A Humorous Tale

Mr. C.V. Devan Niar- 3rd President of Singapore (1981-1985)

Usually at around 4am, my taxi buddies and I would gather at a coffee shop in Jurong East Central to have our supper and share our night's driving adventures. Each driver would have some real life story to tell but it would normally centre around some passenger's unreasonable attitude and other trivial matters. Some tells hoary jokes. After a while, such stories and jokes became dull and boring mainly because of repetitious theme. However, once in a while, someone would come out with an astonishingly humorous tale that got everyone standing on their toes, with open mouth and watery eyes from laughter.

I would like to share with you one such fairy tale story but before going into the story proper, I would like you to know that the buddy who told us this story has a nick name called "cannon". He has been a taxi driver for more than 30 years and plan to retire next year. This is how the story goes in his own words. The encounter happened many years ago.

Quote:

Good evening. Could you please take me to Little India, Seranggon Road?
Yes, Sir. Okay, which way you want? Now, this time, Little India very crowded. Also Deepavali season, so much people everywhere—hey, Sir, I think I see your face before—are you—
Yes, I’m Devan Nair.
Oh, ho, Mr. Nair, please to meet you, Sir. You are the President, correct? So late go where?. Drink toddy!, not afraid?—
Not really
Hey, Mr. President, you can complaint for us or not? We taxi drivers, cannot speak or write good English—
What’s your complaint?
Wa-ah, you don’t know, meh? You President, and you don’t know! We taxi drivers suffer—this new rule, that new rule—everytime got fine,
You have to be more careful.
Ai-yah, I know, lah! But where got money to pay fine? In the end, earn no money. My brother-in-law, he also taximan, so fed up, he give up licence to go and live in Malaysia—
Why don’t you ask your MP for help?
No use, I tell you. What for. You think MP want to listen? You think MP don’t want PAP to make more and more money. They all the same! You know or not, every day people pay fines for wrong parking, got fine for this, fine for that—hundreds of thousands of dollars go into PAP pocket, I tell you!
I thought the MP is supposed to help the residents—
Ai-yah, No, lah, I tell you, PAP making money. Already so many taxis on the road, yet they say can have more, more. And you know why? Plenty of money from taxi licences! You know or not how much they get every month from foreign workers alone, because this and that tax for employers? Many million dollars every month!
How do you know?
Hey, everybody know, lah! You know what ‘PAP’ stands for? ‘Pay and Pay’! They say this and that, want to help the poor workers like myself, want to benefit the poor, but all the time, bluffing us, only making money for themselves. You know what ‘PAP’ stands for? ‘Pian Ah Pare‘. You no Hokkien? Can understand or not? They lying to poor old men like me, with no education. I sixty two—see grey hair on my head—but must work very hard—you know, I driving since 6 a.m. this morning—
I can see you’re very unhappy. Are you thinking of joining your brother-in-law in Malaysia?
Ai-yah, not so easy! Last week his wife, got snatch thief snatch her handbag—lost money and gold bracelet, some more she fell down on road and got many bruises on her face—then yesterday my brother-in-law he telephone to say thieves they broke into his house—he and family were out at that time—they stole his son’s computer, cash, make big mess in the house—they report to police, but they know no use, too many burglary and robbery, so police they don’t care—only pretend take down report and so on—
I don’t suppose you want to join him now?
No way! But I very serious, Mr. President. You please tell government don't make we taximan suffer!

Unquote

P/S. In reference to Catherine Lim's vignettes
                                                   A Funny Video

A "Psycho" in my Cab.

Driving a cab in cosmopolitan Singapore is like having a private little observation booth from which to observe the complexity of the human race. Generally, people can be classified into some sort of categories. For me as a taxi driver, I simply place my customers in either: okay or not okay category.

"Okay" is anyone who doesn't cause trouble and pays the fare.

"Not okay" is everyone else.

Like a factory worker on an assembly line who deal with the same item day after day, a taxi driver can usually spot the slightly defective widget almost instantly. However, sometime, someone do slip under my radar, then, man, this guy must be good! And from observing this person, I may be able to learn something.

All of which leads me into telling you about a passenger last Friday night.

I picked up this person at Clarke Quay a bit after midnight. He was a twenty-something local Chinese male with neatly combed dark hair, normal height and weight, and rather conservative looking, like he might be a young banker or PAP youth  member. He wanted me to take him way out to Jurong Estate. He told me to exit at Jurong Town Hall Road and then he would direct me from that point on. That was fine with me and we set off.

He wasn't a conversationalist.In fact, his demeanor was kind of blank. He was neither hostile nor friendly. So I turned the radio up a bit to keep myself entertained as we got on to the expressway.

The trouble began as we approached the Jurong Town Hall exit.

"I exit here, ok?" I called back to him, wanting to be totally sure we'd had no misunderstanding.

He didn't respond immediately, so I repeated the question. Looking at him in the rear view mirror, he wasn't asleep. He was looking forward with that blankness I had noted when he got in the cab.

Finally he responded with one word: "Yeah."

He wasn't responding normally and I began to get the feeling that there may be trouble ahead. If I got beat it would be a loss of $20 or more, and that, combined with the dead time coming back to city, would really hurt.

We proceeded along a service road that ended at a red light at the intersection of Boon Lay Way and Jurong Town Hall Road. He should have told me well before we arrived there in which direction to turn, but he said nothing.

"Left or right?" I asked.

There was a pause. Then, "Straight" came an answer.

I went straight ahead for about half a mile, waiting for further directions, but none came. I checked him in the mirror, again wondering if he'd fallen asleep, but, no, he was fully conscious.

"Just keep going straight?" I asked again, feeling a need to be reassured that he knew where he was going.

"Yeah."

I went straight for half-a-kilo until we came to a red light. And that's when hell broke loose.

We sat at the light for twenty seconds in total silence and then he said this:

"Where have you taken me?"

Oh, shit. I was alone in the middle of relatively nowhere with a nut. Or at least he might be a nut.
"Where have I taken you? What do you mean? I've taken you where you told me to take you."

"Where are we?"

"We're at Jurong and Bukit Batok intersection, where you told me to go!"

"You made a wrong turn."

I turned around and looked him straight in the eye. "Look, buddy," I said with barely contained anger, "how could I have taken a wrong turn when I went where you told me to go? I was following your directions!"

He just sat there staring at me without saying a word but the unspoken words were I was trying to cheat him.

The light turned green, but I didn't move the cab an inch. We just sat there in the middle of the road - no other cars around - in a bizarre, stony silence. The meter clicked an additional 40 cents due to the waiting time.

"The meter's running. Why aren't you moving?"

"I'm not moving because we don't know where we're going!"

I was becoming furious and it was showing in my voice which, although restrained, had been raised a couple of decibels.

"Why are you raising your voice to me?" he replied in a calm, even tone.

Oh my god, the guy was a bona fide psycho. He was turning the whole situation into mind game. I tried to calm myself down, realizing that, psycho or not, I must not overreact.

I tried to negotiate. "Okay," I said calmly, "what are we going to do here? Where are you trying to go? To somebody's house?"

"I don't see why I should have to keep paying because you're lost."

I looked at the guy in the rear view mirror. "Look," I replied, using all my restraint to keep from screaming at the son of a bitch, "just tell me what you expect to pay for this ride"
I was of course outraged that I needed to placate somebody who was so clearly out of line.

What this guy said was - nothing. Instead he got on his cell phone and called someone. The conversation took about a minute. During his chat I heard him say the words "train station".

I turned around and spoke to him. "Do you want to go to the Jurong train station (MRT)?"

"Yes."

It was the only piece of information I needed.

"Then we should have turned right at the earlier traffic intersection. The train station is there ."

"I told you to go right at the light."

"No, You told me to go straight at the light."

Those turned out to be the last words we spoke to each other until we arrived at the station five minutes later. I was worried that he would jump out of the cab at the station without paying me? Or he would insist that he'd been ripped off and pay me a fraction of what was on the meter? Or would he come up with some other completely unexpected insanity? I was stressing out.

This guy was driving me crazy!

When we got to the train station the meter was $25. He handed me three ten dollar bills and left the cab without another word. A $5 tip, excessively high. I was glad the ordeal was over and that I'd been overpaid. I drove off quickly.

In retrospect, I found that I couldn't stop thinking about this ride.

You noticed that I referred to this guy as a "psycho". We often think of a psycho as a wild-eyed maniac with a gun in his hand. Or someone screaming nonsensical babble as he walks down the street. Those are the easy ones to spot. The difficult to spot "psycho" are those who behave normally like any ordinary person but are bent on making life miserable for others.

I looked back at my own thirty minutes with this passenger. Instead of having a pleasant experience, he put me through the hoops of anger, frustration, anxiety, and resentment. He made me miserable and I felt like punching him.

Then I imagined what my life would be like if this guy was my boss. What would it be like if he was my brother? What kind of existence would a woman have who ismarried to this guy? Or, worst of all, what if he was your father when you were still a little kid?

Your life would be hell.

If you have such a person in your life, take some advice from a taxi driver.

Get this person out of your life.

My Dream

It was a long time ago.
I have almost forgotten my dream.
But it was there then, In front of me,
Bright like a sun-----
My dream.
And then the wall rose,
Rose slowly,
Slowly, between me and my dream.
Rose until it touched the sky--
The wall.
Shadow.
I am black.
I lie down in the shadow.
No longer the light of my dream before me,
Above me.
Only the thick wall.
Only the shadow.
My hands!
My dark hands!
Break through the wall!
Find my dream!
Help me to shatter this darkness,
To smash this night,
To break this shadow
Into a thousand lights of sun,
Into a thousand whirling dreams
Of sun!

~Langston Hughes

Cabby Turned P.I.

As a taxi driver I've seen some spontaneous decisions made in the back of my cab, usually influenced by alcohol. The most spectacular one I've witnessed is when a customers changed his destinations, it almost resulted in a disastrous happening in the end.

This was what happened.
It was almost midnight on a quiet Thursday. I had to quickly rushed towards city for my next customer after dropping my last passenger in Ponggol, a dead heartland after midnight. As usual, I took the roads that passed through the next equally quiet estate of Hougang, hopping to pick someone along the way. It would be a miracle if someone board my taxi in that estate at that late hour. Surprisingly, a miracle did happened. A middle aged Chinese man rushed out from nowhere to hail my taxi along the main road of Hougang Ave. 4.
As he settled at the back of my taxi,  I asked "Where would you like to go?.
"Please send me home to Toa Payoh." he answered hesitantly, after a long pause. He seem undecided where to go.

He was in his mid forties, wearing a plain short sleeve shirt and a pair of cheap jean. He had an oily face with thick eyebrows and his hair looked as if it had not tasted shampoo for weeks. But he had strong arms, with bulging muscles. like someone who works on a construction site with heavy tools. Despite the unpleasant odor of alcohol he brought into the taxi, I was glad to have a customer at that hour.
As I moved off, he tapped my shoulder and said apologetically in a soft voice, "Uncle, I want to change my destination. Please go to Serangoon Garden Estate first and then Toa Payoh."
I nodded silently accepting his request.
"And please drive as fast as possible" 
"Ok, I'll try my best". I gave my usual short reply to customers who have such requests to create a mutual respect atmosphere.
"Uncle, please wait when we reached our destination, ok?", He came with another request. "You can let the meter ran while waiting".
"Ok"  I answered, looking at my fare meter. It was passed midnight and a 50% midnight surcharge had kicked in, which meant he had to pay 50% more on top of the meter fair. 
I started to ponder on his requests and guessed that he just wanted to wait for a short while to pick someone up and then move on.
But I was in for a complete surprise.
"If I've money, I'll have many girlfriends". he suddenly screamed at the top of his voice. I was shocked and quickly asked "What's the problem, man?.
"Sorry, Uncle, I'm very angry with my girlfriend. I think she's cheating on me". His aggressive scream turned into a scornful mumble.
"Oh, I see. Take it easy, man" I tried to calm him down.

Soon, we reached the private estate, with rows of semi-detached houses on both side of a one-way road. He directed me to park my taxi in an empty lot with other cars parked on one side of the road. The place was dimly lighted, almost dark and my taxi was covered under the shadow of a huge tree. It was a perfect spot for surveillance work. He implored me to switch off all my lights and lay in wait with him.
"Uncle, that's my girlfriend house' He pointed to a house about 10 meters behind us."
"I want to check who send my girlfriend home. If he's whom I think he is, I'll smash him into pieces" He clenched his right hand in a tight fists and his upper arm were covered in tattoos of what seemed like a dragon. He was a fierce man with a threatening look when he was angry but otherwise a gentleman when calm. With such an erratic and fierce tiger in my cab, I could not reject his request to be his "accomplice" at that point in time. Moreover, he had done nothing illegal. We were just waiting inside my taxi with the meter running and he was paying for every minute of my time. But I realized that I had turned into a P.I. (private investigator) beyond my control.

As the minutes tickled away, there were no signs of his girlfriend or any private car passing us, except three taxi. While we waited, he did not reveal much of his private life and we killed the time listening to a CD. After thirty minutes of wait, he slowly began to lose his patience and said "Five more minutes, no sign, we move". I was happy on hearing that but then a car beam appeared in my rear view mirror. A private car was seen moving slowly toward us and stopped right infront of his girlfriend house. A slim lady in red dress came out of the car.

To my astonishment, my customer got out of my taxi and rushed straight towards his girlfriend. He pushed her aside and swore loudly with abusive words at a man who was at the driver seat inside the car. My customer looked like an enraged black bear on the attack, bent on eating the other man alive. A confrontation and a fight was inevitable. Suddenly. all the lights of his girlfriend's house lighted and the gate opened. An old couple came through the gates. My customer had a few quick words with the old couple and quickly walked back towards my taxi. He hopped in and told me in a hurried voice to move off. I was more than happy to do so and speed off like a jet. We did not speak to each other till we reached his final destination. He paid me $25. though the fare was $30 because that was all he had. I took the money, thanked him and left for my home.

During all this time as the drama unfolded, I was inside my taxi ready to jet off at the slightest sign of a life threatening situation. I certainly do not want to be a party to a criminal felony and later had to defend myself in a police station or a court of law. You can call me a coward or any worse name but I'm an old man with no physical ability to intervene in a fight. I drives a taxi for a living and have a family to take care.

The Fragmented Family

It was passed midnight on a Monday night. My takings was bad for the day and I was determined to drive a bit longer to make a decent profit. I rushed to my favorite spot in IBP (International Business Park) after dropping my last customer nearby. To my great disappointment, there were already a long queue of taxis at IBP when I arrived. I decided to give the place a miss and cruised towards city instead, hoping to pick some customers along the way. But there was none. Finally, I turned into Holland Village, a popular foodie paradise in the west of Singapore. This place is usually crowed in the evening because it has a very good mix of restaurants serving Italian, Mediterranean cuisine, Chinese, Mexican, Japanese, Vietnamese, you name it, they have it.

As I was slowly making a turn into the narrow lane that leads to the queuing spot at Crystal Jade Restaurant, a yellow top taxi overtook me and queued ahead of me. A moment later, I saw a Caucasian man with a can of beer in his hand and in a drunken demeanor stumbled into the yellow top taxi infront of me. At least a long five minutes passed before the taxi moved off. I reckoned the taxi driver must have some disagreement with the white man and I was glad that he was not my customer for obvious reasons.

My eyes then caught sight of two men standing beside my taxi. They seems like my potential customers, ready to hop into my taxi at any moment. One chap was a young, astonishingly handsome Chinese man in early twenty at about 1.7 meter tall. He looks scholarly, elegant in T-shirt and with a face that reminds me of Mr. Chow Yin Fatt, a famous Hong Kong actor. The other guy was a stout Caucasian man of about fifty in casual wear. They were standing and chatting happily for a long while, like lovers unwilling to bid good bye to each other. Eventually, the older man passed a fifty dollar note to the handsome young man and they hugged each other affectionately like young lovers biding farewell for the last time. It was a touching and emotional sight to behold.

Finally, the white man got into the back seat of my taxi, leaving the young chap behind and told me to go to Carlton Hotel. He spoke with an unrecognizable western accent in a wary voice. Soon, he was on his cell phone chatting with his loved ones. I can't help eavesdropping on his conversation but embraced it to pass a tiring day. We did not exchanged a word till we reached the junction of Orchard and Scott Road. The traffic was slow moving as there was road work at the junction.
"What are they doing", the man suddenly broke the silence in my cab.
"I guess they are repairing the underground passage ways that connects the various malls at this junctions'. I replied like the project manager of the road work.

I can't remember what we spoke after breaking the ice of silence, but he later said "That young man was my son". I was pleasantly surprised and stole a closer look at him through my rear view mirror. He do not come anywhere close in appearance to the young handsome chap. He looked western, while the young chap was oriental.

"My wife is a Singaporean Chinese. She lives with my daughter in Switzerland, while my son is in Singapore and I work in Hong Kong. We are a fragmented family. This is terrible and I don't like it". He revealed in a disgruntled voice.

"I flew into Singapore this morning and immediately had a office meeting till 10pm this evening. I had to steal an hour to meet my son, whom I had not met for a long time. I had work long enough for others and must made a change for the sake of my family. I love Singapore and definitely want to make this place a permanent home for my family." He spoke to me like an old acquaintance letting off his inner thoughts and frustrations.

"What do you do for a living" I ventured to ask tongue in cheek.
"I'm in freight forwarding business". he answered instantly.
"How old are you". I asked. "I'm 50 and an Austrian". he answered.
"You are still young, my friend. One day you will achieve your dream if you dare to dream". I tried to cheer him up but I was not sure he heard what I said. I wanted to quote the Chinese proverb of "turning a steel rod into a needle" but then we had hit the hotel.
The fare was $12.50. He paid $14 and asked me to keep the change.

A fragmented family indeed and a complex one too. But I like to quote a epilogue from Dr's Cai book :

           To see a world in a grain of sand,
           And heaven in a wild flower,
           Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
           And eternity in an hour.

This is a stanza written by the English poet William Blake. It simply mean that it is only possible to truly understand the big picture after you have studied the fine details.

Right Here Waiting For You.

My Blog And I

This blog has been around for about four months now and my pageviews had gone up to about two thousands plus. My readers come from all over the world -- Russia to N.Zealand, USA to H.K, Canada to Brazil, but 90% from Singapore!. Not bad for an un-promoted blog with an amateurish blogger. Please pardon me for my self praise and indulgence. I need this occasional self gratification to keep my writing enthusiasm in track.

Hey, I got asked last night whether I get paid for writing this blog from my taxi buddy, who knows that I'm the blogger. The answer is that I do not get paid for it. In fact, it actually costs me to write it because I've to spent time to do it instead of using the writing time for my much needed sleep. The advertisement you see in this blog is my way of getting my blog to a wider audience through the advertiser's connection. They don't pay me a cent.

You see, I can't write during the day as I've to sleep in the day so that I'll be fresh for my night driving. Driving a taxi is my livelihood.  In any case, my mind and body are too tired after a night of driving that whatever come out from my writing usually doesn't seems interesting and engaging. I need a relax mind to write. Very often, I even delete whole stories I've written because they don't read right once I read over them. When I first started to write this blog, I find myself racking my brains to remember anything interesting to write. It didn't take me long to realize that to get my old rusty brain to recall a recent event in complete details is simply unattainable. So, I did the next most practical thing i.e. take short notes of interesting happenings and develop them into real life stories later. When I write, I explore both my thoughts and emotions about the events I encountered, rather than just the facts alone.

By the way, the  only reason I blog, as I often say, is to make a dull job of driving a taxi a bit more interesting. I do get a lot of pleasure when my readers make comments on my stories and provide feedback. To date, nobody has ever asked me, "Who the hell is that bloody idiot who writes that taxi blog". That would be the greatest compliment I ever had. I don't think that I'll ever receive such a pleasurable remarks in my lifetime. Someone did commented that I'll soon become a famous cabby in Singapore and publish a book. That comment was surely an over-rated compliment and sorry to say, preposterous.

Writing is also my outlet when I feel unhappy or needs to get that nagging thing off my chest. When I write things down, my thoughts become clearer. I also have a chance to reflect and see things from a different perspective.

Honestly, it can be hard work writing this blog. After sometime you can find yourself repeating yourself if nothing new or exciting happened. I don't create stories from my imagination like writing a novel. My characters are real people---ordinary men and women who go about their daily lives. My stories may appears trivial but they are real life stories that reflects and exposes the recognizable traits and emotions of human behavior. Generally, if I've nothing absorbing to write, I don't write. Right now, I'm like a aspiring singer without a large audience yet, but as time goes by and as I improve my "singing" skill, I hope more spectators will attend my "performance" and enjoy my "singing". By the way, thank you for reading this posting. Do come back again to visit me. Bye.

Real Characters?

My Wonderful Grandmother with My Son

When I proudly showed some postings to my family members and friends, they asked excitedly, ‘Tell me, are all the characters in your stories based on real people? I couldn't answer their question immediately. Instead, I told them the story of a young Vietnamese girl  who wanted to commit suicide in my cab and an old man who had lost his taxi driver son. And also told them that these two characters did not called me to say "Hey, that wasn’t very nice of you to write about me!" What I'm trying to say is that these two characters in my stories appeared only once in my life.

You see, I never pick the same passenger twice. It's one in a million change that a taxi driver would pick the same passenger again on a separate trip. Therefore, it's impossible to verify whether my characters are based on real people or not. However, characters like my wonderful grandmother and the trumpet making friend are real and can be verified because I've tangible evidences, like photos and name cards. You see my point now?

So are my characters based on real people? Certainly yes, for though I have a crystal clear memory, it still needs reality as the start off point to write a story. But often, instead of being based on specific persons I have met, my characters—ordinary men and women who go about their daily lives -- are a composite of these real persons, created to fit in with each story.
But at base, all of them are recognizable human types because they display recognizable human qualities—of greed, hypocrisy, small-mindedness, cowardice, etc on the one hand, and magnanimity, generosity, kindness, courage, etc on the other.
Sometimes inside my cab, I meet complete strangers who tell me about their experiences, some quite astonishing,  And I say mischievously, ‘You will be a character in my next blog posting, I hope you don't mind!’

A Tragedy in the Family

One hour into the evening peak hour, I was waiting infront of  Boon Lay Shopping Center. Time had stood still at this place. Nothing had change much. The same hawker center with rolls of surrounding shop houses had got some minor improvement to its facade but the merchandise sold here are still the same. There used to be a cinema but it had shut down many years ago. The swimming pool still remains but there are no other modern attractions to draw the crowds. Most shoppers had  gone over to the modern shopping mall at Jurong Point, a mere kilometer away The only saving grace is the FairPrice supermarket and the famous Nasi Lemak stall.
With no customer in sight after about twenty minutes wait, I decided to move off to Jurong Point,  As I was about to leave my spot, I saw an old man with a few grocery bags flagging at me to stop. He lumbered along, his body tilting side to side with each heavy step , toward me.

I opened my trunk, he loaded his bags and sat beside me. Then he told me to go to Jurong West St. 91, a short distance away of about three kilometer. Most shoppers lives around this area and usually takes a cab when they have too many grocery bags to go home by bus. He was in shots, singlets that revealed his boney frame and old slippers. His wrinkled face was lined with multiple black spots that elderly people usually have. From my conjecture, he must be at least seventy, retired and poor. But where does he gets the money for all his purchases?, I wondered and asked. "What did you buy?". He was unhappy with my intrusive question and said "What's the problem".
"Oh, no problem. I was thinking of putting some papers beneath your bags in case water leaks from it." I quickly explained.
"All dry items, "Maggie" instant noddle." he interrupted me.
I apologized for asking the question. He said it was okay and understood my concern.
Feeling guilty, I tried to say something pleasant and asked "Taken your dinner?. This is a common way old Singaporean greet each other, like the Westerner's "How are you?".
"Want to buy me one?. I've not eaten since this morning". He replied with a     "are you making fun of me" sober look.
"Really?. What happen?". Again, I asked a stupid question.
He paused a while deciding whether to answer me or not. Then he mumbled softly in a indistinct manner,
"Now, I live alone with nobody around me". His voice tapper off to almost inaudible.
A few second later, he looked at me, with watery eyes "You know, about a month ago, my only taxi driver son was killed by a drunken bully around where you pick me".
As if struck by lightning, I felt a current bolt from my head to my feet. "Oh, my god, That's your son." I froze in shock.
"Yes. That's my son". His tears streamed down his sunken cheeks.
I read the news and it was the most heartbreaking story of a taxi driver tragedy. According to the newspaper report, the taxi driver was killed when the drunken bully pushed him hard and he fell back, hitting his head at the road kerb. I was extremely saddened by the realization that human lives were so fragile and could be shattered at the most unexpected moments. Why such tragedy had to happen?
"My son drives a taxi to feed us. Now he is dead, I really don't know where to get my food". He sobbed. 
"Not only my son is gone. My grandson and daughter-in-law are gone too". He struggled to continue in a sobbing voice.
"They've gone away to Vietnam. I don't think they will come back. Now, I'm alone in an empty flat". He wept his tears with his bare hand.
I shuttered "I. I'm sorry.........They will come back to you one day" I tried my best to console him. Could anybody in this world possibly know what he had gone through?. Only a short while ago, I was worried that his bags might dirty my trunk,....I bit my lip and struggled to contain my own tears. But, the tragedy of his life had not yet petrified his emotions and he still shed tears, like me.

A Strange Request

President Obama as an Indonesian School Boy

As a taxi driver, I do receive all kind of strange requests but never before had I been asked to solve a passenger's predicament.  In executing my customers' request or rendering my help in whatever form, I always bear in mind that it must be within my physical capability and lawful. Sometime, the final outcome could turn out to be quite unexpected. I know of a cabby who was detained for suspected involvement in an illegal drug case because of his physical assistance in transporting the drugs. But, what I'm about to share with you do not end with such disastrous outcome but with an irony

In an evening, two young teenagers, a Cacausian girl and an Indonesian boy, boarded my taxi at a traffic junction in Ang Mo Kio MRT. In a shivering voice, the boy asked me to proceed to Upper Thomson Road as fast as I could. From his facial expression, he looks worried, panicky and in a great hurry. Request to speed up my driving is quite normal in our fast pace society but the appendix to his request were rather strange. He pleaded with me to help him find his lost cell phone and would reward me if I could find it. Apparently, he was outside his comfort zone and was dependent on an adult to resolve his problem.
However, before I accept his request for help, I tried to establish the circumstances of his "misfortune" and the possibility of recovery, like a detective. It seems that he had lost his cell phone while strolling with his school mate along a stretch of road at Upper Thomson Road. In such a circumstance, I reckon that it would be like searching for a needle in a padi field. In the beginning, I was apprehensive but considering his plight at such a young age and the dreadful punishment he would get from his dad, I agreed to help him, without the reward in mind.

We speed off towards Upper Thomson Road like a fighter jet and within minutes, we arrived and halted at a bus stop along a deserted stretch of road. As the bus stop was where they got off from the bus earlier and began their stroll, we naturally started off from there to begin our search. His cell phone was on a dead mode due to failed battery and therefore it was impossible to get a ringing tone from it to help in our search.
The walking path was dimly lighted and surfaced in grass with dead leaves and small broken branches all over. Slowly we paced along the path with my touch light beaming at every spots and loops. Although we were meticulous in our search, it was of no avail. The phone was elusive. After covering about two kilometers in fifteen minutes and with no sight of the elusive phone, we decided to give up and tracked back to my taxi that was parked at the bus bay. The boy looks dejected and his school mate tried to console him.

As I walked towards my taxi to drive off, I saw the black phone right beneath the front wheel of my car. Had my taxi moved an inch more, the phone would have been crashed. The boy was overjoyed when I handed the phone to him. He wanted to reward me as promised and began to search his pockets for his wallet. His face turned pale with embarrassment when he realized he had lost his wallet.
"This is unbelievable" I shook in disbelief . I toyed with the possibility that this might be a scam to cheat me.  But looking at his innocent young face, I prefer to take things at its face value and believed this was an honest, isolated incident. Fortunately, his missing wallet contain only $30 cash and no student pass, bus or identity cards, nothing else. It was his lucky day. He lost only a small amount of cash but got his cell phone back.
"Well," I tried to light the atmosphere a little, "I'll give you guys a free ride home, wherever it maybe".

In retrospect, I wonder whether I had done a good deed by giving them a free ride or had I been taken for a ride. I like to believe the former.


                             Country Road, Take Me Home - John Denver

Free Entertainment

On many occasions, my passengers chose to converse and behave intimately in my cab like in the privacy of their bed, ignoring my presence. Their actions become a sources of free entertainment, embarrassment and insight into their private or office life for me. I can't avoid "spying" and eavesdropping on them nor can I intervene into their demeanor. Instead, I embrace them to pass the tedious driving time. In this posting, I would like to share some of such unsolicited incidents in my cab for your pleasurable reading.

On a Saturday evening, a young Chinese couple in their early thirties boarded my taxi at the beginning of Geyland Road and wanted to disembark at Jurong East. As we slowly inch our way through the heavy traffic, the wife suddenly commented, lifting her jaw to point at the prostitutes along the street.
  "Wow, they look young and pretty,"
The husband, who never took his eyes off the street, responded instantly,
  "The much prettier ones are inside and don't come out". 
The wife was momentarily stunned but pursued indignantly and said,
  "Yah, you also know how much they cost too?"
The husband realized he had taken the bait and ignited an explosive, said scornfully
   "Why?" If the money is good, you want to do it too"
 "Yes, why not". The wife replied with the fiery of a lion roar and it was certainly not a railery exchange. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
   "Nobody will want you.......Stop this rubbish, Ok?" the husband shouted and the animated conversation ended abruptly. Silence engulfed my cab and I smiled to myself at their not-so-friendly banter.

On a Sunday evening, a Indian man and a Filipino lady boarded my cab at the fringe of Bukit Timah forest and wanted to be taken to two places. First, a dormitory at Bukit Batok St 23 and later, a bungalow in Sixth Ave. Based on their destinations, I knew the man must be a shipyard worker and the lady a maid working for a rich family in Singapore.
The man's clothing was in a disarray, with crumpled shirt and unbutton khaki trouser. The lady's flowery skirts and her low cut T-shirt that clearly displayed her blossom, were also crumpled. They look like in a hurry to continue with an unfinished business. As soon as I started driving, he was all over her, his hand between her legs, lips locked, kissing affectionately. A few moments later, the lady started to whine in displeasure and murmured, "Hey, stop, you're hurting me".
  "Ok, I'll do it slowly". the man whispered into her ears.
  "No, stop it now", the lady demanded angrily and appeared in my rear view mirror.
Her face was puffy and hair in a mess. I knew they had a unsuccessful sexual session.
   "Next week, meet again, Ok? the man asked.
   "Ok". the lady replied.
They must have many previous rendezvous, filled with lust and sexual exploits. Soon, they departed at their respective destinations.

One Saturday evening, two men, one Caucasian and one Singaporean Chinese, boarded my taxi at Clarke Quay. They smelt of liquor and were heading to Orchard Tower, a notorious place with assorted Asian ladies of the night. Well dressed in impressive ties and suits, they look like lawyers or accountants climbing up the corporate ladders. They had benefited from our meritocratic system and life had treated them well.
   "100,000 rupiah a bottle and girls, 500,000 rupiah whole night, dirt cheap, you know" the Chinese man exhorted.
   "How much in Singapore dollars" asked the Caucasian man.
   "Total $200 a night. It's only 45 minutes ferry ride from here" replied the Chinese man.
   "Looks like Batam is a good place for a break and party" said the white man, nodding in agreement.
   "Chinese girls are the best, but they are expensive here" explained the local man.
   "John, the tall local lady in the pub earlier is the hottest babe and a "c...k-teaser". I sure like to climb her" the Caucasian man raved boisterously..
   "Oh, no. that lady is our boss's wife" the Chinese man cautioned him.
   "Hey, keep it a secret what I just told you, Ok?" the white man pleaded.
   "Sure, the drinks on you later, Ok?. the local man replied with a wicked smile.
That brought to a conclusion their short live fantasies and the trip itself.

The Poor of Singapore

In the still of the night at 1am, they seem like dead men walking. A troop of about 200 soldiers in FBO (Full Battle Order) were marching along Mandai Road, as I passed them on my way to the nearest coffee shop. Some hobble and some limp, their bone-weary and heavily-blistered bodies barely holding up the weight of their battle gears. They are the picture of extreme fatigue but the proud guidance of Singapore's sovereign integrity, the true sons of Singapore.

As I drank my coffee and with sights of the army march still fresh in my mind, I start to reconcile the many sacrifices these young men must have made. Apart from the gruelling trainings that stretch their physical and mental strength to the limit, many had postponed their studies, careers, plans and ambitions to fulfill their national service obligations. In the end, with these young men, Singapore now has a modern army capable of defending itself and I felt proud.

But in the same breath, there are some aspects of Singapore that saddened me. These are the sights of destitute scavenging for leftovers in coffee shops, trash in dustbins and the homeless sleeping in the void decks, parks and sideways. I always have a soft spot for elderly man and women pushing trolley with loads of cardboard along major roads trying to make a decent living. These folks may be old but not weak, alone but not forlorn, poor but not without dignity. I've more respect for them than those who sit high on the social pyramid and have everything: wealth, power and fame.

Words cannot describe the hardship of those poor and marginalized people, who had somehow slipped through the cracks of our meritocratic society. Of course, in every modern cities there are scores of such poor souls, large and small. My point is Singaporean are lucky to have a capable government that look after the majority well, but is the same Government doing enough for the very poor?. No!. Only 0.3% of our budget is allocated as public assistance to help the poor. Expenditure on health care is lower than elsewhere - it's only about 1.6% of GDP:- nearly 4 times lower than the 6.1% elsewhere!. More help should be rendered to the deserving poor and the Government anti-welfare culture and mindset must change. Only when poverty is eradicated, then we can proudly call ourselves a First World Country, not how many golds or silver medals we wins in the Olympics or how much we have in our reserve.

Like I said earlier, words cannot describe the reality better than seeing photos and videos of the poor and sad side of Singapore. Here are some for your sober viewing and hope it tickle your heart somehow. You might want to read more of poverty in Singapore at this link:

http://singaporemind.blogspot.com/2011/08/return-of-poverty-in-singapore.html

     

       The Poor Had Become Poorer, And the Rich Become Richer

 

                                                    The Poor And Homeless

                                           Trying to Make A Living

 

         

Casino in Singapore

Marina Bay Sand Casino

Last evening, while hunting for a customer like a hawk along Geyland Road, I finally spotted a young Chinese man with a packed laundry basket, standing under the shadow of a huge tree. With a poor eye sight, I almost missed him but managed to nab him before the cabby behind me did.
"Uncle, please go to Aljunie Crescent. Can you wait for me after we arrive as I want to use your taxi again." he asked politely in Hokkien dialect, after he sat down beside me.
"Sure, No problem" I answered in Singapore Hokkien.
His forehead was covered in sweat and smelt like someone who had not taken a bath for a month. From the unmistakable accent of his spoken Hokkien, I knew he was from Penang in Malaysia. He had a chubby face but looks sad and desperate like someone with tons of worries and ready to kill and gobble his prey.

A  moment later, we exchanged glances momentarily and he said
"Uncle, I'm very sad. This afternoon I lost a lot of money and is now forced to shift house".
"What happen? I asked in empathy but with the curiosity of a cat.
"I think my best friend, who stayed with me in our rented room, stole my money" he replied angrily.
"I lost nearly $2,000 and this money is for my old and sick mother in Malaysia and she depends on it for her medication." he grieved in a choking voice.
Before he could continue his sad story, we arrived at his new accommodation, as the distance was very short. He unloaded his basket of meager belongings and disappeared into the darkness but not before he placed some money with me as security. I refused to accept but he insisted.

Within minutes and before I could finished my puff, he returned.
"Uncle, should we go the Marina Bay Casino or Resort World Casino?. he asked sincerely, scratching his head, as I started off.
"What?. In your present situation, why are you going to a casino. I thought you want to continue with your house removal" I replied with a surprise look.
"I had made a police report against my friend and they had "dust" my room for his finger prints but couldn't find any. They suggested that I should try to find him in a casino since he had borrowed money from me previously to gamble there." he began to reveal more.
"Although my friend earns about $3,000 monthly, he's always desperate for money. He had became an incorrigible gambler since the opening of the two casino in Singapore." he said moodily.
I had heard similar stories before and the evils of gambling are well documented. I sighed to myself.
"Lets go to Marina Bay Casino since it's nearer and hopefully, you find him quickly before he lost all his money! I suggested and he accepted. Soon we arrived at the casino and he departed with my wish that he gets his stolen money back.

A long queue of about 50 customers, most with unsmiling faces and forlorn look were waiting impatiently for the few taxi that came into the driveway. At the head of the queue, an elderly woman of about sixties boarded and asked to be driven to Bedok South Road. Before long, we got into a conversation in general and finally about her venture at the casino.
"Today, luck no good. I lost nearly $1,500. I must stop but I couldn't" she said in local Hokkien.
"Difficult to win from casino. When you lost, you want to go back to recover. When you win, you want to go back to win more. So you always go back. In the end, you'll become an addict. You must stop". I ventured to counsel her like her brother.
"Yes, I know. But it's so difficult to stop. If my children knows I'm a gambling addict, I'll surely die!" she moaned regretfully as she spoke.
"Sister, you can stop if you really, really want. Stop before it's too late" I added.
"Brother, can I pay the fare of $12 by Nets. I've no cash" she asked when we reached her destination. "Yes, you can" I said.
With a receipt in her hand, she walked slowly away with an umbrella as her walking stick and in a hunch. Again, I sighed to myself.   

As I cruised along the highway into the city, a thousand thoughts float through my mind, like the falling leaves of an old tree in a thunder storm. Eventually, the thoughts of the evils of the two casinos and gambling, in general, crystallized in my mind and I would like to share them with you, my readers.

Our Government ultimate interest in gambling is spurred by the need to obtain additional sources of tax revenue to finance it's increasingly expensive and self serving activities. They propagate convincingly that the casino would bring thousands of new jobs, boost tourism and economy as a whole. These are nothing more than a means to an end. How many new jobs created are for the locals? How much had the tourism industry and economy improved? We are still forewarned that our economy is in for hard times as the world financial sector is now in turmoil. In my opinion, the main beneficiaries from the opening of the two casino are the moneylenders, illegal loan sharks, banks and credit card companies that offer soft loans, the budget hotels and taxi drivers (smile). Whereas, the victims are the devastated families with huge gambling debts.

The entry levy for locals, the voluntary self-restriction, counseling centers for problem gamblers and prohibition of advertisement or scheme that discourages visitors to casino, are nothing more than gimmicks to hook-wink the public. Are these anti-gambling "devices" effective in preventing and reducing the social ills of gambling in Singapore? No. not now or ever!. Billions of dollars of investment had gone into establishment of our two casinos and they are here to stay forever unless there is a change of government with a different policies. I'm worried for my children, my children's children and the future generations of Singaporean.   

                                            Resort World Sentosa Casino

Individual interest in gambling is doubtlessly stimulated by the additional free time and cash in the hands of our increasingly affluent society. But gambling’s basic attraction for the individual has always been the lure of “getting something for nothing". 

Shattered families, divorce, robbery, theft, suicide, and murder are a few of the evils that gambling PROMOTES and the rates of these preventable incidents and crimes had shot up through the roofs in Singapore. The revenue taken in taxes is small compared to the cost of social illness it generates. Gambling is a principle factor in the ruination of the home and a person's character.                                      

Please click this link to read more of the evils of the casinos :http://singaporemind.blogspot.com/