When chats with strangers add value to life

Afortnight ago, I was scurrying out of office, and was lucky enough to spot a taxi immediately. Usually, at that hour, and especially at the beginning of the weekend, flagging a cab is a pain. Out of relief for being spared the ordeal of waiting, I thanked the driver and we got talking. The usual: ‘where are you from’, ‘how long in Dubai’, etc. The cabbie, an Indian, Sikh, (unusual, I thought), spoke rapid Punjabi. He was glad, I imagined, to find a passenger conversant in his tongue. I replied in broken Punjabi, apologising for my limited command over the language.

I learnt that he had been in Dubai for 14 years. He missed childhood Sundays when he used to be out the whole day, playing. Meals were always eaten at friends’ houses, he told me, never at his own home. He missed the taste of water in his village. His best days, he had decided, were in the past. I pointed out the dangers of nostalgia, how it works in convenient ways, with its funny mirrors effect and tendency to blur the truth, but he wasn’t interested. It gave him comfort to conjure up growing up in Ludhiana in the ’80s.

In the 15 minutes time it took me to get home, I had had a memorable exchange. He told me if I were ever stranded on the road again, to give him a call. It wouldn’t take him long to reach the office. I took the number, thanked him again and deboarded, thinking: why not, I can call him whenever next I’m stuck on a Thursday.

Dubai affords you these brief encounters. Everyone’s away from home, and usually okay to open up a bit. It’s nice when someone shows a little interest in your life. Compassion, humanity, those things come to the fore and fleetingly alleviate loneliness.

Till about maybe a year ago, we used to run a column on the city pages of this newspaper called Street Talk. It was on the outlines of the wonderful page, Humans of New York. We would broach strangers and ask them about their day, about what makes them happy, sad, wistful. What they liked about Dubai. The idea was to give readers a glimpse into their lives.

In 2015, for a Street Talk piece, I met a man who worked at the airport. His name was Kakooza Jimmy, must be 31 now. He was from Entebbe, Uganda. He told me the best thing about Dubai was that you got your salary on time.

I was thinking, column or no column, it’s nice to attempt to say hello to people with whom you share the city. I know, I know, dangers of talking to strangers. Dangers of sharing private details. Dangers of some awful things happening. But you don’t have to go overboard. We’re talking about just a little chat.

Over the weekend, I had another little chat at a watch store.

My watch wasn’t working. I took it to the mall for repair, and met the store manager. While waiting for the watch to get fixed, I learnt a few things about him. He was fed up of people walking into the store mispronouncing brands, asking to see the “MonT BlaNK range.” (“It’s Mon’ blaaan, what is this monT blaNK? We don’t have it”). He had not gotten used to Dubai’s heat. He hated it, in fact. He missed seasons at home. He asked me about rains in India. He had a friend in Mumbai who was overwhelmed with the monsoon. And he was a good salesman: he won over one customer (me) by saying the watch I was wearing looked like the brand Indian actress Aishwarya Rai endorses. Ha. I complimented his tact, however far-fetched the remark.

I had walked into the store and said, “Hi, how much is it to replace the battery of a watch?” The salesman said: Dh600. The deadpan delivery amused me. I asked, is there a watch free with it? We shared a laugh. Who doesn’t enjoy a bit of humour? The battery replacement was Dh60. I want to flick a line from a credit card ad about all other transactions being priceless, but, well, basically, momentary (not monetary) kicks like these, these little chats, add value to life.

I learnt that he had been in Dubai for 14 years. He missed childhood Sundays when he used to be out the whole day, playing