Taxi Driver

This blog has been festering for some time while I have been pondering on how much our lives are actually dictated by pure chance or the luck of the draw! It was all sparked off by a conversation I had with a cabbie a month ago. I had given my motorbike for servicing a few days before and I had to cab it to the service center to pick it up.

 

I do not often have the need to hail a taxi and consequently (or so I believe) I miss out on the best source of information about the City. That is - if you can get them to talk! So I decided to sit down in the front passenger seat and as soon as we took off, I started my banter with the taxi driver.

 

I actually wanted to get a pulse of Dubai, but ended up learning about life.

 

I started by asking him as to what was new, how was the city doing, how was traffic, etc. As he was quite articulate I asked him how he enjoyed the life of a taxi driver, and that is when he really opened up.

 

It turns out that he used to be a Professor of History in Waziristan, Pakistan. His village bordered with Afghanistan and had resisted and fought against the Taliban. More than 1400 people in his village (most of whom he knew) were killed and when it became apparent that he personally was being targeted, he was asked by the Headman of the village to leave. He arrived in Dubai at the height of the Global Recession and survived with no job for 18 months, to eventually go back in frustration. Considering the situation back home, he had no choice but to return and after another 5 months with nothing in hand and in sheer desperation, he became a taxi driver.

 

Now he drives a taxi even though most times it is hard to accept the indignity of an educated man doing a menial job. Many a times he has had to swallow the casual insults of irate or unreasonable passengers and bite his tongue in frustration at their arrogance. He is a highly literate man who used to teach young adults - students who have now become Doctors, Executives and successful businessmen. Now he lives the hurt every day, feels the blow to his ego every minute and dreams of the day when he can go back to doing what he is qualified for. His family back home relies on his income to eat and for that he is thankful.

 

As he was talking I was listening silently, trying to digest what this man sitting next to me had gone through. What he underwent in the past and what he continues to endure now. The hardships and the privations, the terror and the desperation - that would have driven him to flee from everything that he knew and loved. The decisions that he must have faced and probably the things he must have had to do to survive. As I looked, first at his huge hands resting on the steering wheel, and then his face lined with the tribulations of a hard life, I could not help but think about what those hands must have done and his eyes must have seen.

 

As he continued to speak in a quiet and cultured voice, his eyes had the wistful faraway look of one gazing into memories etched by conflict, while his mind contemplated the alternate paths his life could have taken - in a different place at a different time.

 

Maybe he detected in me a desire to comprehend his outlook on life, because as we neared our destination he became philosophical. As I shook my head in wonder at his tale and sensing the unasked questions in my mind - he told me that suffering only makes people strong. He has learnt to take life as it comes, to not let petty situations affect him and to let the smaller issues resolve themselves. He told me that life (his and his loved ones) has become so precious to him, that the lack of money and food scarcely mattered anymore.

 

Sensing my wonder and marvel at his life story, as we came to a stop he turned to me and told me that the only difference between us was the scale of a problem that could daunt or destroy us. As I got out of the taxi he gave me a smile and thanked me for asking and listening.

 

Still reeling from the impact of his words I stood on the pavement to watch him pull away. And as I turned to climb the steps of the showroom to pick up my expensive toy, I felt both embarrassed of and thankful for the banality of our sheltered existence.

Fitness First and Last

It has been just over a year now that we have been members of Fitness First. When we were first made aware that it was to open within walking distance of our residence, the excitement was palpable. Ever since we had moved our residence, going to the India Club gym was tedious. It meant a long drive and frustratingly often, a wasted trip, due to the lack of parking space or the sudden closure of facilities due to some festival.

We continue to be members of India Club as the facilities are quite good and to top it off, I personally used to feel like a King (and probably behave like a snob) in the gym there. Indians will be Indians and our dislike for exertion is only exceeded by our love for food. There is something in the Indian psyche that frowns on pushing physical frontiers. We definitely do 'not' want to go where no man has gone before.  Barring a few, for most members the gym is a place to socialize and more than that the reason to indulge themselves the next day. The treadmills are ideal locations to swap recipes and to salivate over the prospect of an upcoming meal. You know the type I am talking about – the ones who would leave the gym and head straight for a McDonalds (or in this case a Thali).     

It was fantastic for my ego ‘and’ my motivation, when from my self-perceived lofty position I saw lessor mortals floundering around me. I used to love showing off my push-ups and lunges, and I felt I was the paragon of fluidity on the machines. I prided myself over the fact that I would be dripping with sweat, while other members would gently dab away a few beads of perspiration from their brows. For me every drop of sweat was a testament to my pursuit for physical perfection! Of course (being an Indian myself) that pursuit somehow crashed into a dead-end daily at the dinner table.

Hence I lived under the misconception that I was at the top end of the fitness pyramid! Little was I to know how good the India Club had been for my morale and how soon my hubris was to be vaporized after stepping through the Fitness First portal.

Being a cosmopolitan gym, it has been both a revelation and a downer. From the very start I realised that I would have to redefine what fitness meant. Most of the members there seem to be professional athletes, and the rest infinitely fitter than me. The range and type of programs and equipment available is huge. I have suddenly been thrust into the world of TRX, Purmotion and Bosu Balls and having always prided myself on my fitness it has been quite a shock to suddenly find myself at the bottom end of the spectrum.

It is not uncommon to see people doing seemingly impossible feats – from runners to bodybuilders; gymnasts to parkour; boxing to yoga; the gym is full of people who have attained priesthood worshipping at the altar of physical fitness. And I have suddenly been relegated to becoming a neophyte. So I slink in and out discreetly and very surreptitiously use equipment which is not too popular. I try to train in corners or next to “Indian looking” members in the hope that I do not look physically challenged by comparison.


I try to avoid the eyes of the Personal Trainers hovering around, because as opposed to the ones in India Club, these guys look like they know what they are doing. When they observe you training, you feel like they are minutely scrutinizing every movement and defragmenting it skeptically. In the India club, barring doing something that required you to be stretchered out, the instructors, in the true tradition of Indian democracy, gave you enough freedom to inflict permanent muscular and skeletal injury on yourself.  

Now I go to the India Club once in a while when my ego has been severely bruised and is in need of a boost. On other days I walk around like a yokel through the maze of machines at Fitness First. I barely break a sweat on the Elliptical and then gravitate to the free weights section to pass the time, while I look at other members who seem to be training for the Olympics.

And as I leave the gym I salivate at the prospect of a good dinner, while rationalizing in my mind the forthcoming overindulgence.