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In a city where taxis are everywhere but nowhere when you need them, the taxi driver decides whether you get to the gym or a movie after work tonight.
And he is someone who evokes such contrasting emotions every day, depending on whether he picks you up, or not.
Nitin Nair, senior features writer, spoke to a cross-section of the city's cabbies to create a composite character in this part-fact, part-fictionalised journey into a taxi driver's mind.
He was a sight, but I think he's a lucky man. If this had to happen in my country, he would probably be dead by now. And when I said as much to the beat cop who responded to the call, he remained impassive, but this man's face looked like all the blood had drained from it.
I should have never stopped when he waved me down, way past midnight, outside that hotel in Jumeirah. No taxi driver wants a drunk in his car.
Drunkards don't remember the directions to their home, want to smoke in your car and in worst case scenarios you have to visit the carwash before the shift's completed. But this man was unbearable.
He was obviously rich, I could tell from the suit and the expensive phone he kept fidgeting with. I don't talk to drunks; I don't make small talk about women.
So I ignored the rabid conversation that he was trying to drag me into, but that only enraged him. I ignored him the first two times, but the third time he abused me, I flicked on the hazard lights, pulled up on the side of Emirates Road and punched him in the face, three times, one for every time he insulted my family.
I'll say this much for him - he got his wits about him pretty quickly and it was him who finally told the cops that no charges were going to be pressed.
I sometimes wonder about what would have happened if he hadn't done so. But he realised his mistake and apologised to me. What is even more bizarre is that we are friends now. He calls me whenever he needs a taxi.
For a taxi driver, I know an awful lot about the world. All from the people I ferry every day. It's a hard job, but you probably already know it. I work 12-hour shifts and I don't get a day off in the week.
There's a niggling ache that constantly troubles my back because of sitting in this driver's seat for long hours. Dubai is not the easiest place to live, yet many like me have spent the best years of our adult life here - away from our families back home.
This is more out of compulsion than choice. If I had to leave, I would have to do so now, without thinking - because if I bring logic and reason in to the equation, I will never leave.
I'm not looking for your sympathy, but here's your answer anyway - I know you have been dying to know why I'm still here. I know people back home would gladly swap places with me.
In all honesty, I would trade this for the comfort of home. But I can't do that - at least not until my son finishes his graduation.
I am not going to tell you how much Dubai has changed over the years. But I know this much from driving around the city for hours. This is not an easy place to live in anymore and in some strange way, it makes me feel better - I am not the only one struggling.
I see people queueing at bus stands waiting and then I see them cussing when taxis don't stop for them despite all the frantic waving. I feel for them but there's nothing any taxi driver can do if he's been allocated a pick-up. If I don't respond, I'm going to be fined.
I did stop once when I saw this couple, but then they had to only travel a kilometre or so down the road. If I have a radio message for a pick-up, I am not going to pick anyone else now.
A lot of taxi drivers find the new satellite-based dispatch system troublesome and are still coming to terms with it. It is difficult if you don't understand English.
My driving partner (the guy who drives this car when my shift's done) knows this city inside-out. He can take you to any street you want to go, but he can't read. So he hates the radio messaging system, but only because he cannot understand what's going on.
If you wrote Shaikh Zayed Road on a piece of paper and asked him to take you there, he wouldn't know what to do. So he ignored the messages initially and only shrugged when they fined him.
But I don't think he cares anymore. Any taxi driver will tell you this much - it's not the long hours we work that worry us so much, but most of us invariably end up picking up all kinds of fines, speeding fines, some for not picking up passengers. It's a nagging cut in our monthly take-homes every month.
I'll tell you something else. I think the crackdown on illegal taxis and car lifts has made life difficult for us regular taxi drivers as well. And I can say this because I have driven a taxi here for more years than I care to remember.
Earlier, middle-class Asian expatriates living in Deira and Karama never stepped into metered taxis for short distances. It wasn't an economical choice and they didn't need to, there were cheaper options.
Back then, if we picked someone up in Deira, he would travel as far as Jumeirah. But now, sometimes it's only as far as two streets ahead - that's frustrating and doesn't justify the time spent getting there or the fare on the meter.
If you are feeling bad about how tough my life is, I feel sorry for you too. There you are, willing to pay sometimes more than the actual fare, to get home on a Thursday evening and there's not one taxi stopping for you.
I chat to almost everyone who rides in my taxi. We are a lonely lot. You cannot keep a family in Dubai when your monthly earning is around Dhs3000.
So I have the comfort of a warm home-cooked meal only if the rest of the guys I share my room with agree on paying someone to cook our meals.
But thank God for the restaurants here - the food's inexpensive and wholesome. Some young men manage to keep their families here now. I guess it is possible if their wives are working too. I'm happy for them.
And then there are those who meet women here, and things get complicated because they have families back home. I once asked a youngster who had just signed up to be a taxi driver if he missed having a woman in his life.
"What good would that do if I'm not making enough money?" I think he was just disillusioned, it's not that bad. Or is it? I have a picture of my wife and children in my head, and it sees me through my days here.
Earlier when I went home on my annual leave, I would shower them with gifts: gold jewellery for my wife, toys for my children. I even helped my brother buy a van that he now uses to transport school children back in my village.
But now I have to borrow money from friends just to go home. Unlike before, what you earn here is spent right here.
It annoys me sometimes when I hear some drivers go on incessantly about being underpaid and overworked. Our payments work on a commission basis, it's really up to us. The harder we work the more money we earn. It's that simple.
Every time I rake in more than Dhs10,500 a month or more, I take back 35 per cent of whatever I bring to the table. So if I'm not making the money, I have really no one else to blame. Sometimes I think it all boils down to a work ethic, like any other job.
I prefer the night shifts because the traffic is slightly better, but I remember in the beginning, my body couldn't adjust to the timing. I couldn't eat properly and sleeping during the day was a bit difficult.
The city looks different by night; there is a strange calm, everyone's just trying to work out the shortest route home. But it is only closer to the witching hour that you get to see the city's seamy underbelly.
We've seen the best and the worst of Dubai, the worst can be scary. I have been tipped heavily by some of Dubai's well-heeled tourists, but listen to this - my friend was driven around locked in the trunk of his own taxi by two passengers he had taken in one night.
He laughs about it now, but that's because he managed to somehow pry open the boot hatch and cry out for help. By now, I can spot a hooker when I see one.
I know how everyone feels about them, but I don't want to be judgmental when she waves me down. Sometimes she just wants to go home, like everyone else.
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