envy or pity? (VAL)

The rickshaw is the Bangladeshi version of a taxi. It consists of a rickety old bike with an even more rickety cart attached to the back, usually decorated in bright paints, metallic buttons, and tassles, with fancy designs and portraits of Bangladeshi women (or in one case, a little towheaded boy). Lots of locals use this form of transport to go short distances, but I've also seen construction workers on the highway sitting atop their pile of beams while the rickshawallah (driver) strains to turn the pedals.

Matt and I like to take rickshaws up and down Gulshan Avenue, the main drag in the expat neighborhood. Once we're riding down the street in our little carriage, without fail every rickshawallah -- and many pedestrians -- will stare at us as we pass. I've often wondered what the other rickshawallahs are thinking as they watch our driver lug us around. On one hand, as bideshis (foreigners) we have more money to spend and tip much more lavishly than 99% of locals, so a good rickshawallah can earn half of his daily income with our one fare, which is determined beforehand by haggling. On the other hand, we are two BIG bideshis, both tall even for American standards (6'3" and 5'8") and no lightweights either (over halfway into his "third-world thirty", Matt still weighs over 200lbs.). These little rickshawallahs must be pulling at least four times their weight, and that's not counting the cart.

So the question I keep wondering is, are the stares from other rickshawallahs in envy or pity?