My conversations with Dubai cabbies

A cabbie is a cabbie is a cabbie.

Such was the general perception about a taxi driver once upon a time. Not any longer. They don't drive you in a vicious circle anymore to fleece you. They are now monitored; their conversations are recorded; their lane discipline watched and looks scrutinised. Google has taken over half of their job and cognition. If the GPS plays dirty and takes you on an unwelcome city tour, the driver is not to blame. It's a case of humans playing subservient to machine.

The world has changed so much in the past few decades that the cabbie breed is now respected when they are courteous, pleasing and patient. They don't irritate you with unwelcome lectures about subcontinent politics, interspersed with widely accepted slurs in Hindi or Urdu. There is no bargaining for one more dirham at the end of your journey. The system reminds you not to forget your belongings. Even if you did, they would be returned as quickly as possible.

A few years ago, when the swanky districts like Dubai Marina and Jumeirah Lake Towers were swathes of arid land, some cabbies were more than drivers. They doubled as fortune tellers, mentors, visionaries or well-wishers who would want you to come out of the job interview you are rushing to with flying colours. This column is about them.

Circa 2000. I was on the way to the office to say goodbye to friends of more than 11 years, before moving to Singapore. The conversation the cabbie and yours truly had in the 15-minute trip wasn't about conventional topics like the traffic jams or the weather.

"Being a journalist, don't you have a car, sir? he asked.

"No, I'm leaving this place. I just sold mine."

"You are going to miss a lot of things. Dubai has a big plan."

"Singapore isn't any less modern; it's a cosmopolitan city."

"Dubai would change in a few years. You know what?

"What?"

"Nine hundred buildings would line the Sheikh Zayed Road stretching until Jebel Ali."

"How do you know? Anyway, I wish Dubai all the best."

"We taxi wallahs know many things, sir. I'm sure one day, trains will also run on this sandy land."

In the next few years, as I watched in awe how Dubai was developing, I reminisced my conversation with the cabbie who had predicted all this. He might not be a clairvoyant, but he was at least a better news gatherer than me. Cabbies deal with a cross section of society, from a sweeper to a millionaire. They draw out information from their chit chat with passengers and dissect them until they are certain to disseminate.

Their source is never disclosed.

There were only three malls when I left in the year 2000; today Dubai has the most visited mall on the planet. Millions commute in trains and buses and trams in a month. The big plan the cabbie predicted wasn't a daydream; it was a prophesy come true.

I remember a similar example from my Singapore days. As I was rushing to catch a train, my cabbie kickstarted a conversation which I generally avoid for the reason that even a 70-year-old driver would address all his passengers either 'uncle' or 'aunty'. It doesn't matter you could be as young as his children.

"Uncle, from India?"

"Yes. What happened?"