OIDC always felt like a far-fetched dream. Something you fancy on a slow Sunday morning. Like a hollow delusion. But fortunately, it turned out to be my reality.
In 2024, exactly two weeks before the OIDC, I made up my mind to turn my favourite daydream into reality. But fate had other plans. I applied for the visa, and it got rejected. Refusing to take it as a sign, I reapplied and missed the first and second rounds. Despite these setbacks, and after much anticipation and hard work, I finally landed in Muscat for the third round.
Even after the tiring flight, we wasted no time and made our way to the track. There sat my Silvia, wrapped in a beautiful white Castrol Edge livery, among all the other beasts. After a quick catch-up with the boys, we set off to tour the circuit. As we walked around, an inexplicable feeling, pride mixed with contentment, swelled in my chest. The sight of the Pakistani flag filled me with gratitude. Yet this achievement was not mine alone. It was the combined effort of young Adeel and me. It was his dream, his manifestation. He dared to dream, and that is why I was living my wildest delusion. So if there is anything you take from this, dare to dream. Dream as big as you can, and then be very fucking consistent about bringing it to life.
The day began with pressure. One final practice session, followed by the qualifying runs. All the drivers gathered in the briefing room one last time. We suited up, and then came the final round of burning tyres before the actual showdown. The practice runs were decent, but deep down I knew I needed more seat time, something that was quietly visible in all the talented drivers around me. That hour of practice ended with one decisive conclusion: change the ratio. I adjusted from 4.1 to 3.9. The nervous hormones kicked in immediately. You know that giddy feeling, I rarely get it. Everything started feeling like a fever dream again. All I had to do was compete, qualify, and earn my place in the tandem battles alongside the most remarkable drivers from the Middle East. I sat down with my thoughts, a cup of coffee, and a spectacular view of the track.
As the sun descended, the curtains rose on the actual show. All the drivers lined up. I was assigned number 5. They called my name. I got into position. Pedal off the brake. Accelerator on the beat. And I swayed my way through the circuit.
Anyone reading this would assume the run was fire, given the dedication, the preparation, the sacrifice. But that was not enough. Because my first words after were: “What a pathetic run.” It was genuinely one of the most miserable ways to score 13 points.
I went numb. Quiet. My brain needed time to register what had just happened. I was supposed to live my dream. Make it one of my golden days. But nothing had gone to plan. And then, in an instant, another thought cut through: I cannot dwell on this forever. I have to make my comeback in the second round. I revved up my Silvia, pushed my way through the circuit one more time, and concluded OIDC with an acceptable score of 28.
To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I was devastated. But I was also relieved, genuinely relieved. I did not make it to the tandem battles. Yet I drifted in an international competition. I raised the Pakistani flag. And I hope, even if it reached just one car enthusiast out there who thinks there is no career in motorsport, that it meant something.
