Kolkata Durga Puja

My husband's hometown is Jabalpur  and as a result I have experienced festivals which I had never heard of before. Naag panchami where snake charmers play music from the gourd bugle and deftly handle their snakes, for a few rupees.Holika where the idols are displayed all around town the day before Holi. Holika being a villain in Hindu mythology, is liberally dressed in a bikini, with shades and a hat, in jeans, may be selling vegetables dressed in a tribal sari while sitting on a wood trolley/thela or other such creatively imaginative postures and costumes.

My husband appreciates, creates art and as a young person growing up in Jabalpur, he actively participated in all festivals by creating Ganpati, Durga Puja pandals and decorating the Tajia on Muharram. Hence he was very interested in seeing the Kolkata Durga Puja. I had heard about the crowds one encounters during Pandal hopping, hence I contacted my brother's friend and classmate who is a Senior Police Officer posted in Kolkata. I sure am glad I did.

We reached 4am early morning on Shashti but the streets were already lit up, Devi ma was adorning the pandals, young people on foot or bikes were roaming the streets; roadside eateries were serving food. I was told that instead of being a 4 day festival it had become a ten day one. Apparently there is also a Puja carnival which has been happening for past 2 years (I am guessing since right wing politics seemed to become popular) where the best Durga idols are floated past the dignitaries sitting on suitable temporary structure on roadside making sure they are seen on television, flagging them past. Politics and business/industry have to work synergistically to keep everyone happy. The commercial value of the ten day festival is clearly visible. Every few hundred metres there is a Puja Pandal, complete with beautiful lights and decorations, patrons, advertisements, stalls selling food, jewellery, toys and the expenditure incurred for the temporary structures which are on show for a short period of time is as spectacular as the Pujo itself.

We were asked to come to Tolly club that evening at 5.30 pm, from where we were supposed to go pandal hopping with the top cop. We reached the meeting place to realise there was a stage at the end of the room from where an official was laying out routes of Durga Puja pandals which were going to be assessed by "judges," esteemed men and women from all walks of life including diplomats, dancers, theatre personalities, journalists etc who had been divided into groups to be able to cover the vast city with the innumerable Pujo Pandals. We were going to gate crash the group headed by Mr Vivek Sahay, ADG Traffic. There seemed to be few actual named judges but a substantial tail of tag alongs like us who made up a convoy of 7-8 cars which were instructed to dedicatedly tail each other to ensure we did not lose time getting lost in traffic. We were following the  ADG's car which had an easily identifiable sign near the licence plate- 3 stars! This was promising to be an interesting evening. We were soon feeling like celebrities as our convoy was given way by traffic policemen  on busy roads and closer to our destinations, by the organisers of the Pujo being judged. As we got out of the cars looking like busy teachers needing to finish our assignment of assessing the Pujo, the crowds were barricaded at the entrance and held until we went inside and had our five minutes of looking around, experiencing the amalgamation of art, music, tradition, religion and intellectual expression in an empty pandal. One of the organisers would explain the theme to us while others would show the judges practical things like fire escapes, water source, municipal permission etc. Then we would request them to let the public in and would leave mostly quite overwhelmed by the themes, decorations and Ma Durga. Apparently Art students conceive the ideas for each project and build it from scratch to see their ideas conceptualise and come alive. Its a tremendous effort and herculean task but the honesty of the dedication comes through.

One of the Pandals was shaped like a ship, had the sound of crashing waves as one walked in while the Titanic music played on the inside for Ma Durga. Next one we went to had a respect for all religions as the theme and hence had Ma Durga in a Buddha pose (we saw another pagoda shaped pandal replete with Buddha, the revolving drums and dragons) with all the walls covered artistically in cut out symbols of the three main religions the Aum, the Cross and the Crescent Moon. It also had a sculpture of three babies tied together with a national flag lying in front of the Devi Ma. There was one with a war and world without borders theme which had a make believe aeroplane and paratroopers on the outside, walls full of photographs from the partition/1971 war. They had displays of all passports and other symbolic messages coming alive through their creativity all in presence of Ma Durga. I read later that one Puja Pandal, a replica of Harminder Sahib a sikh Gurudwara was termed blasphemous. I saw so many beautiful replica's of palaces, temples etc even I wondered if some day someone would take the liberty of making the Taj Mahal for instance and whether that would be considered blasphemous. Another pandal had a traditional Ma Durga in the centre but had pictures of iconic women on the sides which would change for instance every few seconds from looking like Mother Teresa to Ma Durga. It was very clever, tastefully done and beautiful.

The intellectual level of the Bengali Bhadralok creating the themes and pandals was making us awestruck even as we saw the thousands of ordinary people walking patiently, thronging the numerous pandals without any pushing, jostling, groping, pickpocketing. Kolkata has always held a special place in my heart and it  raises the bar every time I visit it. Jai Ma Durga.

There were incredible displays of lights on gateways to the Puja Pandals. There were sculptures covered in lights some of them actually robotically moving ducks and Warring Gods or vertical cutouts outlining  birds, animals, people which were live in their displays. We wondered if they were made in China but were told they came from Burdwan!

Pandals as high as multistoried buildings, covered on outside with jute cots or having a live robotic electrically operated model made of colourful threads artistically displayed, or having the replica of Sanchi Stupa gateway as halo to the Goddess, a pandal looking like a giant metal vessel with beautiful engravings, threads with bells at the end around the walls, rising smoke, visual depiction in 3D art of a poem about Radha Krishna, meditative music accompanying a light display which takes you deeper into the pandal, Devi ma in different avatars...there was no dearth of creative ideas. One pandal had an underwater theme with fishes, jelly fishes, shells etc and most importantly had Ma Durga looking like she was diving with her sari and hair tousled in one direction. That Devi ma so real, so modern yet so beautiful and awe inspiring, she was my favourite.

We went to the one where there were CCTV cameras and police presence due to the real gold jewellery that Ma Durga was wearing but to me the love of art and intellectual expression mattered more than whether the jewellery was real or not. I am a complete bore where such things are concerned. I don't see or remember jewellery, cannot tell real and designer from fake and street brand. Everything expensive is wasted on me as was a lot of the art which my husband was devouring like a hungry student.

Then we went to Belur Math. There I realised where the idea of having all religion motifs in a building came from. Belur Math the monastery founded by the young Swami Vivekananda, which is the headquarters  of the Ramakrishna Mission an organisation who believes in serving all people irrespective of caste, religion or race has Christian, Buddhist, Muslim and Hindu motifs in its architecture. It also has a huge painting outside of Sri Ramakrishna Paramhans saying- However many views, as many paths in English, Bangla and Hindi. Joto mot, toto poth.

Belur Math's Durga Puja is an antithesis to the light sound action, art glamour beauty of Kolkata. Ma Durga was modestly decorated, the puja with the Sanskrit mantras was on the public address system, people were asked to open their shoes, switch off mobiles and separate spaces were organised for men and women to sit and feel the peace in the atmosphere. I wish I could go back there again.

I managed to perform the Pushpanjali (flower offering to the Goddess) on Ashtami like we used to when we were children and my parents were around; in the Avni society's Barir Pujo. Apparently the smaller scale housing societies and home Pujos too have a competition within Barir Pujo or Home Pujo. It was great to be able to see and feel the presence of Ma Durga around me in the magnificently converted parking area. Initially I did not realise that the red bricks, the bay windows were not real and part of the Puja Pandal. Of course I had my ever discerning hubby by my side. We had luchi aloo too.

Final stop before we took the train from Kolkata was Bhog (food offered to the Gods) at our host's friend's place. It was a big mansion housing a big joint business family, with a beautiful Ma Durga whose idol was smaller in size but made up in beauty and sophistication. Though I must say I found two kids, cousin brothers dressed in black kurtas and Bengal Handloom dhotis looking  the most dapper. The actual Bhog was delicious and special like all food served at religious ceremonies and out of temples and Gurudwaras. But that was followed by Bengali vegetarian and non vegetarian food including the traditional fish preparation served to us in a sit down lunch exclusively catered by the famous chain specialising in Bengali food, founded in 2003; 6, Ballygunge Place. I still savour the taste. Last time I experienced this lovingly served sequential fare while sitting down in rows in batches was when I was in high school in Asansol and attended weddings. I hope in times to come we will be able to capture videos of the flavours and aromas.

For now it the whole experience is locked in my soul and this is a small effort to share my pleasure.

When we are all fifty!

We recently had a reunion of fifteen of our batchmates in Goa. I have been in touch on social media with a lot of people from the schools and colleges I have attended and met a sizable chunk of our batch at the 25 years medical college reunion. However, I just did not expect these two nights in Goa with friends and batchmates to be as magical and stuff from the movies as it turned out to be.

We were staying in a beach resort. We had been allotted double rooms in separate double storied cottages walking distance from the beach. So it was a bit like old times where we had friends as roommates and got together for meals, games and outings. Yes, we seemed to pack a lot into the two days thanks to our super organised leader. She is apparently a Professor of microbiology. I must say I am tempted to leak pictures of her in her beach wear and trendy dresses to her students. But I am sure they already think she is pretty cool.

There was a time just a few years out of college, when if we met old batchmates the discussion revolved around people's careers and who was doing what and where. At that time traces of the rivalry and competition of the classroom remained in our interactions. Then after many years during  the run up to the 25 year reunion we all connected on the very active social media. While we were all interested in where everyone was, their families or lack of it, everything seemed to matter less. Best part of the reunion for most of us was the girl's night out when we all stayed together without our respective families in a hotel in Gurgaon, where  we danced, drank, chatted and generally gave up on any serious catch up!

Goa however, was a prolonged girls night out! Everybody had come to have fun. We each had been through challenges which life had thrown at us and while some were perceived to be bigger than others we had mutual respect for each other because no two journeys were the same and after all we had made it to Goa and that's all that mattered. But the smaller group and longer time together allowed for fun times as well as heart to heart chats which surfaced at odd times while trying to get to sleep, while waiting for the third friend or at breakfast.

The size of the group also allowed fifteen of us to pile into one room to chill, play games or dance! Booze helped some to let their hair down while some were high without it. Bikinis, skirts, shorts, dresses, legs, cleavages, halter necks nothing seemed to cause any raised eyebrows amongst us and anyway who cared about the rest. Well not completely true, we did camouflage vodka/rum in innocent looking water bottles which we carried around to cater to the pious image of Indian women which people have.

We were there for two days and we wanted to make the most of it. We had an off road drive in a truck to the shack near the beach for dinner one night and we dined & danced while we cruised in a private yacht on the River Mandovi on another night!

The drive from our hotel to reach the river for the cruise, though was one of the most memorable for me. As we got into the bus which had been pre arranged they told us we are late and we are going to catch the worst traffic. True to the prediction we reached the point when our google maps spelt out the doom gloom situation of bumper to bumper traffic which was most likely going to mean the cruise would be delayed. A call to the cruise coordinator confirmed that we would still be able to cruise even if it would be late.

Once we realised we were stuck, we decided to forget about our destination and enjoy the journey. We started singing songs then played antakshari to wake up the backbenchers and then we changed the rules of the game. It was words and themes rather than letters which were going to be the cue for the next song. We had a whale of a time competing with each other, making fun of each other and intermittently actually enjoying someone's song, when they knew it and sang it well.

When we reached, we realised we had been on the bus for four hours! The horror of it struck home when one of us questioned- "Can you imagine what that would have been like if you had been with your family?"

Everyone agreed things would have been pretty much the same for all of us with the husbands blaming us for taking too long to get dressed and kids moaning like it was our fault there was a traffic jam!

We are now getting over from the hangover from Goa while planning the next getaway! Big girls know how to have fun!

Stereotypes

Facebook has enormous advantages. A friend who I have never met in person but who hails from my hometown, the coal capital and who comes across on facebook as a leftist, (pseudo)secular, cynical, forgetful blogger; when she decided to recommend the movie, Kapoor and sons, I took the plunge. For the first time, I went and watched a movie in the theatre all alone.

Since then I haven't stopped praising the film and have watched it again on two occasions in an attempt to make some of my family watch it.

So when somebody suggested I watch some of the Pakistani TV dramas that Fawad Khan had starred in, I bit the bait and spent many hours watching episode after episode till 5 am one morning and many hours while on call on another day. They are a pleasant watch with subtle expressions, developing relationships, designer sets and beautiful people. Even the saas bahu saga was played out to a different level of smiling deceit unlike our loud Ekta Kapoor brand of quarrelling, slapping, manipulating daily soaps.

Finally having thoroughly enjoyed these two TV shows which had the ever so handsome Fawad Khan being nice and romantic with his beautiful heroines while mouthing dialogues in the distinguished, soft and poetic language, Urdu (I now cringe when I say I speak Urdu to patients in the hospital)...I decided tentatively to start watching another of these TV dramas recommended by a dear friend.

I got bored quickly as there was no Fawad Khan but also what struck me was that all the Pakistani TV serials have plots which feature a rich good looking young man who gets in and out of swanky cars, plush houses and clubs; while the woman comes from a lower middle class hardworking background. Most of these serials also favour stereotypes like rich working women with "liberal" lifestyles don't make good wives and mothers while the conservative and religious women are a blessing to the family.

However, the very western Mills and Boons romances which we were brought up on, in school and college too invariably had a rich successful guy who falls head over heels with the working class girl who manages to look beautiful in dresses which she buys in sales. I am sure there were umpteen stereotypes being reinforced in those Duke- Governess, Comte- companion type romances, we read. Infact there used to be a series of Doctor Nurse romances- I wonder if there were any women physicians falling in love with male nurses, practitioners and the like.

Indian Bollywood masala films on the other hand often featured a rich spoilt daughter of a business tycoon falling for the roadside romeo.

The pairings are dependant on the audience, The Mills and Boon romances as well as the TV dramas have many more women readers and viewers while Bollywood films are more likely to be watched again and again in theatre by the young male population. At least that seems to me to be the reason for these typical story lines.

Women when they become successful apparently stop being feminine. Women in senior management, want to look feminine and hence less bossy. Therefore in a  disproportionate trend, these women prefer to be blonde, according to a study I recently read. It seems to me everybody loves a Trumping successful man but not a go getter ambitious brunette, either in the office or at home. But gradually the world and thus India too is changing, as the Olympic champions from the state with the worst male female ratios have shown us.

Bollywood thankfully has a lot of directors of different ages and genders, who have successfully shown the masala hero heroine villain and tree brand of filmmaking, the door. They will hopefully make more movies which challenge stereotypes and which feature more successful women who don't know how to cook and can't be bothered to clean yet who have hearts which unfortunately do not follow any rules about who to start beating faster for.

Looking forward to more from Zoya, Shakun, Nitya and the like...

Honeymooning Indian couples

Why are we such cynics? Why try to find sense in a honeymooning couple's chatter, why grudge them their little games with long noodles? After all we know better than them that it is a magical time in people's lives which, like magic doesn't last that long... And even in today's age Indian couples have probably not had the legitimate sanction to do what they want whether in public or otherwise before they were joined in holy matrimony.

But more importantly it spells hope for humanity reeling under negative news from all continents...Some things like the handholding and touching coochicooing of honeymooning couples in India doesn't change and the everyday reality of that should be reassuring rather than vexing.

But of course we have the married men fed on infinite whatsapp jokes on marriage from morning until bed time, who just cannot see the innocent romance of early matrimony.

They are dying to take the man away and break the news to him. They want to look into his eyes and in a sombre voice, trying not to break down...tell him what the future holds for him and how the heady passion filled days are going to give way to a nagging, jaded partner who can read your mind to the extent that if you try to bring the romance back by doing or saying something nice, it is treated with suspicion and the nagging partner then turns into a FBI agent investigating a crime.

Needless to say married men soon settle for beer and whatsapp or whisky and television or golf and pub...the options are many!

https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=bikram%20vohra

Local versus international

"You had an arranged marriage? How could you go to bed with someone you had barely met?"
That was in England, back in India it would be- "People use toilet paper? You mean they don't wash  after they...chhhiii chhhiii..."

Different cultures react to different things in different ways.

In England in late 90s, when I told my co workers  I had just met my husband a few times before we got married, they were aghast and after the first set of exclamations did not show signs of calming down, one of the midwives calmly said- "Well at least she knew she was married to him, not something one can say about the women who go in for one night stands after a few drinks at the pub"

 Now with more and more knowledge of other cultures, more connectivity and most importantly dating apps which do precisely the same thing as the parents of  yester years did i.e. matching people's education, profession, hobbies etc. to come up with hopefuls to check out on, people don't exclaim as incredulously as they would have done nearly two decades ago.

Of all people my nineteen year old daughter's take on arranged marriage was quite jaded- "Most people arrange their marriages at some point" Well, do they? Yes there comes a time when the desire to settle down takes over other desires, I guess and you settle....for more or less. But it is still an intriguing aspect of my life for most "Westerners".

Apparently that is an official term used in some forms here in the UAE- Are you a Westerner, followed up by- Are you really a Westerner? I guess that would be for people like me who have difficulty deciding which side of the hemisphere they can call themselves from.

Coming to toilet paper, I must admit that finding a water bidet spray in every toilet here in UAE is heaven. I think that gives my Indianness away! No matter how long I survived in UK, how much I loved the countryside, the weather, the people and the local radio....there was always a mug in the toilet as is the case with most NRIs.

It has its downside. I had a bucket of water in the toilet for my in laws when they arrived in wet and windy Durham. My mother in law decided as a matter of habit to wash her feet on the floor of the toilet which was carpet less but had no outlet for water. The crumbling hospital accommodation leaked through the boards really fast and we had a job mopping it all up and explaining to my in laws that every time they wanted to wash their feet they would have to climb into the bath!

A lot is speculated similarly about the lives women lead in Islamic countries. When I was about to move to UAE I heard a spectrum of reactions. People who thought being in a sunny rich country would be great and others who had multiple reservations about what life would be like.

There were people who felt they would not be able to live here because they would not be able to hold hands in public and others who were concerned about how much they would need to cover up. I now meet Americans who raise their eyebrows at the length of shorts and skirts sported by foreigners in Dubai.

But I see young giggling school girls as well as grown women, young and old in ordinary, lacy, embroidered and now increasingly designed abayas and hijabs. Foot wear however depends on age and occupation. Sports shoes if they are younger or working in a hospital(!), stylish heels, which have decorations on the visible bits if they are older and comfortable matronly sandals if they are no longer looking for a husband.

Talking of husbands, we recently had a series of staff meetings leading up to the Joint Commission International inspection where we were split into teams and we play acted scenarios to familiarise us to the emergency procedures, in case we were questioned about them.

One of the scenarios was a "missing child". One of our female staff from the administration side, who usually gives us the lecture on Emirati cultures and traditions during the orientation week became the mother who could not find her child. AB is unmarried and is  always dressed in an abaya and hijab and she had told us during the orientation that if we saw her in a shopping mall, her face would be covered, even though she would greet us and talk to us.

AB got the prize for best actress! She screamed and shouted and lamented about how the child was right here a minute ago and where could he have gone and what is going to happen now etc etc. We were all enjoying her shrieking and running helter skelter but what got her the prize and the most laughs was when she whipped out her phone and said- "Where is the stupid husband?"

That had us all in splits and reconfirmed to all of us how wearing an abaya doesn't change a thing, the equation with the other half, for instance. I wonder when humans started wearing clothes. Just like we wouldn't be seen without our clothes on, similarly different cultures have different limits on how much exposure they find comfortable. I remember walking into the ward in UK for the first time and wondering why the women needed to be so exposed until I realised they were very comfortable in their skin and it was just not something they were thinking about, even though I was....but not for longer than the first few minutes.

More recently, I had an eighty eight year old patient from Oman, whose main concern when going in for surgery was the fact that she would be exposed. All the family rallied around her, son and daughter in law staying to look after her, grand daughter coming in everyday at prescribed times for dressing changes and nephew shuttling up and down talking to insurance etc. He even joked with his grand aunt that they would find a new man for her after the operation. The cohesiveness of families, the children running around, the food and the fragrance...these are the essentials of the local culture one is witness to all the time.

Teenage pregnancies happen everywhere but here they are in the context of marriage. This 88 year old mamma was probably a teenage mum too. I am not sure which teenage mums end up feeling more empowered.

"The limits of my language are the limits of my world" Ludwig Wittgenstein

Living and working in the UAE has been a pleasant experience so far. With all that is going on in the world, one tends not to take peace and quiet for granted anymore. I too take each day as it comes.

I am learning  key words I need, to communicate with my patients in Arabic, quite rapidly. But my patients come from all over the world. A lot of Indians I cannot communicate with because I don't speak Malayalam. Pakistanis most of them speak Urdu, even though some are more comfortable with Baloochi, Sindhi, Pashto or Punjabi. I honestly never imagined that Pakistanis weren't all super cultured people who spoke immaculate Urdu like Ghulam Ali Khan.

Then there are also the Big burly Afghans with baby faces, whose wives all need their husbands to translate. When I asked one husband what was the problem the wife had, he said in a resigned way- the problem is she doesn't speak Urdu. I had to then persuade him to find out if she had any medical complaints and what they were.

Then there are many patients of mine who are half Indian, mothers from Hyderabad or another place in India. There are those who are Pakistani or Indian but married to Arabs, who speak Urdu but speak fluent Arabic with their children and husband. Caucasians or Afro Carribeans from South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, America, Europe and UK are the easiest, because they mostly speak English. Syrians, Jordanians, Lebanese, Egyptians, Palestinians are the fair Arabs, whose Arabic apparently differs from the Emirati and Omani Arabic. A lot of them speak English and usually wear a Hijab but not the Abaya.

One woman walked into my clinic and said she will call her husband who can speak Arabic. Her nationality and the language she spoke was recorded as Iran and Persian. I waited until a tall bearded man in traditional Arabic dress complete with head dress arrived and we started communicating in broken Arabic. Soon realising I will need a translator I summoned one. Our translators are Pakistani young women who have been born and brought up here in UAE, hence speak quite a few languages.

The translator walked in, had one look at the couple and one at the file and with an air of experienced assurance said- "Doctor, he will speak Urdu" Apparently there is a population in Pakistan, which speaks Persian. The man looked crossly at me and said- "Doctor is speaking to me in Arabic, what am I supposed to do?" So I sent the translator away and started afresh taking a history in Urdu, much to the woman's relief.

Then there was a Filipino lady who I was struggling to make sense of and hence called one of the Filipino nurses to help and realised she is not making much progress because she is speaking to her in English- "Before, Before...", she seemed to be shouting. I asked her to stop and asked her why she wasn't speaking to her in the language of Philippines. Apparently apart from Tagalog, the common Filipino language, there are twelve others....... Life is not that simple, is it?

I am getting great practice of my Bangla though, with Bangladeshi patients...they always ask me if I am from Kolkata! Sometimes beyond how are you even their Bengali dialect differs and both of us revert to good old Urdu/Hindi

Then there are instances when I start speaking to women in Abayas in Arabic only to have them reply in an indignant tone in fluent English or Urdu. I now make sure I look at the nationality and occupation. Computer Engineers, Teachers, Call centre operators, students....UAE women constitute 60% of public sector workforce. They are a very visible force in all Government offices and get only 45 days maternity leave. However, they have lots of babies, if they can. They do get breaks every four hours to enable them to breast feed. Apparently the Quran encourages women to breast feed for two years.

With very close knit families and often marriages happening amongst cousins, the mammas, the elder women of the household who accompany women to the hospital during labour are a force to be reckoned with. They keep the caesarean section rates low. They discourage the women from opting for interventions, sedations, epidurals and they question the doctors who suggest any of this. I treat them as partners in my quest to ensure a natural yet safe child birth. However, I have to bank on translators to keep lines of communication open but....Inshallah..one day!
Hopefully all this exposure to multiple cultures and languages will keep my mind active and Alzheimer's at bay!

 

Life on the road!

UAE is celebrating 44 years of it's being on the National Day, 2nd December with decorations, lit up roads, buildings, bridges; events and a parade showcasing the various nationalities represented in the population.

The other day I was coming back from work and the car in front of me stopped abruptly, to drop off the passengers. I didn't know what to do hence moved to the wrong side of the narrow street but was blocked off by an open car door. I stopped and then saw another car from the opposite side come and stop right in front of me. I looked at the Arab driver and in response he threateningly inched his car closer with blazing head lights.

Needless to say I turned around to reverse to find another 4x4 waiting behind me. How the usually deserted street accumulated so much traffic in a minute, I had no idea. For the first time I felt tearful and homesick for polite Britain, where people wave and flash lights to thank you for waiting, never to intimidate or bully. Or that is just the experience I have had, others might have had a different experience.

Nobody waits in busy traffic junctions regardless of whether it is Britain, India, Bahrain or UAE but this was my quiet neighbourhood.....

To balance the story about my tears I now need to tell you another story. One month into our stay here I suddenly realised my son needed to exit and re enter the border to legally extend his stay in the country until his residency papers were processed. By the time I realised, I had reached the date of the deadline. Even though my hospital helped by ensuring I had a valid UAE driver's licence and gave me directions about how to get to the border post and the stamps that were needed in the passport, it was up to me to actually go and get it done.

I set off in my rented car with my son and decided to follow one of the staff who apparently used to travel everyday from Oman. Little did I realise that there wasn't just one border post in the city of Al Ain and border posts were different for Gulf Country Citizens and others.  Start, stop, start again, go back, questions, answers in broken Arabic and broken English, officials in uniform asking me to switch off my head lights every time I was asked to stop, others wanting to check the boot of the car, others asking for papers for the car and I tried finding this Omani border post supposedly 45 km away and failed miserably. I reached a turn where the road was deserted and dark and decided to turn back. Hubby dear was constantly on google maps at home which only showed the rugged topography of deserts and mountains, not the well lit new road I was on. He was on the phone constantly, making me worry about running out of battery, asking me to fill up on petrol and asking pointless questions which I had no answer to.

Finally I found a taxi driver fixing some promotional material on the road side. This was around 9.30 pm by now. I went up to him and told him that he needed to take me to the Omani border post. He reiterated that I should just follow the road and I can't miss it until I looked really distressed and said I had tried and failed.

He was a young man in his twenties, in the traditional white Arabic tunic and head gear. His English was limited as was my Arabic and after an exchange of "Hini, Mini" (this that), he walked to my car and reassured to find my son inside, said he would help me. He got into his car and I started following him but I realised he had parked the car and he came and sat beside me in my car, smelling of freshly sprayed traditional perfume and sweat. He then in sign language took permission to turn the rear view mirror towards himself and wiped his face, adjusted his head gear and then we set off.

We chatted and in between when I missed seeing a speed breaker and made the car jump or swerve, he would look worried and offer to drive. Hubby meanwhile was continuing to call my son to update himself on his crazy wife's exploits. This man then in a very understanding tone would gesture towards my son on the phone and say-"Baba?" I nodded and asked him if he had kids to which he replied he was not married.

He took me to the border post, got the pieces of paper needed for parking and leaving the border post and directed me back to near where he had parked his car. He gave me instructions about how to get back to Al Ain and got out of the car. I tried to pay him but realised I had no Omani Riyals but he firmly refused, smiled with a hand on his heart wished me well. All I could do was say thank you and wish well for his safety, health and well being from my heart.

Life is like that. Good people are everywhere. If it hadn't been for them I definitely would not survive!