Page 54 - 2024-2025 Creative Writing

Traffic in Ulaanbaatar

Sinking into the passenger seat of a taxi, I am immersed in the endless great red

sea of cars in Ulaanbaatar. Hundreds of faces, all with furrowed brows and

gloomy eyes, are locked behind the wheels, moving in a slow, frustrated crawl.

Yet, the taxi driver is unexpectedly bright and cheerful, his wide smile filling his

face and his soft, childlike eyes radiating warmth. I wonder how long he has been

driving to remain so oblivious to the depressing scene beyond the dusty, thin

window of his car, softly singing along to an old 90s track playing on the radio.

As I crack open the window, thick, grey smoke desperately rises from the rusty

chimneys of the cars, stinging my throat and drying my eyes. The acrid scent

lingers in the taxi long after I slam the window shut, leaving my stomach twisted

as though it has been wrung out a hundred times. The harsh red glow outside

does little to ease my nausea. Ghostly tendrils of smoke snake between the cars,

crawling over them like they want to devour them whole.

In this moment, I can't help but imagine how peaceful it would be if the car

could soar above the traffic, cutting through the cold, fresh air, looking down at

the vast sea of unmoving vehicles. How great it would be, away from the chaotic

rhythm of the city’s rush-hour madness. Lost in this daydream, the driver

interrupts my thoughts, explaining how music helps him cope with the anxiety of

the traffic. For a moment, I stop thinking about the poisonous smoke, the iron

machines surrounding us, and the oppressive red hue outside. Instead, I close my

eyes and let myself be carried away by the sweet melody of the song.

10A Muruudul Tamir