenance of their own homes and some go as far as to spend about two years’ salary on a blinging paint job. This is considered to be a good investment. Nowadays the Bedford trucks have been replaced by Japanese models (Hino & UD), but the tradition is clearly in great health and employs about 50,000 people country-wide.

The second yard had a similar number of trucks, but most were in for mechanical repair as opposed to repaint jobs. We met some of the mechanics, one of whom had actually heard of Leeds, a rare thing in Pakistan, even when you mention Headingley (we thought a cricket mad nation would have recognised that, but not so much it seems). We had invites for ropey looking tea and several photo calls with some of the younger guys who were keen to have pictures with us in the concrete sheds surrounding the yard. We were struck by the amount of working children here too, presumably apprentices. We met several, all oily faces and hands, some banging away with hammers, some assisting mechanics, all (as kids are) eager to pose for photos.

We had to prise our taxi driver away from watching the endlessly absorbing painting process. I think he actually had more fun than we did admiring the artistry and chatting with the mechanics. We were only around for an hour or so, taking advantage of the golden sunlight as the day drew to a close, but we felt we’d had a rare and fascinating insight into a pretty unique world, enhanced greatly by our quite fabulous reception.