Big dreams, small joys
It was hardly the stuff dream homecomings are made of. The sickening noise from the engines of the Indian Airlines (rechristened Indian) aircraft preparing for take-off, ensured that my first annual vacation to India began with a two-hour tribulation at Dubai airport. Our ageing plane had ‘surprisingly’ developed a technical snag. At least, that is what the grumpy air hostesses and sleepy pilot said. So much for the Rs 500-crore merger of Air India and Indian, India’s national carriers. One more reason to turn up one’s nose at everything Indian.
It’s not difficult to comprehend why people from the subcontinent flock to Dubai like moths to a flame. Exchange rates aside, quality of life is the most pressing of arguments put forward by fellow expatriates. My recent vacation home bolstered this belief, but it also made me realise why dirhams can’t buy happiness and why India will always be home.
Landing in Mumbai, after a year of living in Dubai was unnerving. The claustrophobic Fiat Padmini cab flying over the city’s uneven potholed roads rattled more than my bones. I am no fan of modern Dubai, but I missed the broad well laid-out roads and luxurious cabs. Heaps of garbage, crazy motorists and the overwhelming ruckus made me almost regret my decision to stop over in Mumbai on my way home to Goa. Wonder how a care-a-damn Indian becomes a law-abiding expatriate in Dubai. Deportation, anyone?
It’s a crying shame that a country, whose engineers and workers build state-of-the-art bridges, roads and buildings here in Dubai, creates more politicians than infrastructure. India’s Commerce Minister recently called on Dubai to help create world class infrastructure in India. He wants $ 350 billion to build infrastructure. Don’t know about bridges and roads, but the Indian bureaucrat must surely be licking his chops in anticipation.
My first few hours in Mumbai were devoted to putting my exasperated friends through a comparative analysis of infrastructure in India and Dubai. But as I puffed on a cigarette in a flat in a lush Goregaon colony, I realised that the air no longer smelled foul. The sparrow twittering at the window was the first I had heard in months. Heck, even the cawing of the crows felt good. A couple of housewives were gossiping nineteen to the dozen. A vegetable hawker was hollering somewhere. This was home.
The upcoming Dubai Metro or swanky malls and restaurants can never match the exhilaration of travelling in a Mumbai local train or the joy of catching up with old friends over a few pegs of whiskey in a seedy joint. Sure, I love Dubai’s well-planned infrastructure and systematic administration, but there is something missing. A journalist friend had a question. “You work and stay in Dubai, but do you live there?”
Point to ponder. To truly ‘live’ in Dubai, you have to adapt to a cosmopolitan world where change – both positive and negative – is permanent. Emotions are hardly of consequence in an arena where change is the pathway to progress. People switch jobs for a better pay package, cars and household appliances outlive their utility as fast as manufacturers churn out upgraded versions and the construction boom ensures that the landscape is changing every other day. Be it Sheikh Zayed Road or your job, you got to maintain the speed limit or be run over.
Of course, construction labourers and home delivery boys are run over regularly. After all, there’s more where they come from. Yes, not all expatriates get a fair share of Dubai’s development pie. Exorbitant rents and living costs conspire to put people into permanent exile. It is a tribute to the human spirit that some succeed in getting out of the financial rut to actually ‘live’ their Dubai dream. Or maybe they just win a raffle draw.
In sab chalta hai (anything goes) India, very few things change in that unrecognisable sort of way. Why? Beneath all the chaos at the bottom of the social ladder and the hype at the top, you find the human spirit weathering the relentless assault of consumerism. Take my village doctor in his little clinic, attending to his loyal patients from 6 a.m. to midnight, something he has been doing for almost three decades. I told him about Dubai’s swanky medical centres where the bills can kill you faster than any disease. If the innumerable tests don’t make a guinea pig out of you first. “How can a fee of Rs 50 per patient run a family?” I asked him. He had a simple reply. “What started as a profession has become a duty.”
It’s the small things that make life worth living back home. Yes, Dubai is a well-oiled machine that swears by quality. Sheer perseverance keeps India going. Where else can you savour delicacies from roadside foodcarts without health insurance?
It’s not difficult to comprehend why people from the subcontinent flock to Dubai like moths to a flame. Exchange rates aside, quality of life is the most pressing of arguments put forward by fellow expatriates. My recent vacation home bolstered this belief, but it also made me realise why dirhams can’t buy happiness and why India will always be home.
Landing in Mumbai, after a year of living in Dubai was unnerving. The claustrophobic Fiat Padmini cab flying over the city’s uneven potholed roads rattled more than my bones. I am no fan of modern Dubai, but I missed the broad well laid-out roads and luxurious cabs. Heaps of garbage, crazy motorists and the overwhelming ruckus made me almost regret my decision to stop over in Mumbai on my way home to Goa. Wonder how a care-a-damn Indian becomes a law-abiding expatriate in Dubai. Deportation, anyone?
It’s a crying shame that a country, whose engineers and workers build state-of-the-art bridges, roads and buildings here in Dubai, creates more politicians than infrastructure. India’s Commerce Minister recently called on Dubai to help create world class infrastructure in India. He wants $ 350 billion to build infrastructure. Don’t know about bridges and roads, but the Indian bureaucrat must surely be licking his chops in anticipation.
My first few hours in Mumbai were devoted to putting my exasperated friends through a comparative analysis of infrastructure in India and Dubai. But as I puffed on a cigarette in a flat in a lush Goregaon colony, I realised that the air no longer smelled foul. The sparrow twittering at the window was the first I had heard in months. Heck, even the cawing of the crows felt good. A couple of housewives were gossiping nineteen to the dozen. A vegetable hawker was hollering somewhere. This was home.
The upcoming Dubai Metro or swanky malls and restaurants can never match the exhilaration of travelling in a Mumbai local train or the joy of catching up with old friends over a few pegs of whiskey in a seedy joint. Sure, I love Dubai’s well-planned infrastructure and systematic administration, but there is something missing. A journalist friend had a question. “You work and stay in Dubai, but do you live there?”
Point to ponder. To truly ‘live’ in Dubai, you have to adapt to a cosmopolitan world where change – both positive and negative – is permanent. Emotions are hardly of consequence in an arena where change is the pathway to progress. People switch jobs for a better pay package, cars and household appliances outlive their utility as fast as manufacturers churn out upgraded versions and the construction boom ensures that the landscape is changing every other day. Be it Sheikh Zayed Road or your job, you got to maintain the speed limit or be run over.
Of course, construction labourers and home delivery boys are run over regularly. After all, there’s more where they come from. Yes, not all expatriates get a fair share of Dubai’s development pie. Exorbitant rents and living costs conspire to put people into permanent exile. It is a tribute to the human spirit that some succeed in getting out of the financial rut to actually ‘live’ their Dubai dream. Or maybe they just win a raffle draw.
In sab chalta hai (anything goes) India, very few things change in that unrecognisable sort of way. Why? Beneath all the chaos at the bottom of the social ladder and the hype at the top, you find the human spirit weathering the relentless assault of consumerism. Take my village doctor in his little clinic, attending to his loyal patients from 6 a.m. to midnight, something he has been doing for almost three decades. I told him about Dubai’s swanky medical centres where the bills can kill you faster than any disease. If the innumerable tests don’t make a guinea pig out of you first. “How can a fee of Rs 50 per patient run a family?” I asked him. He had a simple reply. “What started as a profession has become a duty.”
It’s the small things that make life worth living back home. Yes, Dubai is a well-oiled machine that swears by quality. Sheer perseverance keeps India going. Where else can you savour delicacies from roadside foodcarts without health insurance?
Comments