A whole new twist in life had brought me to Dubai, The exotic place on the other side of the world. For a girl who had not been out of her native land for too long, except for brief vacations around, I felt very lonely in the beginning. So, I made friends, which was/ is the easiest thing for me on earth. My friends came from different walks of life. I met Romula who was close to my mom's age and had a daughter close to my age. We hit it off ! She went on to become my mentor, my soulmate, my everything, to this day. Then, I met Patelji, an ardent architect, who had married the woman of his dreams (from my hometown) with Rs.50 in his pocket. He always gushed when he metioned this. I used to love to listen to his stories of love and courage. He had two boys well into their teens. (Wonder why God has stopped making such men anymore. Well, that's a whole new blog in itself)

Coming from a broken family and being away from home, these two people provided me the much needed emotional support. God afterall, brings people into our lives for a reason - I live by this adage!

Nothing in our life is a co-incidence...

Apart from these two people I did make some wonderful friends in my age group, with whom I indulged in some drinking, hookah smoking, club hopping and visiting some trendy discs. Despite having so much fun, I felt I was lacking something. Something that could bring me solace. So, I expressed how I felt to my older friends and they suggested that I chill and take it easy. It was only a passing phase, after all the turmoil I had been through in life, they said. But, when I persisted and cut down on my visits to clubs or meeting my friends, they knew something was amiss. But, they simply wanted me to come out of this 'situation'. So, Patelji, called me one Wednesday and asked me if I would join him on a trip to Sharjah. I readily said yes, after informing my sister and B-I-L, with whom I used to live. They, I'm sure were only too happy that I was going somewhere.

So, it was Wednesday and Patelji picked me up from Bur Dubai and we began our long journey to Sharjah. On the way, he told me more stories about his love life and how he adored his wife and how lucky he was etc. He was truly a happy man! After the long trip we arrived at a large compound with high walls and gates on wheels, the typical ones that you see in Sheikhs' bungalows. He honked and the door opened as if it had heard the code Open Sesame ...

I asked him why we were here and he smiled and said 'you'll see...' So, we got out of the car into a meticulously laid brick pavement, bordered with well manicured gardens in full bloom of all possible colors. It indeed was a beautiful sight. Then I followed Patelji, into the main entrance of the only building in the compound. It was a huge building, with several entrance/ exits, big and small. We entered the building to reach the lobby which was as impressive. A couple of TVs playing on mute. One of them showing the daily azaan being conducted in a local mosque, another showing a football match, and the other showing CNN World. As soon as we enetered the building it reeked of chemicals. Being a student of Microbiology, I knew it was phenol that was used to keep the place germ free. So, I asked if this place was a hospital. He emphatically nodded a 'No' and gestured me to follow him.

So, we walked towards where the huge sofa sets were placed right in front of the TV. Only then did I see they were occupied with some frail, weathered figures. Almost all wore white, some with all-white keffiyeh with agal. Patelji sported the most beaming smile and went and greeted them with all enthusiasm. 'Ke falak?' he asked regally as if he spoke their tongue with ease. Pat came the reply 'Zain' Some of them got up from their seats and greeted him with the same enthusiasm. From that moment I lost Patelji to the inmates of this place.

Oh, BTW folks, this was a home for the aged for Bedouin nationals of the country of UAE. Having nothing much to do I scanned the whole place inch by inch. I noticed that there were no women-inmates in the lobby. While I was still wondering if this was exclusiely for men, I saw a nurse wheel out one of the most beautiful woman I have set eyes on in my life. This woman was covered head to toe with the traditional Bedouin garb of women of this region - the Abaya. Despite her wrinkled face I saw that she was stunning and had very unusual features for a woman of the area. Only later did I come to know she was a French national. Read on to find out more about her.

Then I scanned around more and saw one old man in a wheel chair simply enjoying the game of football. One handsome hunk he was! With a thick mane of jet black hair and a thick mush to match, I immediately knew he was an Iraqi national. So, I went to him and asked him 'ke falaq?' He quickly glanced at me said the most gracious 'Zain' and got engorssed in his game. I almost laughed at the enthusiasm with which men watched their sports.

Walked around a bit and spoke to a couple of the nurses there, from whom I learnt a wealth of information about the place.

The place I was in was the only home for the aged in Dubai-Sharjah area (thank God! I thought) It's hard to believe that a culturally and economically affluent country like UAE would have a place like this. But reality is stranger than fiction. Although the number of inmates is limited to only a thirty or forty at a time, they are not dependent on charity. All nurses and doctors are appointed by the government. So, everybody takes their job seriously. There is absolutely no need for volunteers. But, we were still visiting this place as volunteers. After a few more rounds of shaking hands patting a back and shoulder rubs, Patelji and myself left the place feeling very content.

Thus, every Wednesday and Saturday we visited the place. At times we would have more volunteers with us. But, mostly it was Patelji and me making our trip religiously. After a couple of weeks I knew that this is exactly what I was waiting for. I called Romula and told her about how I felt. She told me I was a old soul in a young body. No wonder I connected with you so well, she added. To this day I remember how I felt offended she called me an 'old soul' at twenty something. But, now I understand how true she was!

Thus began my associations with two people I can never ever forget in my life: Mama Moza and Ali.

Mama Moza was a frail, fair woman with chiseled, aquiline features. She had dainty little hands which were almost always placed on her thighs, crossed, very lady like. We volunteers had nothing much to do in this place. We chatted with the inmates with our broken Arabic or sometimes to save us our grace, the inmates would speak to us in broken but, much better Hindi/ Urdu. Mama Moza was a woman of few words, but very gracious. She was always lost in her thoughts. It was a normal practice for us to help the inmates at their feeding time. One day a nurse told me Mama Moza's story.

She was a French national who had fallen in love with a Bedouin who was studying in her university in France. They decided to get married and lived happily until he finished his education and decided to come back to his home-country. Mama Moza had loved her husband so much , he followed him like a lamb. Once settled in his land, the Bedouin landed one of the prestigious jobs, he fell into his old practice of polygamy. Mama Moza became a wreck. She became a recluse. More and more wives were added to the harem. She hardly got to see her husband. When she did, she realised his love was being shared by many and she slowly started distancing herself from him. Since she had become a UAE citizen by then, on account of being legally married to an Emirati, she decided against going back to France. She took up a job as a French teacher. She wore the Bedouin costume and followed her adopted religion even more piously than a moslem. At times I would see her eyes go pale, and her eyes kind of become glassy. I knew she was weeping from within but on the exterior she was as calm as can be. She was a great inspiration from me to tide over tribulations in my own life. To this day I remember her gracious presence in the seniors’ home.

Mama Moza taught me to accept life with all it’s frailties.

Then we have Ali, the grown up boy, literally. Always, pinching the nurses’ butts and royally flirting with them. The nurses loved him, but hesitated to take him out for walks in the garden. 'He talks too much' - they said. (Surprisingly not one complained of his flirting) So, I volunteered to take him for his walks. Knowing the chatter box I was, thought I could outdo him. Thus, began one of the most cherished friendships of my life.

Ali was a Civil Engineer educated in the UK. He specialized in construction of bridges. He rattled out statistics of bridges around the various Emirates like he was reciting is favorite poem. Ali had worked with crème de la of the engineering field in the country. I was in total awe of him. Also, I could not believe that such a well-known personality was here in the senior home on a wheel chair. The chatter box in me took a back seat and I learned to ‘listen’ patiently to all he had to say. Ali and I started spending more and more time on our walks. He revealed so much about his life to me. How he had fallen in love with a fellow Iraqi student in his engineering school. How they had married and started a family together. How they roamed around the world, with their children in tow. He told me that he had four sons and two daughters. Some settled in the U.S. and the rest in UK. I gingerly asked him where his wife was. For the first time I saw tears in Ali’s eyes. Then slowly he wept aloud. I did not know what to do. I held his hands and rubbed his shoulders. That day we did not talk much, after. I slowly brought him back to his room and waited a bit until he had his medications and slipped into his sleep. I slowly pulled the sheet over him and stepped out of his room taking care not to wake him up.

Next day, I was not myself. I got the telephone # of the place and dialed in to ask for Ali. Nobody picked the call. I left a message for Ali, not even knowing if he would ever get it. After about 4 hrs I get a call on my cell phone with a Sharjah area code. I wanted to feel elated but held my reins. I answered the call and then realized I had every reason to scream in joy. It was Ali on the phone. He was back to his normal flirtatious self. He told me that now he knew how to blackmail me. I chuckled like a kid. Then he said something that was totally out of the blue. He said, from today onwards I’m going to call you my NOOR. Then he explains to me what it meant. I told him to stop his ways, lest I’ll never visit him. He joked saying, I could give it a try!

Much later, Ali told me that his sons had kept his wife with them (in UK) to take care of their kids. He was not able to negate that, as he himself was wheelchair bound and solely dependent on pension from the government.

I was amazed to know how a man so flirtatious, who almost sounded like a womanizer, felt so much for his wife. Then I knew I hardly understood people. Thus, began my quest to know them, people. To this day, I’m still learning and I know for a fact will continue to do so. From time to time I miss the tender kiss Ali used to place on my hands and call out to me endearingly – Noor…

Ali taught me to love, without losing out on some fun.

Mama Moza, Ali I miss you. Yes, I do.

P.S.: This blog was inspired by Nargis’ blog “Love is not Blind”. As she has rightly pointed out we do some service, thinking that we are helping them out. But, in reality, these folks help US in so many ways.