Chapter 2



Manikam : The Taxi Driver





She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost 2.30 p.m. She needed to fetch her daughter from school and then head to Mid Valley to buy the new pair of shoes she had promised.

With a quick sigh, she logged off the computer, changed her clothes, and hurried toward the lift. The sky outside was already dark, the kind of heavy grey that warned of a sudden downpour. When she stepped toward the window, she saw the first drops hitting the pavement. Drizzling already.

She would have to run up the hill toward Bangsar Shopping Centre, deposit the cheque at RHB Bank, and then grab a taxi to Mont Kiara International School. It was only about ten minutes away if the roads behaved and the traffic didn’t decide to test her patience. At the taxi stand, only one taxi was waiting.

A Chinese lady stood ahead of her in the queue, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to take it. When asked, the woman smiled and told her to go ahead. She thanked her quickly before slipping into the back seat of the taxi just as the sky finally gave way. Within seconds, rain was pouring down in thick sheets.

She leaned back, catching her breath. She had already informed the bus driver this morning that she would be fetching her daughter today.


An Indian lady sat in the front passenger seat, an infant cradled in her arm, while two little girls stood squeezed beside her, turning their heads to look at the newcomer. The driver gave her a warm nod of welcome. She stared at the cramped front seat, puzzled. How did they all manage to fit into such a small space? Oh great, she thought to herself. mAnother passenger. She was already running late, and she didn’t have the luxury to be choosy. The other woman didn’t seem bothered by her presence probably heading somewhere nearby and just hitching the same taxi because it happened to be there. Now she understand why the Chinese Lady at the taxi stand didnt want to take the taxi. At this hour, in this rain, she had to take whatever came.


“Why don’t you drop this lady first, to wherever you’re supposed to send her,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s okay with me.”


“No… she is my wife,” the driver replied calmly. “Oh! And these children?” she asked, her voice softer now.


“My children,” he said. “Oh.” Silence followed.


She turned her face to the window, pretending to be interested in the blurred outline of the shops through the rain-streaked glass. But she could feel the two little girls studying her, their curious eyes peeking from behind their mother’s shoulder.


Every now and then, her own gaze drifted back to them, the girls with their damp hair sticking to their foreheads, the infant sleeping in the crook of the mother’s arm, its tiny fingers curled into her blouse. There was something about those eyes, quiet and unsure, that tugged at her. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in.


“I know it’s not my business,” she said gently, leaning forward. “But I have to ask… why are your wife and children here with you? It’s raining so heavily. Shouldn’t they be at home? Not out here, being dragged around in a taxi?”


The driver didn’t answer immediately. His grip tightened around the steering wheel. The wipers moved in slow, tired arcs, struggling against the downpour.


“We don’t have a home,” he said at last, his voice flat, as though he had repeated the sentence too many times already. “Our house… the owner locked us out.” He didn’t look at her, but she saw the shame in the way his shoulders sank, the way his wife kept her head lowered, clutching the baby closer.


“Oh! Why?” she asked, unable to hide her concern. “Because I didn’t pay the house rental for three months…” He paused, swallowing hard. “And the owner locked the house. He said if I don’t pay up by this evening, he will throw all our things out… That is why I am here with them.”


She felt her chest tighten. “And why didn’t you pay the rent?” she asked gently. The driver lifted his right leg slightly, pulling his sarong aside to show her. From the knee down to the toes, his leg was wrapped thickly in plaster of Paris.


“I had an accident,” he said. “One night after finishing my rounds, I parked my taxi and was walking home. Another car hit me.” He exhaled, tired. “I was admitted in the hospital… for almost two months. No work. No money. At least I still have my taxi. That’s why I’m driving today… to raise the cash to pay the rent tonight.”


His wife shifted the baby in her arms, her eyes lowered, her thin shoulders trembling slightly under the weight of everything she was carrying literally and otherwise. The two little girls stood quietly, too familiar with adult worries for their age, watching their father speak as if the story was one they’d heard again and again.


The rain outside thrashed harder against the windows. She went silent, trying to make sense of everything he had just said. His words were simple, but heavy too heavy for a young family to carry. The three pairs of eyes in the front seat continued watching her, quietly, curiously. They were so young… far too young to understand why their father had to work through the rain, or why the family had no place to go that night.


She reached into her bag, pulled out a small piece of paper, and scribbled down her address. “Look,” she said gently, leaning forward. “I can’t talk to you now. I have to fetch my daughter, and I’m really in a hurry.” She placed the paper near the dashboard. “This is my address. I’ll be back around five. If you’re still around here, come by. I want to hear your story… okay?”


The driver nodded, surprised, his eyes softening with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. She didn’t wait for more. The rain had eased just enough for her to jump out. She pushed the door open and rushed toward the school guardhouse, her heart still replaying the faces she had left behind in the taxi.