Dubai Impressions

My first impressions of Dubai came from a TV serial called Dastaan that used to play on Zee TV in early 90s. It was a drama rooted in the conflict between two business tycoons played by Parmeet Sethi and Ashish Vidyarthi. The impressions were augmented by newspaper reports of how rich it was (as if gold biscuits littered the roads) and  how it was a safe haven for notorious gangsters like Dawood Ibrahim.

Having been there last week, I can now vouch how true or untrue those impressions were.

When I first stepped out of Dubai airport, I was amazed by the sheer openness of it all – as in the skies were vast and clear and so blue. And there was barely any green to be seen. If there was any, it was dusty and not the lush or verdant vegetation that my eyes are accustomed to.

I was also struck by the fact that beyond the airports, there were hardly any Arabs (at least in traditional dresses) to be seen. It is almost completely an expat country – a mini UN like almost no other. My uncle, who works with Emirates, told me that the company had people from nearly 80 countries working at Dubai!

So, I saw plenty of Asians – both from the sub-continent and the East – along with Europeans, Americans, North Africans. You name the nationality – they were there.

There were plenty of tourists who were staying at my hotel. At 9 in the morning, there used to be complimentary transfers to the beaches. I used to wait in the hotel lobby for my office car to pick me up and there were these hordes of foreigners, ready with their beachwear, hopping on these buses to bask  in the sun that blazed mercilessly at 45 degree Celsius!

On the way to meetings, I saw all the steel and chrome and metal that is the chic skyline of Dubai. Most of the buildings scoff at the idea of straight lines (I can almost imagine Howard Roark seeing them with cool disdain) – they are either twisted or pyramidical or round or tetragonical. They gleam and glitter in the sun, almost blinding you, as you approach them, if the perennial sandy dust does not obscure them. These swanky business towers, malls and even apartment buildings reminded me of a more arid Gurgaon. An amalgamation of so many things, but none its own. That may necessarily not be a bad thing – being a melting pot – but I got no sense of its own culture, beyond the big brands, the svelte cars, the smooth roads (those I envied – drive @ 140 kmph and not feel a hitch) and the perception of gold being cheaper.

I asked if there were any local markets or crafts. None. So, all you can shop for our famous brands, which are available now almost everywhere.

My uncle took me to see the Burz Khalifa lighted up at the night. I had seen it during the day and it didn’t impress me much. It seemed to me more like a nail, driven into the ground upside down with its pointed side reaching into the skies. But at night, very clever lighting makes it look like a stunning futuristic Christmas tree. And you have to say wow. 

Burz Khalifa at Night

I did not try and go up into the tower. Two reasons – I did not have the time and I wasn’t too sure I wanted to, since I do not like looking down from great man-made heights. And anyway, you can buy a (pretty expensive) ticket only to the 138^th floor, I believe and not to the summit.

Another wow for me was the light and sound fountain show that takes place every evening next to the Khalifa and Dubai Mall in the evenings. It has to be seen to be believed. In fact, Dubai at night – all lit up like Diwali nights – is far more attractive than the day. The fountain show reminded me of fireworks swaying to music. Simply wow.

Dubai Mall also has a huge aquarium (where sharks swim with other fish – I wondered if the sharks were vegetarian) and a black sky shimmering with golden sky. It also has my favourite among all the stores that I saw there – Candylicious. As the name suggests, it is a candy store but unlike any other I have seen. It is colourful and bright. Happiness here comes in a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes. Even the store ceiling is decorated by huge lollipops and candy canes. If I were a kid, I would never want to get out of there!

Corniche @ midnight

But my favourite moment was standing in the gently lapping waters of the corniche at midnight. So peaceful and magical, with the lights of buildings on the shore across lending a diamante quality to the salty sea water, harnessed here by man. A couple of families out on the sandy beach even at this late hour. Children squealing in delight. And the music of night.

All in all, I was glad that I was there and I would like to visit some more to see and do things that I couldn’t do this time. But, Dubai would be far low on my bucket list.

Until next time, ciao.

Dilli Dilwalon Ki*?!

The reporter stood on a busy flyover from which a young girl returning home in the evening was thrown over by a mugger when she refused to part with her purse. The time was around 9 p.m. and the city was the national capital, Delhi.

The girl turned out to be the sister-in-law of somebody I know. That turned the incident from just another news item to shake my head over to an issue about which I have always felt strongly about. The safety of women in our national capital.

I first visited Delhi about fourteen years ago. That was the time before CNG buses. So, my first experience was that of foul, polluted air, stinging eyes, burning nose and an extreme inconvenience as we were stuck in traffic endlessly owing to the frequent passage of some VIP or the other.

Over the years, I have been to Delhi several times and quite regularly. There are things that I like about the city – the now clean air, the wide roads and flyovers, the shopping in Chandni Chowk. Some of these things are to be expected – hygiene factors, so to speak – in any metro and more so, in the country’s capital. But these are so rare in most Indian cities, including my own home town, that I cannot help but admire these.

Yet, I have never liked the city (including Noida and Gurgaon) as a whole. I always have this uneasy premonition and am always looking over my shoulder in the city. Not necessary that something unpleasant does happen but just the instinct, you know. And the sense that if you do land in some kind of trouble, you are probably on your own. This feeling is so different from what I would feel in my own hometown that it colours all my experiences of Delhi.

Take for instance, the incident that I cited at the start. It could happen anywhere. Mumbai, Kolkata, Chennai – anywhere. After all, we do not live in a utopian, crime-free world. However, the chances of it occurring in a city other than Delhi are less. As a woman, I feel safer in the other metros. Not quite so vulnerable.

Adding to this general sense of menace and unease is the infamous statement of the chief minister, Mrs. Sheila Dixit, about the safety of women in the city. When cornered by the media on the issue after the murder of journalist Soumya Vishwanathan, Mrs. Dixit implied that the “adventurous behavior” of the murder victim while travelling home after work was to be blamed for the crime.

No wonder Delhi always projects this feeling of you-are-totally-on-your-own if you are out in the city. From men brazenly refusing to get up from seats reserved for women on the buses to a bunch of uncouth and rude auto-rickshaw drivers trying to cheat you on the highway connector between Noida and Delhi. From being followed by rather suspicious looking characters in Gurgaon at only 9 in the evening, only a stone’s throw away from a swanky mall to being ignored by the cycle-rickshaw driver when implored for road directions.

And I am not alone in possessing such sentiments. Our national capital is perhaps one of the most unsafe places for a woman. Every second day, there is some news flash about violence against women. Some are very high-profile like Jessica Lal murder and the rape of a seventeen year old girl returning home from tuitions in Noida and Aarushi homicide case. Others manage to garner only a single mention in the news ticker. But each tragic and senseless.

I do not have the statistics of such crimes at hand but they are likely impressive in an unflattering manner. It’s a really ironic state of affairs in city which is home to some of the most powerful women in the country.

And until some effective steps are taken (and that does not include staying at home, Mrs. Dixit), I will continue to wonder if Dilli is truly Dilwalon Ki*.

*’Dilli Dilwalon Ki’ is an affectionate sobriquet given to Delhi (Dilli) which means that the city belongs to those with a heart.