The taxi and the elevator are quite similar in that they confine people in a limited space with complete strangers. The experience is somewhat scary, but also full of hope.

Since I came to the nation's capital some 20 years ago, I've found that the common belief that Beijing's taxi drivers are political commentators is quite far from the truth.

Years ago, only the news and classic music radio channels could be heard in the city's cabs. It's natural that current affairs would supply topics of dialogue between driver and passenger.

However, while channels discussing pop music, telling enticing stories or helping listeners diagnose problems with their cars have mushroomed in the past ten years or so, what you hear from a taxi driver often has nothing to do with current affairs.

It seems to me that taxi drivers here are primarily concerned with traffic accidents, new cars, driving methods and strange passengers.

But a common topic that interests me the most is about life. A few years ago, there was a campaign to take off the iron fence around the taxi driver's seat. News came that a newly wed driver was killed by a robber. I asked the driver who told me the story, if he felt insecure since his car didn't have a fence.

"Anyone who takes a look at me," said the tall, muscular man, "would reconsider what he wanted to do."

The driver said he used to run for two hours even on snowing days. But to support his family, he has given up the hobby. "My spirit has kept running," said he, handing me the invoice.

Another popular topic is family. I sit in silence as the drivers go on about their wives and parents. However, some of the divorced drivers say that while they work hard to support their children to school, they aren't allowed to see their dear little ones.

Once I was stuck on the 2nd Ring Road. The driver's wife kept calling him. It was his son's birthday, the whole family was sitting by the sizzling hotpot, waiting for dad to put in the first chunk of mutton.

"How powerless I am when my family needs me," uttered the driver. "This is life."

Most drivers are happy to have listeners who are patient and understanding. I feel like a loyal recorder who bumps into a stranger's enclosed space and leaves with his or her joys and sorrows with me.

Once a driver of the Hui minority told me that he was sending an Arabic merchant to the airport when they were stuck on the congested airport express way. By chance, the passenger quoted the Quran, and the driver quoted the next sentence.

Overjoyed, the man quoted more and the driver was always ready to give the following phrase. When they finally inched their way to the terminal, the passenger held his driver's hands tightly, embraced him, called him "dear brother", offered him a name card and said a lot of things in fast Arabic.

"He probably invited me to his home if I went on a pilgrimage," said the driver, beaming with a bright smile.

The story first appeared on Southern People's Weekly

(China Daily 04/29/2008 page20)