New Yorker - July 4, 2005
THE NIGHT LIFE OFF DUTY
A book party with no cocktails: ouch. In fairness to the folks at the New Press, which helped organize such a dreaded event recently, at a restaurant on West Twenty-ninth Street, there were a few limiting circumstances. For one thing, almost all of the invited guests were driving. Also, most of them were Muslims and, more to the point, among the city's best experts on the consequences of excessive social drinking. They were cabbies. The book being celebrated was "Taxi! Cabs and Capitalism in New York City," by Biju Mathew, a business professor at Rider University, and a founding member of the New York Taxi Workers Alliance, a fast-growing labor union.
Compounding the problem was the fact that the party didn't begin until 1 A.M.-the start of the slow period for drivers working the night shift. Many of the cabbies, at least, would likely have been in the neighborhood anyway. The stretch of the upper Twenties bounded by Lexington and Broadway is their sanctuary-featuring not only the union's headquarters but also free and plentiful late-night parking, a popular mosque, and several subcontinental restaurants, including Lasani, where the party took place.
For nearly an hour, the author, who was wearing a kurta and jeans, greeted incoming guests and answered apologetic phone calls from those who were still en route. Early arrivals sat at tables in the front, drinking water from plastic cups and reading the Pakistan Post. On the wall, a makeshift poster was affixed with old newspaper clippings: "CABBIE CHEATS DEATH," "HACK STABBED." Unlike, say, "The New York City Cab Driver's Book of Dirty Jokes," which was honored with a party of its own several days later, at the National Arts Club, "Taxi!" is an earnest political tract, and the mood at Lasani reflected the mission. Obligatory author remarks and testimonials were accompanied by readings about the "neoliberal economy" ("Arguably, the taxi industry as it was formed in the 1980s reflected the globalized world of finance capital"), and by a call to protest the Taxi and Limousine Commission's planned installation of Global Positioning Systems. ("It's very clear that this is coming down from Homeland Security," Bhairavi Desai, the alliance's executive director, announced.)
Discordant cell-phone rings punctuated the proceedings. Eventually, it was time to eat, and the throngs lined up for curry and naan. Exactly what the full range of party chatter was is tough to say, because a variety of languages were spoken, but an interloper, with a little persistence, was able to discern that most drivers would probably disagree with the cheery characterization of the yellow cab (made at a recent design forum at Parsons) as "New York's movable public space." A fairer, if blunter, slogan might be: "Our workspace, where you annoy and disrespect us."
"They treat the car like they're slobs," a driver whose handle on the Bengal Cabbie Association's CB radio channel is Babar said of his passengers. He added that those who sit in the front seat, and who make radio requests, are usually drunk. Drunk passengers occasionally throw up, and the smell lingers for weeks.
"There are so many things," Rizwan Raja, a Pakistani driver, said, rattling off a list of his pet peeves: putting one's feet up on the partition, smoking, crossing the street lackadaisically. Requesting multiple stops is also frowned upon. "These people come out of expensive, posh bars, where one beer is twenty dollars, but they make groups together so they can share a taxi and save a couple of dollars," Raja said. " 'Three stops'-that really, really blows me off." Tips, ever since the fare increase, have been meagre: "Sometimes forty cents, sometimes twenty cents."
Raja went on, "The worst is when they ask, 'Where are you from?' Once you answer that question, then it's 'What is the relationship between Al Qaeda and the Pakistani government?' " Raja, who says he is asked that question "almost every day," has recommended that his passengers see "Fahrenheit 9/11."
By 3 A.M., the crowd had dwindled to about a dozen, who sat around a table eating rice pudding and drinking more water. With dessert, at last, came a festive atmosphere: jokes! Desai, the alliance's director, started off: "George Bush, Tony Blair, and Yasir Arafat arrive at the gates of Heaven . . ." Another joke followed, featuring Ronald Reagan and the Pope. A third involved male and female parrots, placed in the same cage at long last. (The punch line, delivered by a male parrot: "Yo, God has finally listened!") No dirty jokes, alas.
The interloper, emerging from Lasani at 4 A.M., sober and sleepy, hailed a cab on Sixth Avenue and rode home in the back seat in silence. One stop. The fare was five dollars and eighty cents, and he handed the driver eight dollars.
- Ben McGrath