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!

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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.

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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.

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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!