Daily Meditations on the Horns of a Dilemma

“Versed in Traffic Control” (May 18), on haiku and horn-sounding in Brooklyn, reminded me of many annoying honkings I’ve experienced.

In the late 1950s I lived in New York City, and one of my vivid memories is of honking. At a traffic signal, as soon as the light turned green, cars behind the first one started to honk. I was amazed when I returned to California and found that a driver was given several seconds before a polite beep was heard.

In travels to India I was always annoyed by horn-honking. Approaching every intersection, the drivers often honk. I guess that gives them the right of way. Once, in Kashmir, I finally told a taxi driver on the way to an airport to please stop honking. He did, probably fearing his tip was a goner.

In a cab in Al Khobar, Saudi Arabia, on a ride of several miles, the driver--a jolly, wrinkled old Bedouin--kept his hand on the horn almost all the way. Since he didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Arabic, there was nothing to do but enjoy the ride. Once, in Cairo, a witty cabdriver who had been regaling me with the difficulties of living in Egypt honked his horn wildly every time he saw an attractive woman.

It’s wonderful that haiku can do more than hurled eggs.

Wallace Danielson

San Diego