Trishaw Uncle

Walking towards the bus stop at Macpherson, I took my usual route, which meant crossing a small lane where the famous prawn noodle shop was and towards the little mama shop on the other side of the street. It was raining and I had my umbrella. Just then, the usual neighbourhood trishaw rider trundled down the road.

I've always seen him around, a grey-haired tanned man - not skinny, usual sized, v well-groomed with gelled back hair, with a gentlemanly air and a comb stuck at the back of his pants. He doesn't look like the typical trishaw-riding uncle, with his rather stately air. He pedals this bicycle with a slow purposeful momentum, and on other days, I catch him making small-talk with the womenfolk who ride home from the market. Today he's wearing a transparent raincoat, and no one seems interested in riding his trishaw. For some reason, this chance meeting made me pause, more so than when we usually cross paths. How many clients does he get in a day? This is a well-groomed, refined-looking man who I can imagine sitting in a room discussing calligraphy and books. And then I started to wonder about his background - Is this a hobby? Is this a much-needed job? Do his children support him? What is behind this face that I often see?