Independent Goa Observer

DUBAI ROULETTE OR FULL CIRCLE

In this new feature that we will carry periodically, ARMEN, looks back in time when the Gulf was a primitive wasteland and narrates the story of its dramatic transformation.

IT SEEMS more like a homecoming, not the latest lap in a roving life that it actually is.

It was around the mid-seventies that my parents landed on these shores. The newly-confederated United Arab Emirates (formerly the Trucial Coast) was no great shakes then, struggling to hold on to its nascent unity after centuries of tribal rivalries, putting everything into building up the state and its constituent emirates and offering its largely Indian immigrant workers a dirham that weighted the same as a rupee or less. Telling somebody that your Dad worked in Abu Dhabi didn’t bring on that peculiar gleam in their eyes that visions of the Gulf’s bountiful riches otherwise did to folks. The sympathetic kind even commiserated on your lack of fortune at having parents stuck in a place few had heard of. The shine was in the dinars of Kuwait.

Barely out of school, my mater being a sensible sort, had my future charted out. A secretarial course, she insisted and a job with the UAE government. She had friends who’d help. In my present circumstances, I’d probably jump at such an offer. But when you’re not quite 18 and pondering on all the weighty issues of life, wondering which way to go and who not to smile at, matters of employment, that too in a distant land (the concept of ‘no land’ was yet to emerge, we didn’t have Internet), are the least of one’s concerns. After much soul-searching, serious consultations with peers and a minor revolt of sorts, I opted out. No job, no Gulf, no Gulfie husband. Bad blood ensued. I was on my own.

DUBAI: From a primitive wasteland to a concrete jungle.

It was a path that saw me grappling with the Bard’s verse at St Xavier’s and with Rajan’s brand of crusading journalism at the Herald; then to sedate, cautious reporting at The Navhind Times under the kind tutelage of Triple M and the nuances of caste and creed in Goan society (something that hadn’t touched my life till then); running around as Goa Union of Journalists general secretary and other things; a comfortable stint exploring Goa-Kannada links at the Deccan Herald and a not-so comfortable one at Kuwait Times, surviving dust-storms and racism, and more importantly, understanding the vast difference between a primarily tribal, monarchist society forced into sudden wealth and the poor, overpopulated yet bustling democratic polity of home that makes me whatever I am today.

And now, after all this time and a long detour, I am at the very place my parents had wanted me to be in twenty years ago, a place I’d turned my back on. Call it fate or punishment, but landing here feels kind of inevitable, like something that had to be done at some point or the other. So here I am in the UAE, where my parents hoped and toiled, from where we got our first feel of Levis and Wranglers, our first bite of MacKintosh chocolates and red-coated Edams, heady whiffs of Chanel and Yardley and our introduction to Sheikh Zayed, the revered President of the UAE who my simple parents spoke of with such admiration, even bringing home books with his pictures and that of the UAE, for us to see. The games that life plays with us!

It’s the middle of a desert summer here, with the mercury hovering around the mid-forties and humidity crossing the 90 per cent mark. Venturing out, even to the ‘baqala’ or super market across the road, requires real effort. Conveniently though, most stores are obliging enough to take orders over the phone and send their delivery staff across with anything you need, from mineral water and ice-cream to suntan lotion and the magazine of your choice. And you don’t even need to tip though it’s nice to do so and ensures prompt service the next time you call up. For those driving long distances to work, air-conditioning is an absolute must and a change of clothes, a practical way to deal with the day. And don’t forget the liquids.

Most folk though prefer to make the best of the vacations and escape the heat. The well-heeled Emirati changes homes, moving with family and domestics to cooler climes in Europe. The westerners usually head home, the Asians to their respective lands and my ‘deshbandhus’ take flights to Goa, Kerala, Gujarat, Delhi, Chennai, Bangalore, Bombay, Toronto, Vancouver, London, Leicester, Melbourne, Lisbon, Pretoria (the place is teeming with Indians of all denominations).

Quite a few take the road to Salalah in southern Oman (a 14-hour drive from Dubai), which is blessed by cool showers from the southwest monsoon or check out the pyramids of Gizeh or the hot springs of Turkey; vie for a glimpse of the Pope in Rome or a bit of romance in gay Paree; ski the wintry slopes of southern Australia or laze on the exotic beaches of Thailand and Malaysia.

Connectivity is no problem at all and planes fly in and out of Dubai international airport, one of the busiest and fastest growing in the world, every few minutes. The intermingling of tongues from the millions of passengers (21 million projected for this year) passing through it put the Tower of Babel in the shade, and yet everything’s well-organised and efficient. Drive down Sheikh Zayed Road and you see silver monsters winging up from the buildings, pretty close above your head. Takes some getting used to!

Some stay put and that’s not at all disappointing. With a bit of ‘felous’ and time to spare, mall crawling is a pleasure. Malls here are enticingly spacious, house movie halls and play zones and have some fantastic summer discounts on offer. In between peering at shop windows, you can breakfast on samosas and chaat, lunch on spaghetti Napolitano, lick a Baskins Robbins creation or crunch a KFC burger. And if you feel like it, do some serious buying.

The annual Dubai Summer Surprises festival is on, making this the best time to hit the malls, where all sorts of fun events unfold week after week. Giant Popeyes, prancing Toms and Jerrys, swaying flowers and petal showers, ice-cream on the house and chocolates for grabs, ethnic dances, beach races and all sorts of contests keep kids happy and have brought in plenty of folk from neighbouring states, that keeps hoteliers happy. With an eye firmly on the buck, Dubai reinvents itself all the time.

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