A Name to Honour
by Sushma Harish
Dear readers: This writing referrers to the year 2006 as we bid adieu to India and flew to Qatar finding our bread after the oil here. A comparative presentation of the life in Bangalore and in Doha is what you find here. But with pinch of humour.
It was that red winged Gulf Airlines that I flew on from the Garden City of India to this Desert called Doha, my home for past 7 years. For those who don't know, the Garden City of India is Bangalore. To this day I can’t stop abusing the airlines that delayed my take off by more than an hour, in turn pushed me in a mess as I missed my transit flight to Doha. After travelling like crazy around two Gulf States in 24 hours, with my infant, feeding her whatsoever was available in the airports, I reached Doha almost like 18 hours late. The new me in this new place began in black and white.
After a hustle bustle of so called journey, the arrival in Doha International Airport even today sends in that very air in me. I can stand there blinking at the very sight that went blur to my sight that day, with same propensity even now. People weren't running, everyone to everything seemed calm, no noise. Huge built Arabs with utmost respect to women like me with child in hand, greeted. Most attire around me was either full white [men] or full exotic black [women]. Some hardly showed their eyes only. My heart fainted with respect shown to ladies, in the airport. Waiver of long queues was big relief. Remember unlike in Bangalore not one apart from porter bothered to notice I was managing 12kg handbag with 12kg baby with me.
Once out of airport, and into the fancy grey SUV, I smiled to myself. Welcome to Doha reverberated in my ears. As we pulled off, felt an urge to use the seat belt in the rear seat too. Nevertheless eyes stuck on broad, good roads that seemed like neatly laid car showroom, just that cars were moving. Hardly signs of two wheeler, auto rickshaws, or honking over filled buses or speeding trucks. A short ride took us to grand villa in midst of city.
Operating from Qatar officially. Life was getting normal. New routines volunteered. Mornings were beautiful, be it Bangalore or Doha. But sun was shining more here. I did not like it though. There weren't those crows too. Also, I had started missing the morning milk man who rang the shrill bell at 5am, I had once hated.
Few days before settling with a job routine, it was uneasy not to find a cockroach or a fly or a lizard to chase and neither was that strolling street vendor selling fresh veggies. The bonus was a brand new car all for me. I had to proudly show it off to my people in India. Yes. All for myself, remember.
Shades of life had changed. From colorful India to black and white, from busy streets to calm ones.
It took us few months getting acquainted to their accent and tone. At times when I occasionally found a car coming to screeching halt on a main road, making way for the walker, I would realize, bliss this was. On Bangalore roads the constant fear of a local bus almost run over me haunted, while here a walker received super respect. I liked this, though not the absence of cockroaches in the house! Phew.
There were no easy signs of a "maid", so I played the role of one initially. That meant, every night when I had to do away the trash in the exterior of the compound, there were huge pairs of eyes staring me. Never in my life had some huge built cats stared, after all for throwing trash. There were no street dogs out in Arab country; hence the cats apparently grew too naughty. I had to assume. Or perhaps I did not have non vegetarian stuff for them may be. However the cats did not bother me much. Lesser greenery did. I payed heaven and hell to actually purchase even grass and soil. Good heavens. Welcome to desert, I told myself. Closed air conditioned homes and bottled water at times choked me. Forcing me to flee to the peace of the temple environment, but alas, no luck. The monotonous Mosque prayers had started pleasing me. I liked the melody and rhythm with which people prayed punctually 5 times a day. I got used to it to the extent, of omiting usage of morning alarm of 4am.
At times my heart leaps to Bangalore, but returns promptly at the very thought of the noisy streets or crowded buses. Life moves on now in black and white. Now, I could put on a badge myself, a name to honour, pat my back and say "I am an Gulfi".