The Search – The Lost Childhood

The story I’m about to tell, happened in the early seventies when Dubai was not exactly what it may be today. But believe me, this is a true story.

I was waiting anxiously almost for over an hour near Plaza to take a taxi to Satwa. It looked as if all the taxis, which plied on the roads, had disappeared into oblivion when I needed one the most. But curse my luck! I couldn’t get a simple taxi when I wanted it, how then could I expect to get a flat within my limited budget? If I missed this appointment of 11 o’clock, my dreams of getting a flat for fifteen thousand dirhams would surely be ruined. Well, it wasn’t as if I was entirely homeless or didn’t have a roof over my head then. Four of us friends were quite happy and contented in the bachelors’ quarters we were staying in presently. But post-marriage, after a long and seemingly endless wait, through somebody’s influence, I had managed to get a ‘family visa’. Even when I had guaranteed and given endless assurances to my wife that I would call her to Dubai as soon as I got a family visa, she continued to taunt me in all her letters, and through the occasional phone calls, “Looks like you got married only to keep me back in Bombay.” And from the last letter I had received it was more than obvious that my better half (sic!) was really hot.

The temperature continued to rise and it was getting really hot and humid now. Time was running as if it was in a hurry to get away from this rising heat. In desperation, I looked around once more, but still couldn’t find a single vacant taxi. I was furious with the fact that the landlord, Singhania, had called me all the way to his Satwa office to discuss a deal for a house that was situated in Karama. To tell the truth, I was beginning to get irritated with the whole set-up of Dubai … You know, patience is not one of my major virtues. In order to have a fat bank account in future, hordes of people sacrificed their cozy present and came to Dubai after selling all their assets, only to struggle here. Every year the house rents and, with that, the ‘key money’ kept on increasing. Even with this scenario, every flight to Dubai carried loads of people who came in search of affluence in the arid sands here. Ironically, with the financial resources on hand, Dubai government was able to “plant” more greenery in Dubai than perhaps back home, is another story. Where and how these hordes of people managed to find their abode, always left me wondering.

“Saahib, where do you want to go?”

My reverie was interrupted by this question asked by a young twelve-year old boy pulling my shirt.

“Saahib, where do you want to go?” he asked once again.

“To hell,” I screamed in a foul mood.

When I cooled down somewhat and came to my senses, I cursed myself for getting angry on that little boy with no valid reason. I looked at him closely. His tanned face must have been fair once upon a time. His curly hair was a perfect match for his rounded face. Pulling my shirt, wet with sweat, he asked me once again.
“Saahib, maybe I can help. Where do you want to go?”

This time I was sounding better, when I answered, “To Satwa, if I can get a taxi, my dear boy.”

He pointed to the new bus station that was just ready and, signaling me to come with him, he said, with the confident airs of an expert, “Saahib, you won’t get a taxi here this time of the day. Follow me. You can get a sharing taxi for just one dirham … a lot cheaper.”

It was absolutely pointless to go to Satwa so late, but I had to, so that I wouldn’t be accused of not keeping my appointment with Singhania. Unconsciously, my feet started walking towards the bus station where many others were waiting for a sharing taxi.

“Saahib, do you want to go by a bus? It will cost you fifty ¬fils more than a sharing taxi, but it’ll still be cheaper than a direct taxi for you,” he suggested in a friendly tone.

I wished I had a mirror with me at that moment, so I could see how helpless I must have looked, for this boy to suggest money-saving measures to me. I smiled weakly and replied, “It’s okay, I’ll be happy to wait for the one-dirham taxi. There is no point walking that far in this terrible heat.”

Suddenly, he looked in the direction of a taxi and said hurriedly, “Saahib, you see that taxi standing there? That will take you to Satwa.”

“Shukran,” I said and held out a fifty-fil coin for him, in a desperate effort to prove to him that even I could afford to tip him.

He moved his hand back as if bitten by a poisonous snake.

“Saahib, I am not begging. I don’t need alms. I don’t ask for them.”

“This is not alms or charity. This is your bakshish. You helped me get a taxi, that’s why. Not because you asked. Please keep this,” I said, ruffling his dark, curly hair.

“Saahib, the taxi’s here. Just sit inside,” he said in a hurry as he pushed back my hand with the coin.

Slowly I moved to sit in the taxi. But even before I could reach the taxi door, people who seemed to be in more hurry got inside, and before I knew it, the taxi was full.

“Saahib, you can’t move so leisurely.”

“Then, what must I do?” I asked him with amusement.

“When you spot a taxi, you must quickly get inside as if you are running in a race,” he advised me, looking at the taxi that had whizzed past, leaving a trail of dust behind.

I smiled mischievously at him and said, “And how do you know that, smart one? As if you travel in a taxi everyday?”
He smiled and said, “In fact, I don’t. Where will I go in a taxi, Saahib? But I watch this ‘tamaasha’ here almost every day, so I know. Alright, now don’t waste time talking. Hurry up and get inside that taxi which you see coming now.”

And in an instant, he held the door open for me even before the taxi could come to a complete halt. Wiser now, after listening to his sane advice, I rushed into the taxi to secure a seat for myself.

“That’s good, Saahib,” he said, pushing back my hand that still held the coin I wanted to give him. Without waiting for the taxi to start, he ran towards another taxi which was on its way.

There was absolutely no hope that I would meet Singhania so late. And I was right. After getting down at Satwa and walking through the burning sands, when I reached Singhania’s office, his petite secretary informed me that Singhania had left after waiting for me. “Come tomorrow the same time, and on time,” she said.

She said all this with a plastic smile that is stuck on some faces so effortlessly. I walked out of his office, cursing no one in particular. As I came out, I picked up a big stone from the burning sand and threw it into the open expanse in front that seemed to be teasing me, in search of a roof over my head. Cursing the entire, big bad ruthless world, I started walking to the main road to take a taxi back home. For a moment, I was tempted to give up this futile search for an apartment with a reasonable rent and tell my wife that she was better off staying in Bombay, at least temporarily. After all, I was not the only creature staying away from his family in Dubai. There were many in this sandy desert, in search of greener pastures.

An expatriate employee like me had to face this problem of finding a house within a reasonable budget. The house rents were taken for one full year in advance, with the additional facility of making the payment with one or two post-dated cheques. All the employers were not accommodative enough to provide accommodation for their employees and take on additional headache. One never knew how much the rents would increase the next year. And in many cases the house rents were so hefty here, that for the same amount, or perhaps a little more, one could own an ‘ownership’ flat back home in Bombay or Poona or at least in some smaller town elsewhere. But even when everyone knew the reality of the real estate business here, hordes of people hoping to make it big in this city of gold continued to come, either legally or illegally! And now my own name had been added to that already long and ever-growing list of people who continued their search every year for flats with reasonable rents. I had no other choice but to go and meet Singhania the next morning.

The next day once again, I was standing opposite Plaza. Like yesterday, even today I noticed the young boy who was doing the social service of helping the needy people get a taxi. Slowly, I tiptoed to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He looked back, with a startled expression. As soon as he saw me, he smiled and gave me a salaam.

“Hey, what’s your name?” I asked him.

“Ahmed. Saahib, again want a taxi today?” he asked me with a smile.

“Yes, and for the same job as yesterday’s.”
“Why? Couldn’t you finish the job yesterday?”

“Forget it, dost. This search for a room with less rent is not going to end so soon for me. It will go on. This year… then, the next year, perhaps, as long I have to stay here,” I said disgustedly.

“You speak the truth, Saahib. Some searches never seem to end.” He sounded a little disappointed as he said this.

“How do you know?” I probed him further.

“I knowt, Saahib. From my personal experience!” he said with sorrowful eyes.

“What are you searching anyway?” I asked him curiously.

But before he could answer me, he spotted another taxi and ran off, shouting, “Saahib, taxi?”

I was tempted to follow him, but I had to meet Singhania. I quickly sat in a taxi. As I sat securely, I remembered the Bombay street boys who just opened the door of a vehicle on any normal day, on any of the normally crowded Bombay streets and demanded money in return. I wondered at this young boy who refused tips given willingly by me and maybe by many others! I was curious to find out more about him. For the moment, however, the need to get a reasonably priced flat, as promised by Singhania, was more important for me than the need to find out more about this boy. But even on that front I had only disappointment to face. After waiting for Singhania in his office for over an hour, I was told that the flat which was priced yesterday at an annual rent of Dhs, 14,000, now cost 18,000. Again I cursed my luck and came out of his office.

The next evening, while I had gone to the Plaza vegetable market to buy some fruits, once again I spotted Ahmed, helping people load the vegetable bags and fruit cartons into their vehicles. After waiting for some time for him to get free, I patted on his back and said, “Ahmed, I wish to talk to you”.

At about 8pm the same night, both of us sat in a nearby hotel. Now, he asked the first question, “Saahib, has your search ended?” I shook my head in disappointment.

He smiled weakly and said, “Saahib, don’t worry. You will surely get a house within your budget, sooner or later. Don’t give up, Keep searching.”

“Ahmed, yesterday you said that you, too, were searching for something.”

“Yes, Saahib. Even I am searching… for almost a year now. But without any luck!”

“And what are you searching for?” I persisted.

“I am searching for my Abbajaan.”

My hands, with the half-drunk tea-cup, shook violently. “Yes, Saahib. I’m searching for my Abbajaan.”
“Your Abbajaan? But where did you lose him?”

“Somewhere here.”

“Now tell me the whole story. I’ll help you search for him. After all, Dubai is such a small place.”

“Saahib, this small city of Dubai seems to be a big jungle for a helpless little boy like me,” he said in a voice which was full of despair for the first time since I had met him.

He pushed aside the dinner plate which I had ordered by now and shared his sad tale.

“Last year, I and Abbajaan came to Dubai from Pakistan. Only after coming here did he realize that the man who had taken a hefty sum from him with promises of a decent job had cheated him. For some time, both of us stayed here in the compound of one of the shops in the market. Slowly, all the money he had brought with him was exhausted. Then followed slow starvation! And one day, Abbajaan asked me to wait here for him and left in a taxi. Never to return. I waited for him here everyday. Faced starvation … tried to fill my stomach by drinking water from this public tap here. When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I went to one of the shop owners and begged him for a job. He proved to be an angel and gave me the job of carrying loads here. In return, he allowed me to sleep in this shed at night and gave me food twice a day. It was more than I could have asked for. It helped me to survive. What other choice did I have, Saahib? I have nowhere to go now. If I have to search for my Abbujaan, I have to live here, isn’t it? From that day, I work in this shop both mornings and evenings. And whenever time permits, I am here … searching for my Abbajaan in the crowd here waiting for a taxi.”

As he was talking, suddenly his face brightened again. The despair, which seemed to be playing hide and seek on his face, came to be seen on my face now. Suddenly, he looked out and got up to go. He ignored my hand signalling him to sit, finish the food and said, “Saahib, there are people waiting outside for a taxi … I must go in search of my Abbajaan.”

Saying this, Ahmed ran out. The food was there in front of me, but I had no desire to even look at it now. Still I continued to sit there, while my mind wandered … I don’t know where, as if searching for something. I just did not know what I was searching for. Was it a search of a house for an annual rent of Dhs, 15,000? Or was it a search for Ahmed’s Abbajaan lost in the jungle of Dubai … But then was he really lost, or had he chosen to lose himself, on purpose … leaving his little boy to fend for himself? What was the SEARCH all about? I had no answer, do you?

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