Burj Khalifa and
SM and Pushpa’s balcony looks out to a shimmer
of skyscrapers that dot the business and financial district of Dubai. Among
them is the incongruously tall Burj Khalifa (Tower of the Caliph). We have
been looking at it on and off for three days now. It is the key fixture in our
morning and nightly Darshans from the
balcony, not entirely unlike a towering South India Gopuram (temple tower) whose glimpse is sought from the comfort of
one’s home. During the many drives through the city, it is a constant feature
of the Dubai skyline. My first impression is one of absurdity; it seems an
impossibly high construction that makes a beeline for the heavens. In its
ambition more than design, it reminds me of the Tower of Babel (Burj
Babil in Arabic) of Biblical legend. The Book of Jubilees mentions the
Tower as being 2.5 kilometres high making it thrice as tall as the 828 m high Burj.
This is among the more conservative of the various estimates for the height of
the ancient tower! The Burj is ambitious enough for our time; the world’s
tallest man-made structure of any kind.
Our plan is to ride the elevator to the top
of the Burj and spend some time savouring the views. The tourist entry to the
building is contiguous with the Dubai Mall, the world’s largest shopping mall. It
seems uncanny that a horizontal behemoth should share a complex with a vertical
titan, almost as if the Blue Whale were somehow conjoined with the Godzilla. Pushpa
can’t accompany us to the top despite being with us at the Mall owing to cancellations
in her teaching schedule. Tickets have to be reserved in advance for the trip
to the top, quite amazing considering the holiday season is behind us and it is
a Monday. We have 5 tickets, and are compelled to leave her at a coffee shop
within the Mall.
The first part of our tour consists of
navigating a series of numerical claims for the Burj, displayed in exhibits and
virtual screens along the approach that is elaborate and serpentine enough to
generate excitement without constituting too much of a wait. When we eventually
reach the elevator, there is a short wait while we are told that the elevator
to the observation deck is a novelty in itself, clocking a top speed of 36 kmph
and speeding to the 124th floor (~450 m) in less than a minute.
Inside the speeding elevator, ears pop as
the pressure drops. We are a sensitive family when it comes to the ear; rapid
aircraft descents usually mean conversations after landing are laboured with
everyone having to repeat everything atleast twice. Here, Ma’s grimace suggests
she feels the pinch more than the rest of us. Shortly, the doors open and we
step out on to the observation deck. A 360 degree viewing space, the deck floor
consists of wooden planks that make slight but rhythmic plonking sounds as
people walk about. It is roomy enough for a 100 people or so without feeling
crowded. The first few minutes are spent looking at the views and clicking
photographs. There is much to take in for geography enthusiasts; the Creek in
particular is revealed in all its complexity.
The euphoria of where we are and what lies
outside lasts a while, perhaps twenty minutes. Strolling around and looking at
the goings-on within the deck yields a mixed bag. Expensive souvenirs are being
sold at a counter with few takers, unsurprisingly. At another corner, there is
worrying evidence of Hollywood having colonized a landmark barely three years
after its baptism. Tom Cruise’s jaw-dropping stunts in MI-4 find their touristy
reinforcement here through posed photographs against a dark background in empty
kiosks. They are later photoshopped to show the tourist in the act of climbing
the Burj. While I am a fan of the movie and its innovative sequence centred on
the Khalifa, I wish this sort of thing didn’t happen although it seems
inevitable given Dubai’s tourist ambitions. In the end, it is only yet another
in a series of activities created out of seemingly nothing. Perhaps a
pokerfaced witticism is called for from Simon Pegg!
Ma prods me to look at two people seated on
the floor next to each other, wearing cardigans with the hood over their heads,
their backs against a support and their legs stretched out. One appears to be a
Chinese man; the other seems vaguely like a Caucasian woman. Each is writing
something; a closer glance reveals postcards. A few feet away is a little girl,
probably Arabic, trying earnestly to capture some minutiae on the floor on her
camera. There are others seemingly lost in thought, looking nowhere in particular.
I don’t notice it at first but soon it seems more eyes and cameras are turning
inwards. Perhaps, having tired of the views, they now feel drawn to the drawn-out
countenances that faces are gradually acquiring. Could it be that taking in vast
panoramic sweeps stretches the eyes in a way they are unaccustomed to! One
camera hover inches from a face almost as if trying to record a specific glint
in the eye. The whole thing has played out like a well-sequenced inversion of
the tourist glance. Now people are both the focus and the backdrop; the view
has been reduced to a prop.
Back on terra firma, the Dubai Mall beckons.
There are a few things to this mall besides its size. For one, the promoters
have deliberately shunned any attempt at ornate sobriquets for its various
sights. The mall’s plainly definitive name is a clue as to what awaits one
inside. A section recreating the Arabic Souq is called The Souq (market). A
waterfall spanning three floors with male figurines in diving repose at various
heights is simply titled The Waterfall. The
world’s largest choreographed fountain is within a lake (yes!) in the premises
of the mall. There are no prizes for guessing the name. The definitives have a
purpose – the powers that be would rather that we didn’t fuss about with
qualifiers. Malls per se are monuments to consumerism; the Dubai Mall seems
like a veritable temple-museum.
Cams’ trip has reached its end and she is to
leave for Copenhagen that night. Outside Terminal 2 at the airport, we are in
jest about how a three-day trip means she needn’t lose the jet lag acquired on
the flight to Dubai. It is another ten hours for her with a stopover at Doha.
We meanwhile, have a comparatively pedestrian three-hour flight back to Mumbai.
Cams is warm and efficient with her byes, a quality only enhanced in recent
years. We return home by the metro; the two remaining days in the trip appear
laced with uncertainty.
1 comment:
It took me a while to get to this part, kishore. And amma paraphrased your description of my departure like this:
Kaamya has become very good at saying goodbye to people of late. :-/
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