Good Morning, Dubai!-4

Jamalludin abruptly stopped his cab on the kerb 100 metres after he took me on outside Tusit Thani, the Thai specialty five-star hotel, on Sheikh Zayed Road on Tuesday night. What happened? He downed my side window and began asking directions to Jumeira from a fellow-cabbie. He got his response in English and flashed an apologetic smile. Immediately, I knew I am being taken for a ‘ride’ because the lean and emaciated looking Pakistani cabbie is new to Dubai and has no clue to the locations except Zayed Road! After a few minutes, he stopped near another cab near DIFC and got out. From his gestures, I could make out that he met his soul mate. I downed windows to hear his convesations. The two cabbies were speaking in an unrecognizable language – which I later understood to be Pashtu. My cabbie is from Peshawar.

After his return, he exhibited much more confident. The mid-30s Pakistani cabbie began to open up once he realized that I am from India and can speak Hindi. “Am here for the past 10 months and find interesting. Earlier I was in Abu Dhabi,” he says. Roughly 30,000 Dirhams he has spent over 9 car license tests! He almost went broke. Thirty five per cent of his total monthly revenue is his salary and assures me that he somehow makes it every month. He gives me his mobile number and refuses to accept money from me, because I am his half-brother from India! I thrust the fare into his shirt pocket and hug him. Indo-Pak bhai, bhai!

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Global meltdown impact on Dubai is seen on the front pages of Gulf News. The lead story on Tuesday edition talks about the government amending certain laws to permit job losing expats to remain in Dubai on their visas for 30 days after the last day at work. This is basically to give time for them to find alternate jobs. There is also a clamour to give some concessions to their new employers in terms of reducing the processing fee etc. The National from Abu Dhabi, in its editorial, says 30 days is too short and canvasses for a longer gestation period. These people have spent a lot of time in this part of the world and have absorbed the local culture and got attuned. Recession is a temporary phenomenon and when the economy revives, UAE may need fresh workforce. It is better to give those who have had an exposure to Dubai a better deal than hiring a fresh lot. Assimilation takes a helluva lot of time. Am sure, many would appreciate such a gesture.

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“I am lucky,” says Abdul as we drive down the Zayed Road for a meeting with someone. Why? “So far, I have made three return trips from Media City to Dubai. This is my fourth one and I don’t have to pay ‘salik’ (toll)!” he explains. Everytime he passes the main thoroughfare, 4 dirhams from his smart card is deducted through the scanner installed on the road by reading the sticker stuck on his front glass panel. Abdul says four dirhams is too much. “They provide better roads and take money from you for that!,” he utters. Any trip after donating 24 dirhams on any single day is free! That should explain Abdul’s happiness.

The economic impact is visible as many drivers try to avoid cruising through toll roads by taking free roads which naturally get choked up. On the one hand, their pay check has got a hit and over and above that, they have to shell out for using public utilities heftily, says Abdul. “The gap between any two cars at times is more than 200 metres!” he says gleefully. Once upon a time – hardly 6-8 months ago, it was a bumper to bumper drive. In a way, he is happy that he is able to drive at 100 km/hour speed at some sections of Zayed Road. Unimaginable until recently.
Insha Allah!

Good Morning, Dubai! -3

You’ve no reason to know Mona. No, am not talking about the late Hindi film villain Ajit’s sexy sidekick. But a recent female acquaintance who spruced up my life, in a way! Before you jump to conclusions and bite into my better half’s ears that there is another woman in my life – a newly acquired one, hang on. Mona is a Filipino housemaid. Two days into my new abode in Dubai, it was in a mess. Sajji, the Keralite car showroom clerk – the original lessee of my residence-in-Dubai and who had packed off his family as his income tumbled over the past six months – had given away the self-contained home as-is-where condition. You can imagine a house that had no ‘feminine’ touch.

In walks Mona, not-more-than four feet something, lean and hungry with a wad of currencies thrust into her palms by Abdul, my benevolent friend-cum-prospective employer, to ‘clean up the mess and make Ramesh’s life tolerable’ as he put it. ‘Surprise Ramesh when he returns home this evening,” is the parting message from Abdul to Mona as we hop into his Toyota Corrolla on Tuesday morning. Mona did not let me down when I enter with Abdul in tow at 11 in the night. Bingo, All belongings of Sajji have been nicely packaged and kept in the small forecourt after entering the house. Bed made up, kitchen and washroom cleaned up, all knick-knack strewn around the living-cum-bedroom are inconspicuous. And, above all, the home has been ‘sanitised’. I had no clue what Mona had done when she had met me around 5 p.m. in the office to hand over my flat key. Her tale is a sad one, which I will share sometime later. Thanks, Mona. I know one more Mona in Delhi, who is currently in Singapore pursuing her Masters in Business Administration, whose tale is equally poignant. Both Monas are cute pretty young things (PYTs), you know what I mean!

***
Believe me when I say there is an E 240 BMW and a Land Cruiser parked in front of my door! Of course, I don’t own them. Nor do I know its owners. But they are there. When I step up for morning walk, I gently run my palms over the BMW bonnet like petting my Zack! Will I own a car in Dubai? Did I own one in Muscat? Nope. Did I have one in Delhi. Yes. What’s the big deal, I ask myself. Stupid, first settle down. Then think about car etc, I hear a voice within me reprimanding.

***
By the way, April 27th was my 28th marriage anniversary. Wife greets me through SMS and then over phone. She breaks down. I too. Like Amitabh-Hemamalini in that tear-jerker – forgotten the name of the Hindi flick – we sob. Who says men don’t cry? I certainly do. It is therapeutic. Daughter and her pals send SMS greetings. Thanks, kids! For more than 4 years, I had never been at home for wedding anniversaries. Work always kept me away from home. Quietly I sing, “We shall overcome” between intermittent sobs and dilated eyes. Very senti stuff.

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Around 6.30 p.m., we pack up and drive for early dinner becoz neither of us had lunch. ‘How about Lebanese?’ asks Abdul. Why not? We sit out in the open air restaurant with a gentle breeze in play. It is sparsely crowded. For starters, I order ‘falafal’, rock salad, hommus etc. When the piping hot falafal is served, it appears like south Indian medu vada, but crispy with sesame seeds prominent on the surface. Falafal reminds me of my Egyptian colleague, Zoher Al Araby, in Muscat. Abdul explains the difference between Egyptian and Lebanese style of falafal preparation. Tie-wearing and English speaking Lebanese stewards mill around pampering us with food. A potato preparation with soft, spongy and hot Lebanese roti, I take as main course. Top it with kiwi juice. My wife will kill me for drinking anything sweet! Why there is no cure for diabetes, I wonder.

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We take a stroll and enter a bar for a bit of boozing. In one 4-star, our entry is disallowed because we are told men in ‘kanduras’ – white Arabic full-body covering tunic – are not permitted to drink. Abdul, an Emirati, is unconcerned. We move into another joint where he is a regular and we were more than welcomed. With Kolkata Knight Riders vs Bombay Indians IPL match in progress, we swig beer and snacks remain untouched till we leave. Abdul catches up with a Tunisian girl-steward and he recites a patriot couplet to her in Arabic. She is totally mesmerized and begins to recite the same along with him. I can see the linguistic bonding there! She reminds me of my friend, Dr Mezzazine, Dean of Economics and Business at University of Nizwa, who is again from Tunisia. Both speak fluent French. Neither I, nor Abdul.

***
Abdul’s friend brings his car back and we leave for home. It’s almost 11 p.m. when I return. In the process of sprucing up my new abode, I notice that Mona had disposed off the pictures of elephant-faced Ganesh, Sai Baba and Goddess of Wealth Lakshmi that I had pasted on the open shelf! All three deserted me in one go! What’s in store for me, I wonder. Once again, I pick up Robert Frost’s poetry collection. Unable to concentrate. But his famous “Miles to go before I sleep” poem that I had read in Class 11 (1972) reverberates at the back of my mind. I switch off lights to begin my noctural journey into the unknown. Insha Allah!

Good Morning, Dubai!-2

The first trip on Sunday was to Dubai World Trade Centre. Massive set up. Abdul parks his Toyota in the multi level parking lot – 6th or 7th floor! Really an uphill task! He has come to meet up with a government dignitary, who would be inaugurating an expo in the WTC. We get Media accreditation meanwhile and drink free coffee in the Registration arena. There are more than dozen exhibition halls on the ground level and out of which only two are hosting something or other. So, the huge set up presents an empty look! You’ve guessed it right: empty is the theme. The dignitary arrives on dot, cuts ribbon and we join the small crowd whom video/still cameramen shoot with and without flash. Will we appear in the next day’s paper, don’t know. Friend shakes hand and exchange Arab style greetings. We go along for a short distance and quietly withdraw to move elsewhere. At the other venue in the same premises, another senior government is scheduled to have opened another expo at 10.30 a.m. But the wrist watch shows 11.15 a.m. and no sign of him/her. But there are visitors and participants inside the hall. An eager organization crowd awaits the arrival of the dignitary. We move into the coffee shop to drink our cuppa. Losing patience, we scoot out.

***
Our next halt is another majestic hotel where over lemon slice-dipped diet coke and Turkish coffee (for my colleague-cum-friend), we continue our ‘dubai-gone-to-dhobi’ kind of talk. Greed is the single factor that emerges as the main reason for Dubai going overboard and snuffing out enthusiasm and driving away hordes of expats out to save their respective skins. After an hour, we move to the 26th floor restaurant for buffet lunch. Yes, it is empty except for the three of us. It was the same place, my friend tells me, where you have to wait for a minimum of an hour in the atrium to get a seat! The Thai staff greet us and allow us to pick our choice of seat. We are literally confused because every seat appears comfy and vacant as well. Who choice is a good thing? Lunch over, scoot out to Dubai Media City some serious work. Parking is easy which was unimaginable during my last trip to the same spot. Of course, it was two years ago! As I walk through the corridors of DMC, most offices are shut and learn that many have ceased to operate.

***
Around 6.30 p.m., we pack up and drive down to Zayed Road and friend suggests a coffee-shisha round on the main thoroughfare. He could not locate his favourite haunt and so we park near Sheraton and walk down. Restaurant after restaurant sports vacant look. Not a single soul inside restaurants. Remember it is 7 p.m. on a weekday! And that too in the main business district. I wonder what friend Matein Khalid might be doing at this hour in his office. Today being Sunday, world market would have been closed though for Dubai it is the first working weekday. Again the choice plays tricks. We were unable to decide where to shisha-n-sip. Barring us (two), there is a sole Emirati in the corner smoking his special stuff. Service is quick and fast. Over a strawberry laced mocktail, I look across to watch the moving traffic. Not that roads are empty. But the number of whizzing vehicles is on the lower side. Of course, you simply cannot jump across the divider and cross the road. No way. Single and double-decker buses are half-filled. I notice a few passengers waiting at the aesthetically structured bus shelters. Reminded of IPL dugouts. Except the frontal glass door and possibly airconditioned, given local climatic conditions.

***
I would have easily walked 5 kilometres up and down at World Trade Centre and near Zayed Road unknowingly. Not including my routine morning walks. Construction workers are nowhere in sight. Buildings that are nearing completion have slowed down because nobody is sure whether they will be able to let them out or sell. Why hurry? Friend suggests that property owners should come to the rescue to restaurateurs and help them by reducing rents or helping them in some way or other. Kind hearted soul!

***
I am dropped home. No TV. Don’t feel like eating. Feel like calling home, but give it up. Let me SMS tomorrow morning to greet my wife: it will be our 28th wedding day. I write the message for her and store it for delivery on Monday morning. During the day, by mistake, I had pressed ‘web’ on my mobile and it has eaten away 5 dirham unnecessarily. Every dirham counts, buddy in crises. I pick up Robert Frost’s collection of verses to engage my mind. No way. I give it up. Switch off lights and get in the warm clutches of Madame Sleep! Good night! Insha Allah!

Good Morning, Dubai! - 1

You may not believe it, but it did happen. As passengers to Dubai were getting ready to queue up through Gate No. 9 for Jazeera J9 423 around 4 p.m. on Saturday (April 25), suddenly the security personnel manning the security check counters fell flat on their tummies with their guns drawn and aiming at something. No shouts. No alarms. Nothing. Passengers strolling stood in amazement wondering what’s happening. Out of curiosity, many moved towards the scene of action. No shots were fired. Nor any suspicious movements noticed. “Film shooting,” said someone. “See there, dad,” shouted a kid with a lot of merriment written all over. This drama went on for close to 10 minutes. Suddenly a few security personnel came rushing and asked all passengers near Gate No. 9 to clear off the area and hustled all of them to Gate 1 on the ground floor. “This is no joke. Security drill is on. Move, move,” one lady security officer kept shouting. Interestingly, a Jazeera employee quietly dissuading passengers not to move to ground floor. Ultimately, we did go down for a short while.

***

I never knew Jazeera is a low cost airline. The friend who booked my ticket to Dubai did not inform me. I was hungry and kept waiting for something to be served after the flight took off on time. Suddenly, I noticed that many passengers were taking out their tiffin carriers and began eating rotis, parotas, samosa, kurkures, fruit juices in plastic bottles and cans. There was no sign of any cabin crew. That’s when I realized that you have to pay to eat something on board! “Whiskey?” I heard one passenger asking the stewardess at the rear. I picked up a bottle of water, coffee and a blackberry muffin after parting with Omani Rial.

***

Half the flight was empty. One of the cabin crew member was deep asleep for most of the three hour plus journey from Delhi to Dubai! Of course, the crew was very efficient. Nothing to serve. They kept to themselves. Very few passengers pressed the buzzer demanding anything. Cool, cool airlines!

***
It was a long walk on horizontally moving escalators from the aircraft to the exit gate – almost a kilometer! I was visiting almost after two years. The airport was almost empty! Yes, empty! The usual hustle and bustle was missing. Now they have introduced eye-scan security for incoming visitors. The number of passport control counters (immigration) was too many to count! In less than 5 minutes I passed through the immigration. Of course, there were few flights and few passengers at 6.45 p.m. (local time). The immigration counter clerk was very polite and asked whether he can help me with hotel booking! However, the wait at the baggage claim conveyor belt zone was long. Dubai airport is amazing. But I love it with teeming crowd. Not deserted one.
***

My friend was at the exit gate and we drove away quickly. Roads were almost empty. I was told that many expats have left due to the recessionary impact. So the traffic was very smooth. We parked at a petrol filling station to buy Etisalat prepaid card which again was sparsely crowded. Samantha, the Filipino sales counter who sold the prepaid card, kept insisting my friend to bring more visitors like me to her shop, because ‘business is dull’.

***
Our next halt was at Lido – roadside coffee-cum-shisha joint. Yes, it was again sparsely crowded. According to my friend, it would have been next to impossible to get a seat either inside or outside a few months ago. Customers were watching a live football match on a giant tv screen inside while others are surfing on the internet. We sip mint-n-lime juice and share shisha and exchange notes on the impact of global meltdown.

***

“Rents have crashed by more than 40 per cent,” tells my friend. During daytime, if you move around, you will see more ‘Tolet’ boards,” he adds. He arranged an one-living room, self-contained kitchen, bathroom outhouse near Zayed Road. The world’s tallest building under construction is hardly a kilometer away from my new tenement. The rent is 2700 dirhams for a month. He says it is cheap. I have no idea.

***
Wake up at 4 a.m. Rearrange my stuff. Go out for a walk. New country. New area. No Zack in tow. No wife to accompany. Weather is fine. I walk on Al Wasa road and bump into Emarat petrol station. Yes, I get my cuppa. Gulf News, a cellophane wrapped apple. “Have you taken your morning medicine?” demands an SMS from my better half. Read Sunil Vaidya’s Omani inventor story and congratulate him through sms. Light up a Marlborough.

***
96 hours ago when I left Muscat back to Delhi, I had no clue I would be back in the Gulf so soon. Man proposes, and God disposes. I simply have no idea what is in store. I am willing to go with the wind. Insha Allah!

Muscat Airport Re-entry

After six long months, today I had the chance to re-enter Muscat International Airport to see off my daughter heading for Delhi/India. Check in was silky: smooth and quick. In less than 10 minutes, she checked in and we were out for a cuppa @ Costa Coffee near the arrival lounge. When will my turn to cross the immigration gates will come? Dunno.

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Picked Up a copy of Bob Dorgin's Curve Ball the real life spy story of what poor sleuthing led to the Gulf War II.

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