Taken for a ride

Cabbies come in several categories, much like any other group of people. Let's start with the positive. The good ones are those you read about in the letters columns in newspapers.

The forgotten mobile, the cash-filled bag left behind are returned after an agonising wait and dread at the thought that these will never be retrieved. The emotions of despair and helplessness are but a natural adjunct to the age we live in, where the saying finders keepers, losers weepers seems to be the norm rather than the exception.

Yet we read about the reader who ran from pillar to post in an attempt to trace a lost object only to be contacted by the honest cabbie who made it a point of locating the owner of the lost property and handing over the same personally. What is even more astonishing is that this gesture is not motivated by an expectation of any reward but is exactly what it seems - a simple humanitarian act.

Cabbies have been getting bad press of late with readers venting their grievances and asking for action to be taken to bring them to book. Each of us have had an experience while availing ourselves of this mode of transport. And at the time of the occurrence of the event, it was a frustrating and annoying experience but in retrospect one can laugh at the memory of how one was taken for a ride.

A trip to Abu Dhabi last week made it necessary for me to resort to this mode of transport. As soon as I hailed one, the cabbie stopped. This was an unusual experience in itself. Their counterparts in Dubai and Sharjah seem to suffer from blinkered vision. They look straight ahead as if their goal in life is to avoid any diversions and reach a destination only they are privy to.

Pleasantly surprised by the prompt stopping of the taxi, I got in only to be assailed by a radio station played at full blast. The Hindi song was obviously a favourite as the driver sang along, stopping mid-tune to ask me if I were from India and nodding in appreciation as I admitted to the fact.

Monologue

Then there was this monologue on the singer. In between his rambling, I managed to insert information about my destination. I was reassured, in between his singing, that he knew the place well. As we reached the particular street in question, he turned around to ask me where exactly I wanted to go.

Surprised at the query as I had just been told he was well aware of the location, I reminded him of this fact. Whereupon he said he had heard of the building but wasn't too sure where exactly it was. Soon we were driving down this seemingly endless street while he caught up with his singing which had been rudely interrupted by my questioning.

When I told him of the urgency of reaching the place as fast as I possibly could, he broke in with a "never mind, I will keep driving down the street until we find the place".

Familiar with men's aversion to asking anyone for directions, I realised that I had to put an end to his generous offer of chauffeuring me around in circles until we stumbled upon the building by sheer coincidence.

Eventually, I summoned up the courage to interrupt his singing lesson and asked him to stop, telling him that I would find the place myself. This disclosure was met with disbelief. Why was I being so hasty when he was obviously quite happy to keep driving until the cows came home? That's what his expression seemed to say.

As I got out, I could feel his accusing eyes boring into my back, almost making me feel guilty.

To cut a long story short, I found the place I was looking for almost immediately. On finishing my work, I stood on the pavement, waiting to hail yet another cab. This time my fervent prayer was that the next driver would be the strong, silent type.