A Trip to Dubai

chillibreeze writer — Varun Gawarikar

Need an editable PowerPoint map of Middle East

The day of departure finally arrived. 31st May 2008. I was ready; my bags were packed. The flight was at 0745 hrs and the airline expected me to check in 3 hours prior. What a waste of sleep time! So there I was awake at midnight talking on the phone, saying my final goodbyes and take cares to my friends and family. No, I was not going to Afghanistan in search of Bin Laden. But, I knew the calling rates from U.A.E to India and if you are one of those people, like me, who truly believe in mindlessly expressing themselves at 30 paisa per minute in India, death due to non-corrigible, non-understandable Arabic telephone bill is imminent. F.Y.I, Orkut is banned in U.A.E as well, so goodbye friends’ network. They have a bank there though, which is simbbly better. It successfully fattens its bottom line by tapping God’s Own people: the expat Malayalee community.

The excitement of moving to a far away land did not allow sleep to come. So, after doing loads of time pass and last minute packing of “Maa ke hath ke bane hue Theple aur Aam ka Achar” (Hey, I am a Gujarati at heart, so buzz off), I got dressed in my favorite blue jeans; and the zipper broke. What a bad omen! Strange was the time and vast was my plight. It was impossible to find a tailor at 0200 hrs in the morning. So unwillingly I changed into not-so-cool attire. My ride to the airport was waiting and I said a long bye to my family. Billo had started to bark in a queer manner, probably she knew her ‘Whoof, Whoof’ (she lovingly calls me that) was going away. I snuggled with her for one last time, sat in the car and off we went towards the airport, first phase of an excitingly saddening and lonesome journey I had so willingly embarked upon.

Airports, especially ours, are fascinating places to get bored and window shop overly priced eatables, mineral water bottles and useless duty-free artifacts. As I waited to check-in for nearly an hour, I checked out hot chicks as well (a rare occurrence). Finally the moment arrived. My hand bag weighed a bit more than permissible limits, owing to my laptop and a few books. The girl at the counter cracked pathetic jokes about me stowing away mangoes. I retorted, “As one stows, so shall one keep.” I knew it was an extremely lame comeback, but heck, I was too weary to notice my dwindling humor quotient.

The immigration thing went quite smoothly. My passport was stamped. Since the nonexistent mangoes cost less than what the customs required for declaration, I could easily pass through the “Green Channel”, which was scarier than Star News and their infamous program “Sannnate ko chirti Sansani”. From there everything was going to be easier, or so I had heard. The only part remaining was security checks.

The security lounge was huge and strewn with recliners for people to laze around. The wait seemed endless, amplified by the last night’s sleep deprivation. The recliners made matters worse. I was worried I might sleep through this entire cumbersome procedure and find myself on Mumbai Airport wondering, “Main kahan hoon?” But nothing of such sort happened and I cleared the security checks and within half an hour of waiting I was aboard!

The Plane took off and with it, my mind did as well. I thought about her, the girl I loved so tenaciously. I lucidly remembered how everyday she used to walk down the same corridor. Her colorful dresses always lit up our office. She walked wearing a smile on her face, greeting everybody, up to her seat. I eagerly waited for this particular moment every day. Never had I seen such mystical eyes. The world went in slow motion around me when she used to be around. Her Flowing hair created ripples in my heart. Her million dollar smile was capable of melting a million hearts. God knew I was going to miss her. I could barely keep my eyes open as I remembered the times that were. Unknowingly indeed, I had flown to what my real destination should have been.

The air hostess was yapping about oxygen masks and seatbelts which I could faintly hear. I knew I would wake up in a different land and a time zone one and a half hour behind India. I was confused - did my good times lie ahead or had I left them behind? I had compromised everything for a ‘Tax Free’ dream. I slept.

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Varun writes for chillibreeze.

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