The Chinese taxi driver and the Pakistani lady.

So on my way to a job interview, the other day, I hailed a cab. The driver was an older (ish) Chinese guy. Spectacled, salt and pepper hair, a very gentle, yet somewhat naughty face , with eyes that smiled, wearing a crisp half sleeved button down cotton white shirt.

Hi, I said. He said hi. 375 University, please, I said. 375 University, he said.

And normally I will strike a conversation with a cab driver because I think cab drivers have very interesting stories to tell. And are mostly very eager to talk. And I love random conversations with random people. One off's.

But since I was on my way to an interview, I was doing a last minute mental run of my resume. Then, at a traffic light, this other cab pulls up next to us and an African cab driver sticks his head out the window and with a beaming smile across his way yells to my cab driver "Give me all your money" . My cabbie, also very amused, exchanges pleasantries and then we are on our way.

"You know that guy" he starts with a heavily Chinese accented voice. "He have interesting story."

"Yes?" I say...putting away my resume. Conversation with taxi guy vs resume prep. The former wins hands down.

Turns out that the other cab driver is from Trinidad. Some 12 years ago , him and my cab driver, met, when they both came to Toronto and started driving cabs. 5 years later, cab driver from Trinidad wins the 1.1 miliion dollars lottery! 1.1 million..12 years ago..you do the math!!


So he cashes his lottery and heads back home. A millionaire.

The Chinese cab driver's life moves on.

A month ago, the Chinese cab driver meets the Trinidadian cab driver, who is back now in Toronto, driving a cab again. Apparently, and so he says, he gave all his money to his family.

"Why he do that, " continues my cab driver, in a very animated voice, "he have no wife , no children. Who he give money to?".

"If I win money, I retire. I no drive taxi "

"I retire. He, a fool. I tell him"

"He, the only millionaire taxi driver, in Toronto"

And there in lays the affirmative to my theory. Always strike a conversation with a cab driver. They have some really interesting tales to tell.

I'm hoping to hail a taxi another day which is driven by the only millionaire taxi driver in Toronto. Because that would most certainly make for some very interesting conversation.

The Pakistani grandmother.

I was hanging out at this park near where I live. Something I do , almost every evening with my daughter. She plays, I sit there, facebooking on my Iphone, or soaking in the sun, or reading a book.

Only that Tuesday evening, I was gazing at people, which is also what I do. Check out passer bys, wonder what they do, what their story is. Which is when I noticed her. Walking towards us with a stroller.

She was wearing a salwar kameez. And although you have numerous suit and sari clad women in the suburbs, it is a somewhat rare sight in downtown. So I noticed, and I smiled, and she smiled back and came and parked the stroller next to where I was.

Late 60's, I would imagine, pepper and mostly salt hair in a braid, green and maroon cotton salwar kameez with sneakers, a very approachable face with extremely soft features. She let her granddaughter, who she babysits every day, out of the stroller and sat down next to me on the bench. Eager for a conversation.

And this is her story.

She came to Toronto from Pakistan in 1973. And she had been here ever since. She talked of a Toronto (which is now one of the most multi cultural, immigrant populated cities in the world), where there were hardly any immigrants from India or Pakistan. She spoke of how there was only one (as opposed to the gizzilion today) store that stocked Indian groceries, and the stock came in on Tuesdays and if you didn't get there in time, the masala packets were all gone!

And then she spoke of being a mother and a grand mother and of being a wife, and a woman. She gave me a perspective of her generation. She said it was hard. To be a working mom of two, to run a house of four, to cook and clean and manage the groceries. She spoke of her husband being a good husband and a good father and helping out. But she also said that the brunt of the work was hers as it is often a woman's. Sort the kids clothes, figure out whether the atta is over or is it the dal, keep track of meetings at work and PTA'S at school, dentists appointments or time for immunizations.

I asked her if she was bittter about all the work she had put in. She said no. That's just the way life was. And now her son and daughter are grown up and setlled. She is retired, as is her husband. The pension is comfortable. She relaxes. Does her yoga. Long pareyr hours. Babysits the grandchildren. Is no longer always in a rush.

I her daughter's life different than her, I ask? "To some extent , yes, "she says. "But some of the battles a woman fights always stay the same , "she adds. Not offering any further explanation, smiling , expecting me to just know.

" But," she says, "I help her out with the kids. so she can stay at work. See, I didn't have any help so I had to wait till my kids were 11 years and older to pick up a job. "

"I help her out as much as I can. Make it a little easier for her than it was for me. "

She spoke of how much she missed Pakistan. Especially when she first arrived to this land of foreign people, foreign culture and way too much snow. How she even misses it now, afetr so many years. How a foreign country can never be the same as home.

How this is home now, though, and she will live out her life here.

An hour had passed. It was time to leave. We put the kids in their stollers. I let her know how wonderful it was talking to her. She smiled and said she came her often and we should meet up more. She said she would bring some homeopathy medicine for my daughter who had trouble teething. And that I should meet her here again on Monday morning.

We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

I was meant to meet her yesterday and get the medicine. I had a hectic day and couldn't go. That's life.

In two weeks, I go back to work and most likely will not have time to go for my evenings at the park. I am hoping to meet her again before that. And have another conversation. With yet another interesting stranger.