The Cab Driver of Karachi

Imran clutched his mother's hand at the busy station, eyes wide at the honking cars and swirling crowds. They hailed a yellow taxi driven by Uncle Rashid, whose dashboard held prayer beads and a tiny plant in a cup.

Uncle Rashid greeted them warmly and pointed out a flock of birds over the market. "Allah feeds them," he said. "We will arrive safely, inshaAllah." Imran's nervous fingers relaxed on the seat.

Traffic stopped near a mosque where people carried pots of biryani for a school fundraiser. Uncle Rashid rolled down his window and bought two cups of chai for strangers waiting in line. "Small charity sweetens the road," he told Imran.

When they reached Imran's grandmother's house, Uncle Rashid refused extra fare. "The meter is fair," he said. Imran's mother made dua for him, and Imran added, "JazakAllah khayr, Uncle."

That night Imran drew the yellow taxi with the little plant. He told his grandmother he wanted to be kind like Uncle Rashid, calm in traffic and generous at stoplights. Some rides, he learned, take you somewhere better than an address.