The chatty taxi-driver

Take time to listen: There's a wealth of stories to be mined from taxi drivers.

A reformed bad guy teaches our columnist a timely lesson about giving — and forgiving.

SARAWAK laksa, kolo mee, more sarawak laksa ... a wave of withdrawal symptoms hit me when I step out to the taxi queue. This must be what people mean when they say, after a good holiday, you want to buy a ticket straight back there.

At least I don't have to wait long for a taxi, I think with relief as I surrender my half-dozen or so shopping bags to the limo driver's outstretched arms.

"OUG? I am not really familiar with the area. Please guide me, ya?"

I grunt distractedly.

"So where did you come back from, Miss?"

"Kuching," I mutter, impatient to go through my photos for the zillionth time.

"Ah, and what did you do there?"

"Holiday."

"These few days, the airport is so busy," my taxi driver continues. "We even had to bring in outside taxis that don't belong to the limo company."

I groan inwardly. The last thing I need is a taxi-driver who won't shut up. Just when I'm about to tell him that I've had a long flight, the delicate circumstances hit me: single female, confined space, strange man, dark highway.

"Been a taxi driver long?" I shift my tone to a much warmer one.

If he notices my sudden change of tack, he doesn't show it. "Oh, just a couple of years. Was working in a factory previously, but had to find something that paid more. Have to pay instalment for flat, and have four kids."

"That's not a small commitment," I murmur sympathetically. I might as well make the most of my situation. I've interviewed train drivers, bus conductors ... but not taxi drivers.

"Out of curiosity, how does being an airport limo driver work?"

He treats me to a lengthy explanation of the processes. Summarising, he says, "So if I can do five trips, then I can make a decent income. Three trips to cover my cost including rental and petrol, and the rest is profit."

"How many hours do you work per day?"

"About 10. Sometimes more."

"Wah, so hardworking," I say. I'm already smelling the possibilities of a story: how money is no object as long as you're willing to work hard, blah-blah-blah.

"I wasn't always so hard-working though," he says. "I was once a gambling addict."

A gambler? Christopher Nolan couldn't have engineered a curveball like that. "How did you get into gambling?" I ask.

"Mixed with the wrong friends," he shrugs. "First time at the casino, I won big time, so I thought to myself, hey gambling is easy money. I got hooked. I sold off my house for gambling capital. Then I moved in with my mother-in-law. My own brothers and sisters scolded me. They asked, don't you have any shame?

Even my mother-in-law scolded me. She said, I gave my daughter to you hoping that you would take care of her. Instead this is how you repay her. But you know us gamblers. Go in one ear, come out the other. Let me tell you something – gambling is worse than even drug addiction. With drugs, at least when you hit your high, you know how to stop. Not gambling.

"It is a bottomless pit. When I used up all my money, I borrowed my sister's gold chains on the pretext of business and sold them off. When her husband found out, he was so angry he divorced her. My wife would always remind me, 'See where your gambling habit led you. It destroyed your own sister's marriage.' "

"You were such a bad husband but your wife never left you?" It's only when the question left my lips, that I realise how rude I was.

Miraculously, he doesn't drag me to the roadside, dice me into pieces and puts them in a sack. Instead, he turns behind and says with an anxious look, "Do you mind if I talk in Bahasa Malaysia? I'm not highly educated, so my English is not very good."

"Sure," I say, surprised and relieved that the darkness covers my embarrassment.

"My wife is the miracle in my life. For seven years, she stood by me. She rallied her brothers and asked them to help me clear my debts. She told them, I have already married this man and have his children. Do you want to see innocent children end up on the streets?

"All the while, she never gave up on me. She kept supporting me and giving me advice. Finally, I came to my senses and changed because of her."

He pauses his story as we pass the toll. "Thank you," he says to the attendant after collecting his ticket.

"That's nice of you," I point out. "Not everyone says thank you."

"Oh, but we should. Their job also 'tension', wei. It's so simple to bring a little joy to someone's life. If we show respect to others, then others will also respect us. Likewise, if my customers praise my driving, wah I also syiok mah."

I laugh at his use of the Malay word for "enjoyment". Little things like this make me appreciate Malaysian solidarity. "Will you be headed home after dropping me off?"

He nods. "I'm going to pick up my wife. Otherwise, she will take the bus home. She is very lokek (stingy). Even though I give her money to take taxi, she refuses because she says money is hard to earn. Giving her a ride means I cannot do as many trips as I'd like, but what to do? My heart aches at the thought of her hanging by the handrails. Bila saya jatuh, dia bagi saya bangun balik (When I fell, she was the one who raised me up). I would do anything for her," he states simply.

A hard-worker, a poet, a husband who loves his wife to bits. To my surprise, I feel a twinge of envy.

We have arrived at my destination. He turns around and smiles, his white teeth a row of small lights in the dark. "Thank you for teaching me a new route."

"Thank YOU for teaching me so many pearls of wisdom," I reciprocate, adding impulsively, "Give me your number. Who knows? One day I could write a story about you."

"There's lots more I can tell you about my life. I guarantee you, if 10 people read, five will weep," he declares dramatically.

We both laugh, but underlining his joke, I know there's more gravitas to this man that meets the eye.

"I feel so lucky to have met somebody who appreciates my ramblings. Seriously, miss, if you think that my story will inspire or help someone to better his life, please feel free to share it."

Truth-trumps-fiction tales like Encik Mohamad's don't drop on a writer's lap every day. Neither do writers get a blanket licence to share it, handed on a silver platter. No, Encik Mohamad, I think, I am the lucky one.

Alexandra Wong (bunnysprints.com) would like to thank all the kindred spirits she has met in her journey as a writer, for sharing their unique perspectives on life. She wishes them well for the coming new year.

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