Alex Ting of Miri

Alex Ting is a small, stocky sixty-year old who lives in Miri, Malaysia. He drives a large van-taxi between Miri and Bandar in Brunei. Three weeks back, my parents, my brother and I happened to need a ride between the 2 cities and we got in touch with him.

We landed at the Miri airport and looked around for our ride. Suddenly, this little fellow came running up and went, “So much luggage”.

My dad was a little shocked at his rudeness but managed a “Will it be a problem?”

“No”.

And he waddled along to the back of his car and pulled out 24 eggs and an enormous bunch of this local fruit called the rambutan.

In a few minutes we were all piled in with our luggage and the exotic cargo and were on our way. Miri is known for its handicraft, tribal heirlooms and the like, and we had intended on buying some. My dad asked Alex if he could stop for a few minutes at a handicraft shop.

“Handicraft. All you Indians – you buy handicraft. Masks, funny things. It is useless. Why you Indians buy handicraft?”

My dad replied without a moment’s hesitation, “So that when I am back home in India, I remember Alex Ting.”

He let out a squeal of excitement and I can swear that his ears turned red. He drove us to the handicraft shop and bought a bunch of trinkets completely forgetting his anti-handicraft lecture just minutes back.

We continued driving under the hot equatorial sun. The inordinately large bunch of rambutans sitting in front of us started to look incredibly inviting. When we stopped at the border-post between the two countries, Alex pulled out the rambutans and conspiratorially handed them over to the border security. It turned out that the fruit were Alex’s “travel insurance”.

It was late in the evening and we were rather close to home when Alex pulled into a petrol pump. With a shout that sounded distinctly like “Wakata Wa” he jumped out of the van and went to fill his petrol. Two minutes later, I was jolted out of my half-sleep by a yelp and the image of Alex running towards the restroom. It turned out that he had held the pump in the opposite direction and had managed to douse himself with gasoline.

Eventually, we got to Brunei. As Alex dropped us off, my dad politely asked him if he knew how to find his way back. Alex dismissed my dad’s offer of help with a “Ya. Sure la”. And just as we were going to leave, he popped out of nowhere and went “Show me, La”.

Alex Ting is a small, stocky sixty-year old who lives in Miri, Malaysia. And there is no one who drives a taxi quite like him.