Middle East – Synonymous to Saudi Arabia and Dubai. Other well known places in the region include Sharjah, Abu Dhabi, Muscat, Oman, Kuwait, Baharain etc. But how familiar is “well known”? In my case, Not sure. Rather, haven’t given a thought too much.
I admit that I had really assumed, my familiarity with the Middle East was good probably because like many others, I too looked at it as an extension of Kerala. There every household will boast of “
someone in Dubai”. That place today is more of a common noun than a proper noun.
Along with the assumed familiarity, a lot more realities were assumed which later I realized were mere myths. On account of the same, I was not much excited when I got the news of an upcoming Dubai event from a friend, for which I was an invitee. My lack of enthusiasm in receiving the news could have possibly dampened his spirits of invitation. Even a possible visit to Burj-Al-Arab did not rake my dormant interests. Another possible reason could be a recently concluded exciting trip to Disney World, Orlando. All said, even an alligator could have been tickled but no fireworks could be ignited in my intestines.
Upon receipt of the tickets and visa, I just did the most mandatory things – exchanged some Dirhams, packed my clothes and checked the flight timings. I did not pay much attention to the airline “Gulf Air” and not wonder why it was not “Emirates” either. This airline change hit me a little at 3.30 am while I stood at the airline counter for collecting my boarding passes. The sleepy looking artificially beautiful girl apologetically mentioned to me that a second boarding pass to Dubai could not be issued at Bangalore but I could collect the same at the transit point. The universally accepted reason fitted well here too – System not working. Anyway none in the queue knew how the different airline systems were inter-linked seamlessly and any reason could be given for a backend error. I immediately rubbed my eyes and read through the travel itinerary given by my agent. All the letters in “Courier” font suddenly appeared in Bold and 18 point size. It dawned on me that my transit was at Bahrain. But the duration was hardly an hour and hence it wasn’t a bother. With the biggest flirtatious grin possible, I thanked the sleepy airline girl and proceeded towards the regulatory and security ordeal.
Seated in a comfortably crumpled position with little leg room and sipping a couple of ounces of well diluted orange juices along with a few power naps, I reached Bahrain. The striking attire of the hostesses kept interrupting my naps voluntarily. The airline service very well reflected the existing market recession but the airport did not. However I did not have the comfort of time to gape at all the extravaganza at the airport as a little taxiing delay gave me only close to forty minutes to get on the next flight. In the next few minutes, Murphy’s law became practically clear to me. “When time mattered most, the longest delays happened”. I was not alone in this ordeal, but had 21 other companions. A uniformed bearded man, whom I initially thought to be a cop, announced that our connecting flight had left and the next flight we could take to Dubai will be at 1.30 pm. This man’s announcement hit me as hard as the shining “Gulf Air” logo on his cap. Quick basic arithmetic and a few glances at my wrist, gave me an idea that I will be spending the next four hours here at the airport. Little did I realize that I was to leave this place a more knowledgeable man.
With four hours at hand, my suppressed urge to smoke propelled up. I still contained them because in the Middle East, “Crime and Punishment” rang huge bells deep inside me. The assumed law was clearly etched in my memory beside “Ravana kidnapped Sita” and “the sun rises in the east”. My first surprise sprang up as a pleasant one when the most welcome sign hung in front of me. It read – “Smoking Room >>” I sprinted in that direction ignoring everything else on the way only to freeze when I saw the “smoking room”. There were people spread everywhere around the place and clouds of smoke stayed in the air. There were people of all colors, shapes, sizes and attire. A couple of women were also there but they apparently appeared to be tourists. Why would tourists come all the way to Bahrain – to smoke? Stupid question, hence ignored. My first myth hit me as a realization. All the men who wear a white robe and a head gear placed on a checkered scarf hanging by the sides were not necessarily sheikhs belonging to any royal family. I could see too many white robed men sporting the same headgear. It was much similar ordeals to count the number of crows near the Madurai Meenakshi Temple.
After a satisfying inhale and exhale exercise, I escaped from what appeared to be the most polluted place on this earth. I then moved on gaping at the numerous duty free shops, the next surprise then immediately banged against me, really hard. It severely shook my assumed beliefs. It confused my fundamentals on geography as well as Culture & Law. All women were supposed to be covered from head to toe in black completely opaque flowing clothes and I did see them too. But what happened in front baffled me completely. A group of four girls sipping coke and munching popcorn, giggling loudly. The surprise element was exposure of almost two-thirds of their skin. They were in spaghetti tops and either denim shorts or track pants. Isn’t Bahrain supposed to be like Saudi, strict Islamic laws implemented? Or are they moderates like Dubai and Malaysia? If so why do I see so many “head to toe” burqa clad women around? I guess they are women. Although no clear signs to prove the point. Are these young girls defying the law? Or are they foreigners and are unaware of the law? My head spun. I automatically got a 360 degree view of the lavish glittering airport.
I then immediately started my hunt for a “Know this country” type of book. A typical guide for a first time tourist to Bahrain. Very soon I realized that the airport had more smoking rooms than bookshops. Shall I sum up and call them Illiterate Smokers? – a wild thought raced. My inner voice was quick in its reflex and responded – Islamic Law is severe and strict. My thoughts were erased. Only then I realized that I had to power of “Selective Amnesia” but that needs to be driven by fear for life. I can choose to forget what I wanted. Only when life is at stake, all such inherent and dormant powers come to light. My search for a tourist guide now broadened and I started looking for a bookshop and now that again broadened and I was now looking for a “Store finder” board. My instincts made me stop in front of a shop, bright with dominating crimson red. I was pulled in to gape at the merchandise hanging all over like a kitten looking glued at an aquarium. Only the word FERRARI floated in front of my eyes. I then remembered that it was the inaugural Formula One race year at Bahrain and had just concluded too. So the gripped fever still persisted. My eyes flew out of their sockets when I saw the price tag on a Collarless Tee as 6.05 and 3.10 for a cap. My immediate calculations led my hands to my wallet. Approximately Rs 60-70 for the Tee and about Rs 35-40 for the cap. This was a jackpot. I definitely wanted to pick 5 Tees. Before I swiped my card, I wanted to confirm the conversion as I placed the currency of Bahrain at par with Dubai. My ignorance fed this assumption. I fled back a few shops to a local bank’s currency exchange window. It had bright LEDs displaying the exchange rates prominently. The new findings created a huge dent on my desires. Conversion rate was over a hundred against the rupee. All of a sudden the Ferrari merchandise shop looked like just another shop. More importantly the pretty shop assistant’s grin looked like that of an Iguana.
At the next immediate “smoking room” I lit one more cigarette and turned back to the gate where my flight to Dubai would arrive in little less than three hours. I dropped all my shopping plans and convinced myself that Bahrain is an expensive place. After a call to my friend in Dubai informing him about the unexpected delay, I planned to settle into a comfortable chair and finish the two books I had with me. The Mermaid Chair was particularly interesting. When a monk is harboring erotic thoughts with respect to a married neighbor, even a Thesaurus will be interesting.
I approached a comfortable corner and placed my hand baggage along the sides. Pulled out the Mermaid Chair and looked around once more before I dived into the Monk’s disturbed mind. An approaching family caught my attention. A man in white robes and the usual head gear was followed by three women in full black attire. Though a common sight in the country, I tried to place the three women in a family grid along with the man. Man-Wife-two daughters. Man-Wife-Mom-Daughter. Man-wife-aunt-Daughter. Or could it be Man and three wives? The possibility was quite strong and suddenly I envied the short stout sheik. I was only able to conclude that I was better than him on all counts yet he had three wives and here I was, a lone divorcee. Really cruel are the ways of God, I concluded and was convinced. In the meantime more women in Jeans and T shirts and shorts and see thru pull overs passed by. I changed my perception of Bahrain where I concluded that one will not be stoned to death for thinking about a stranger’s wife or daughter. Great are the ways of God. Atleast he is lenient in this part of the world. But the man with three wives really haunted me. How could be pull this and manage it too. Moreover “Arabia” for me was only famous for “Coffee”, “Women” and “Horses” not smart men. As an onlooker the biggest advantage with this All Black Robes is the fact that, I had all the liberty to imagine and conclude how they looked inside. For my own selfish feel good factors, I placed all the buxom beauties of Hollywood and Bollywood inside these burqas. Now my envy towards the “man with three wives” shot up beyond limits. I started seriously concentrating on the Monk’s thoughts coming out from the book that I held. I even thought a brief meditation will definitely help calm my disturbed mind and troubled nerves. I would have hardly covered a few pages and was anticipating that in the next 3 pages atleast, the monk would have seduced the lady outside the log cabin by the stream on moist grasses, when a voice from outside the book called out “Saar”!
The tone and accent was unusual in this part of the world. A rather shabby person in crumpled clothes and a narrow face with broken brownish unkempt hair. I rightly guessed he is my countryman. I faked an unsuspecting look and nodded interrogatively at him while genuinely I expected him to ask for a favour that I will politely refuse with great difficulty. He immediately asked, “Aapko hindi maloom hai”. He was inching closer to my expected line. “Ji haan. Kya baat hai” I retorted. Quite cautiously I did not address him as Bhai or Bhaiyya. He seemed to feel more comfortable by my response and tone. He poured out in a chaste dialect that I understood as follows: “Can you look after my bags here. I will return quickly after a visit to the restroom” All of a sudden security concerns took over me. He seemed a suspect and myself a gullible victim. I gathered enough courage and asked him for more details regarding his native, where he is heading to, anyone else travelling with him etc. He smiled at me, sat down in an empty seat beside me and started his narration. His first sentence shocked me. Probably his presentation skills were excellent. He caught his audience attention in the first few seconds with his opening line. Pointing at so many people seated in various rows in that area he said that they all have been in the airport for the last 4 days. And they are leaving by the midnight flight back to India. Several thoughts pounded my brain ranging from silly to unimaginable ones. I looked at him blank. “Saar..” he continued his story which turned out to be a tale of misery and betrayal. Not completely unfamiliar to us, thanks to our movies. He narrated it with so much of emotion and with ease that he made me feel what they are undergoing. For the first time in 18 years, I looked up and thanked for the job I held.
Twenty three people from five nearby villages, paid a large sum each to an agent who promises them jobs in the “Middle East”. They were to work in some construction projects. They only mention Dubai. But their tickets were till Bahrain and no visa. He mentioned that someone would come to pick them with the papers, they were told. First three days they were in detention. That morning, they were brought to the place where they could take a flight to India back. This even came in the local daily as a small new item considering the large number of people. But he said, none came looking for them or seeking to get them out. My first thought went towards, what’s the Embassy doing? Its supposed to assist its citizens in distress. The high-commissioners appear periodically for participation in some events or inaugurating some functions. These people never knew the existence of an entity called “Indian Embassy”. Eternal bliss I shall call this.
I nodded to accept that I shall take care of his bags. He did return almost immediately. But I did not realize the passage of time. I drifted away into the numerous situations that played in front of me. I put myself in each character and found everything difficult to manage. I pinched myself and felt nice about it. The man with three wives also seemed to be a nice guy after all. I once again remembered, “I cried because I did not have slippers until I saw a man who did not have feet”
A boarding announcement about the flight to Dubai was heard. I gathered my hand baggage, stuffed the book in. The monk was still 3 pages away from seducing the lady outside the log cabin along the river on the moist grass. I had also skipped my lunch. I smiled and waved at my gullible friend and walked into the aero bridge.
Heard the female
Dolania americana mayfly lives not more than 5 minutes. Comparatively I had a much longer life in Bahrain –
A life time of 4 hours!!!
