Novel - The Desert Rose - Chapter - 3

Friday Evening

Fridays were the only holidays in Dubai and the expatriates enjoyed them with great fervour and enthusiasm. Sukumaran got up at 11-00 AM. He had a cup of tea and got ready with a hot shower. He never took breakfast on any day. He dressed in his blue and white striped shirt and covered himself with a woolen coat. He was relaxed as it was a holiday. But his responsibilities were too many. He drove down to Ghusseli to check the excavation work. He parked his car and walked along the sand where the D8’s (D8 bulldozers) were working. The drivers had stopped work and had gone to the nearby mosque on the main road for the Friday prayers. There was good progress of work.

Jashwinder Singh, Foreman ran towards him.

“Sat Sri Akal sirji” he wished Sukumaran.

“Sat Sri Akal”, Sukumaran replied. Sukumaran was very happy to see that one row of labour accommodation was already completed and at the back, toilets and baths were being constructed with cement sand blocks.

“The shovel will be here by 1 O’ clock and I will dig pits for the septic tanks, sirji” Jashwinder said with much enthusiasm. Jashwinder was his favourite foreman as he was very efficient and active.

“Tomorrow, we will complete offices for the Consultants and you, sirji” Jashwinder unfolded his plan for the next day.

Sukumaran was much pleased with the proceedings. He walked back and passed the Bedouin huts. In one of the huts, an Arab, about sixty years old, was smoking Hookah (water pipe). When he saw Sukumaran, he waved at him saying “Thaal, thaal hini” (Come, come here).

Sukumaran walked towards him. The hut was made of khajur leaves, both the walls and the roof. He was sitting outside on a cot. A camel was licking the back of its calf as the calf sucked milk from the mother’s udders.

“Salaam Aalaikum”, the Arab said. The Arab introduced himself in half Arabic and half Urdu. “My name is Baqer Hussain. Please sit down Mohandis (Engineer)”. He offered a wooden chair to Sukumaran. He was surprised how Baqer could know that he was the Engineer.

He said “Aalaikum Salaam. I am engineer Sukumaran”

“I know you are the Engineer. Now I know your name” he laughed.

He brought a big circular receptacle in which there were dates, oranges, apples, grapes and various kinds of dry nuts.

“Please take” he told Sukumaran. His smile was very innocent. His lower teeth were stained and his beard was black and white. His Arab attire was brownish and his head wear was purple in colour with a striped woolen cloth.

Sukumaran knew very well about Arab hospitality which should be reciprocated with good participation in taking what they would offer. He started to eat some dates and dry nuts. Baqer went inside and brought a jug of steaming quawa (a special black coffee) with a few small coffee cups. He poured the coffee in one of the cups and offered it to Sukumaran. He drank the coffee and gave the cup back to Baqer. He filled it again and gave it to Sukumaran. Likewise at least eight times Sukumaran had to drink the coffee.

He told Baqer “it is enough”

Baqer laughed at him and said “if you don’t want more you should move your hand like this with the cup”. Baqer’s hand moved anticlockwise in a shivering action with the cup. “Like this” he said.

Sukumaran had never known about that formality.

There was laughter from inside near the window, the laughter of a young woman. He looked towards the window. The aroma of Arabic perfumes filled the air. He saw a pair of beautiful eyes; the face was covered in a black burqa. She disappeared as Sukumaran was looking at her.

“My daughter, Raffia” Baqer said.

Sukumaran thanked Baqer and said goodbye to him.

While driving back to Dubai, her pair of eyes was following him while her laughter was ringing in his ears.

The fish biriyani from Al Hamra Restaurant was very tasty for Sukumaran, especially after consuming two cans of Carlsberg beer. His experience at the Bedouin hut that morning was quite enchanting to him. He wrote a letter to his mother about the new project. He wanted to share his happiness with his mother and sister through the letter. At a stage, tears blocked his vision while writing, as he was missing all of them. The financial difficulties of his family were slowly vanishing as he was sending money drafts to them every month. It was the final year for her sister in the college for her degree in English. She would be twenty one years when she would graduate. He wanted her to go for a training course in teaching, so that he could try to bring her to Dubai for a possible employment in one of the schools. He thought that age of twenty three to twenty four would be ideal for her to get married. His mother had also agreed for that probability.

A nap of about one hour refreshed him. It was 5-00 P.M and he had a hot shower. Gopiyettan (an elderly person who was working in the British Bank of the Middle East) had invited him for dinner at his house.

He drove his car quite slowly enjoying the weather through his open windows. The weather was getting a little warmer as clouds were gathering in the sky. An impending shower of rain was in the cards, but it would drop down the temperature, he mused. He stopped at the Bur Dubai post office to post his letter to his mother. Indian and Pakistani workers were seen everywhere in their best dresses. At the Plaza cinema, they were screening a Hindi movie.

He drove straight through the Strand Cinema round about and turned towards Karama. Gopiyettan was staying in one of the small villas. When he knocked at his door, Gopiyettan opened the door wearing a dhoti and a thorthu (a piece of cloth) on his right shoulder.

He greeted Sukumaran with his loving trade mark smile. On the centre table at the sofa set were glasses and a bottle of Dimple Scotch whiskey. He had already started drinking. He took another sip and started to pour some in another glass for Sukumaran.

“Gopiyettan, not now please. I will have later” Sukumaran pleaded.

“Nothing doing, start” it was an order by Gopiyettan.

Gopiyettan was a very senior employee in his bank and it was his twelfth year of employment with the British Bank. He was diabetic, but he would not care to control his alcoholism. He had wasted a lot of money on liquor. He always wanted company to drink and he had a permit for buying liquor which enabled him to entertain his guests and himself with all kinds of alcohol. Bachelors would throng to him in most evenings for drinks and when they get married they would avoid him. That hurt Gopiyettan very much. Still he would not stop his habit of patronizing liquor parties.

Gopiyettan’s brother– in–law, who was also staying with him, joined us. He was a great cook and that evening’s delicacies were prepared by him.

“Is the cooking finished?” Gopiyettan asked Unnikkuttan, his brother–in- law.

He smiled and answered in the affirmative. His head was fully bald and small pox marks were seen scattered on his cheeks and forehead.

The drinking session continued. Sukumaran was in a controlled state. So was Unnikkuttan.

“Ammu, serve the dinner. Where are you?” Gopiyettan was searching for her. Ammu was his wife staying in Kerala.

That was his usual behaviour when he was drunk beyond limits.

He spread the thorthu on his chest and started to act like a woman.

“Have you seen Kalyana Sowganthikam kathakali?” he questioned them. “You know I was trained at the Kalamandalam in Cheruthuruthy”. He started to move in steps of Kathakali movements as Panchali.

Unnikkutan said “Suku we should stop now, let me arrange the dinner on the table.”

“Nothing doing. Unni do you think I am drunk? I am not. Pour one more for me. This is an order” Gopiyettan’s tongue was not in his control. His steps were staggering.

Sukumaran said “Gopiyetta, let us stop and eat the dinner”

“Look, you are also like Unni. You think I am drunk. I am never drunk”. With that he fell on the sofa backwards.

Unni said “let him lie down for a while. Let us eat. I will wake him up later and make him eat.”

Sukumaran felt so much pitiful for Gopiyettan. He could not enjoy the dinner. Unni made Gopiyettan lie properly on the sofa and covered him with a blanket.

Sukumaran left the house. He drove carefully.

Another Friday was about to end during the winter season of a year in the late 1970’s at the city of Dubai.