P. G. Bhaskar :
There are chaps who think nothing of calling in the packers and pushing off to another country. There, they quickly settle in and get on as if nothing ever happened. These are the movers and shakers.
Then there is the other lot which simply digs their heel in and stays put. These are the ‘stayers’. It is fair to say, I think, that the world needs both types. I belong to the second group though I confess I find the first lot far more interesting.
But let’s just focus on Dubai. I have shifted apartments only twice in twenty odd years. The first was when our son was to be born; we needed a bigger place. Very reluctantly, we made the great move, sighing regretfully, brow considerably furrowed by stress induced streaks. No desert storm stopped us, nary the blazing heat!
Fighting both trepidation and my stay-put gene, we finally shifted terrain. From Mankhool, Bur Dubai, we migrated all the way across the wide stretch of Trade Centre road over to Karama, where we then lived for fifteen years. And then, just two years back, mustering up all our strength and courage, we did the rigorous reverse trip all the way back to Mankhool, Bur Dubai, feeling like the wildebeests of East Africa. My heart went out to those animals which do their cross-country migration routine back and forth every year and that too, across ponds and lakes dotted liberally with crocodiles.
Many of our friends have, over the years, moved to ‘greener’ pastures. Some left for Canada and Australia. Some went to the UK and a few returned to India. Even those who stayed back didn’t stay put. They bought houses, large or extra-large, in places which in those days seemed closer to Abu Dhabi than to Dubai. Only later, we realised it was very much part of Dubai.
With the way the emirate has been growing, I have not had no chance to keep abreast with all the development in ‘that’ side of the city. The lakes, hills, islands, greens and meadows have remained alien to me. Occasionally, we get an invitation for dinner from one of our friends. Chewing nervously at my collar, I collect the family and leave suitably early, fully prepared to take at least two wrong turns before – hopefully – finding the place. The problem with all these highways and exits and flyovers is that it takes just one teensy wrong turn for you to find yourself speeding, terrified and panic-stricken, in the opposite direction, followed vigorously by a pack of angry, honking cars. For someone like me, who is filled to the brim with the Bur Dubai air, ‘New’ Dubai appears most intimidating.
But it was only recently that I realised that the reverse is true as well. Among my friends ‘groups’ is this small group of four which meets over lunch every now and then. Since the three of them (being movers and shakers) have shifted allegiance to the Ranches and what have you, we usually meet at Mall of the Emirates to make it convenient for the majority. Last week, for a change and to my quiet joy, they agreed to my suggestion to meet at an Indian restaurant near ‘Fish Market, Karama’.
I was fascinated to see one of them exhibit almost the same kind of paranoia that I display when I visit his side of town, possibly because he seldom makes casual visits to Karama these days. At the outset, he was rendered flustered and totally flummoxed by the traffic, the pedestrians and the relatively narrow roads. One or two of the old landmarks had – unknown even to me – disappeared and this seemed to induce palpitations in him; he made several frenzied calls in rapid succession.
When he got me on the line, he launched into a series of rapid-fire accusations – of having chosen a bad meeting place, given wrong directions, and picked a wrong time. His voice quivering in anxiety and nervous tension, he demanded that I find a parking lot for him pronto. Finally, I locate him, helped him park, steadied and pacified him and then, holding his hand and making soothing sounds, escorted my distraught friend to the restaurant just fifty feet away. Mover and shaker he is, but this particular move had left him badly shaken.
Perhaps it’s all a question of what one is used to. Each of us has our own little zones of comfort. My Karama can never be your Marina.
( P. G. Bhaskar’s most recent book ‘Mad in Heaven’ has been published by Harper Collins. Please visit www.pgbhaskar.com to enter his world)
