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ShareMumbai: When my cousin invited me on a job-hunting holiday in Dubai, I laughed. It sounded that improbable to me at my salary. But less than six months later, someone up there must have been having the last laugh as I boarded a plane to Dubai. There was this job interview for which the hiring company was willing to finance my to-and-fro trip to Dubai, accommodation and food included.
I counted all the 17 years since I had last flown, as the in-flight announcer's kalma powered the Gulf Air jet's ascent into the skies. And I arrived in Dubai the moment I landed there. Every passenger on the bus from the tarmac to the airport terminal was looking at me, as I seemed to be the only one looking out at the dazzling lights of the airport.
I was just as dazzled by young girls, their heads covered in that Islamic clothing, flirting with boys their age at the reception where tourists are provided the original visa on furnishing a copy of it.
Visa, eye-dentity and luggage later, my cousin was driving me (at 100km/hr) to the hotel I had been booked in, while I kept staring at the dazzling streaks of light. The speed had made me think of the book I had carried with me to Dubai, India in Slow Motion.
At the hotel, I was asked to deposit my passport. Seeing my discomfort, the man at the reception tried to reassure me it was the done thing. But his attempts in Hindi only made me all the more suspicious. I realised soon that six out of every 10 people you meet on a Dubai street would be Indians, and five of them, without fail, Keralites. Total strangers smiled at me, convincing me every time that perhaps I did look like a Keralite.
The remaining four people you will see on Dubai's streets would be Europeans or from The Philippines, my observation was. So, where were all the sheikhs? I never saw one till I entered a Chinese restaurant. Them Sheikhs stay behind air conditioned environs, shielded by tinted windows, be it of a car or of a room.
When my cousin came to take me around Dubai after Day I of tests and interviews, I settled for Chinese food over Arabian, just so that I could have the pleasure of being driven around Dubai, than just crossing the road from my hotel to the Lebanese joint across. I regret today that on the culinary map I hadn't travelled far. In fact I have little to prove I actually was in Dubai. Since I would be in office during the day, I discovered Dubai by night. A photograph I had taken before the Burj-al-Arab hotel never saw the light of day.
Another of myself before the then upcoming Burj towers, under-exposed. The race course, underexposed. The musical fountain, underexposed. I only have photographs taken indoors at my cousin's place. I certainly overestimated those dazzling lights.
On Day II, my hosts talked of pay and other things. They told me rents were very high. Most people stayed in Sharjah and drove to work (like living in Mumbai's suburbs, though not everybody has the cars to drive to work). They told me other things about Dubai, while adding it was no indication I was actually landing the job. They did, however, end the conversation with a hearty "Welcome to Dubai."
My cousin completed my picture of Dubai with tit-bits about the law there, how he had to cut down speed when he knew he was approaching radar (and how he was caught when they once changed its position), about having to buy water, it being more expensive than oil in the desert country. Even the hotel receptionist expressed shock when he looked up how much water I had used. He then smiled and said, "Anyways, company pays."
I wonder if I lost a chance to go back because of the huge water bills I must have run up when I forgot the close the faucet once.
But I certainly was in awe of the place. Seeing so many Indians working efficiently made me wonder why their work culture is not in evidence back home. It's like a jacket they wear at the airport before entering Dubai and return to the authorities before boarding a plane back home.
