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.