20/05/2025
Itâs raining heavily outside. Uncle has been driving since morning. Wearing a white cap and a light panjabiâhe's not soaked, but clearly tired. The streetlights blur through the raindrops, water trickles down the rickshawâs front glass, and he wipes it with his hand every now and then, trying to clear the path a little.
His name is Abdul Hai. Around sixty years old. He used to teach at a madrasa once, but lifeâs pressure led him to start driving a rickshaw. Three sons and a daughter. The eldest works abroad, the middle one is still unemployed, and the youngest is in college. The daughterâshe was married off about a year ago.
Heâs been out since morning. It was lightly raining at first, so there werenât many passengers. He got drenched a bit at noon, then sat in an old tea stall sipping hot tea to warm himself. His body was shivering, but he wore a smile on his face.
âAlhamdulillah, as long as my hands and feet work, Iâll keep driving,ââhe always says that.
I got on his rickshaw in the evening. My destination wasnât far, but uncle began to talk. He told me how he dropped off an elderly woman at the hospital for free today.
âIf you do something for the sake of Allah, thereâs no loss, son,ââhe said.
The sound of the rain, the wet roads ahead, and the calm face of an old manâsometimes it feels like true courage and love are hidden in the silent lives of people like him.
My destination arrived. I looked at him and said, âUncle, itâs okay. Iâll walk from here.â
He smiled. âPray for me, son. May Allah keep me well.â
The rickshaw slowly disappeared into the rainy crowd of the city.
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