First Impressions
Waking up the next morning to a gentle sun and mild breeze, we set out
for our first impression of the city’s true cultural artefact, the shopping
mall. As we shall later find out, Dubai has every manner and size of it. Al-Ghurair Centre on the other side of
the creek is where we are ushered to first in a bid to get some of the shopping
out of the way as the next few days are to be planned affairs. If the mall is a
tourist destination in itself, I am happy to see we have Al-Ghurair to ourselves on a quiet Friday morning. Some leisured buys
later, we are sipping coffee at Starbucks and watching cars go by from a
sidewalk. Pa draws our attention to the noiseless aspect of traffic; no one
seems to honk. All one can hear is the whizzing of cars and the occasional
chafing of wheels on tarmac. SM adds that a horn usually means there has been a
hold-up for much longer than usual or there has been a flagrant violation on
the part of a driver. Honking as a last recourse is a distinct pleasure, especially
coming from a driving culture where honking is instinct.
We return home for a veritable sadya
(banquet of vegetarian dishes in Malayalam) with everyone’s hand but mine. A
slumber follows after which we get our first taste of the Dubai Metro. I am
happy to note that the system has been imbibed with as much thoroughness as is possible
in our own Delhi Metro. In comparison to Delhi, Dubai’s is also a remarkably
uncomplicated rail network. The shorter green line forms an inverted V-shape
around the creek while the longer red one runs predominantly parallel to UAE’s
lifeline, the E11 that runs parallel to the coastline connecting all the
Emirates. The red line also runs on an elevated platform (as is often the case)
from Bur Juman onwards. The undulating nature of the rail track adds immensely
to the experience, elevated track notwithstanding. Being in the unmanned
metro’s first car is akin to riding through a steel and concrete landscape in a
simulation. Towers we have seen from a distance earlier are now close at hand. The
Metro is perhaps the best thing to do for anyone craving a quick glance at
Dubai.
That night we dine at Little
Italy, a place described with amusement by my uncle V as ‘possibly the only
vegetarian Italian chain in the world’. A seemingly odd choice for dining in the
Arabic world but we are here for different reasons; SM and I are patrons of
different Little Italy’s (Dubai and Bangalore respectively) while a first visit
has eluded Ma and Pa for years now.
Later that night (or early next morning), we are at the airport to
receive my sister Kaamya (Cams). She is on a Qatar Airways flight from
Copenhagen via Doha. It is her first journey outside the temperate zone since
she left India for Denmark a year ago. Had Dubai or Doha been a shade below the
Tropic of Cancer (as it is they are both a degree and a half north), she might
have forayed into the tropics. This kind of rendezvous echoes Pa’s claim for
Dubai as a sort of median point. Apparently this has long been the Al Maktoum (rulers
of Dubai) patriarch’s envisagement for the Emirate too. If nothing else, it is
not a stretch to look at a world map and conclude that it does constitute a central
metropolis of sorts for the Old World. In a modern context, Australia needs to
be included too, something that hasn’t escaped the attention of Australian
airlines. Last year, Qantas made Dubai its secondary hub.
Meanwhile, SM has arranged for concierge services for Cams. Aptly
titled Marhaba (Welcome), it is meant
to weave the passenger through lines and waits. True enough, she emerges barely
twenty minutes after landing with the concierge by her side, a Filipino woman
looking tiny by comparison. Cams returns the profuse bodily thanking that they
have made their own with her brand of acknowledgment, demure and pointed at
once. Ma and SM are overjoyed to see her after nearly seven months while Cams
and I trade half-enthused, half-ironic greetings. She regales us with the
tidings of her flight on the way home.
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