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She is small made, quick of movement, and she hustles us into the VIP lounge just off the crowded and somewhat noisy lobby of the Atlantis at the Palm Juneirah in Dubai. Her clothes, a uniform of sorts, flow around her as she moves, giving her an elfin grace. And she smiles with the eyes as she bids us to wait just a bit while she completes the check-in formalities.

As we sit taking in the high-domed ceiling and the decorations of the walls, she fills up our guest forms, gets us to sign them, and is ready with our keys to lead us to our rooms. The lift glides up the 10 floors and as she leads us down the carpeted corridors, she turns back often, birdlike in her movements, to ask us many questions.

I don’t normally like answering questions from people I have just met. I do believe many hotel staffers are told to engage guests in conversation to make them feel welcome and at home. Otherwise, why on earth would I have had to cope on some early, misty mornings, when the mist still hangs over my mind as much as it lingers over the grass, with limo drivers who, as they drive me to a 7am flight, ask how my day’s going to be and if I enjoyed my stay at their hotel.

I wonder, then, as I make semi-polite replies, what it really matters to them.... So it was that I made a rather poor attempt at being polite as I answered this young woman’s queries, some of which seemed to be almost personal in nature.

Where are you from, she asked at last, as she turned to leave. India, I responded. She smiled a smile that lit up her face. I am from India too, she said, and I could almost hear a song hanging in the air between us. I asked her name and she told me it was Taruna. Unusual name, I told her.

She left me then to lead my friend to her room on another floor, and I promptly forgot her.

It was later in the afternoon, when we sat chatting after lunch, that my friend told me more about Taruna.

She wanted to talk to us, she explained, because we were from India. She lived in Delhi, with her parents, and had come here because she got an opening at the Taj and now at the Atlantis. I thought of her again, and saw the eager eyes and slight girlish form and felt her vulnerability.

She was, after all, alone in a land other than her own, very far away from home. Not just in geographical miles, but also in terms of cultural distances. The lack of days available to her to enjoy a holiday would be one consideration and equally important would be the fact that she would have other priorities to meet with the money she earned at her job.

However well off her family might be, the boost her income in dinars would add to their lifestyle would change their needs and start rolling out a brand-new set of wants and must-haves. Or make her want to save for her own nest egg for whenever she might need it.

For all purposes then, her sojourn in the place outside her country would probably be one-year stretches at a time. Considering that she was at the reception desk, chances were she came from a middle-class background, where a girl is protected, wrapped in cotton wool to keep her safe from the marauding world, till she can be handed over in marriage.

I thought it was brave of her to have come so far; braver still of her family to allow her to. It was my turn to wish to ask questions. Had she had to do a lot of convincing? Was there silent protest or were there angry refusals, was there an element of mistrust... Or were the parents happy that their girl was being as clear in her career goals as any son, and thus had sent her off with a warning and a blessing. Questions I would have no access to, of course... it is not recommended for hotel employees to get familiar with guests.

Later, another young woman on duty casually asked me if I was who she thought I was. When I admitted she was right, she smiled and held out her hand, “I read DNA when I go home and love your magazine, Me”. I felt her hand warm in mine and let my smile warm her heart. Another girl far from home, seeking contact.

I wondered how many like her were away by themselves, making their lives, finding new paths. Would they be the same women who left home, when they finally had to return for whatever reason? Would it be an adventure to remember?

It seemed a new milestone had been reached in the coming to age of Indian womanhood. I could not tell. But there was, I realised, in my heart, a glow that spoke of pride in these, my countrywomen, who had found ways to conquer new frontiers.