Very, very short take
Sushmita Bose -
Wednesday, October 08, 2008 7:30 PM
Sorry guys, I've been very out of sorts, and have been missing in action for a while now. It's mostly because I don't have a place to stay, and I won't be able to get one till my permanent visa comes through. "It's on its way," promises the bespectacled HR chappie, who's from Bangalore, solemnly. "Tomorrow, before you get in to work, it'll be there." I don't believe a word of what he says. He's been parroting the same line for the last few days now. Sigh. Till I get my visa, I can't get my bank account. Till I get the bank account, I don't get my cheque book. Till I get the cheque book, I won't be able to sign post-dated cheques, hand them over, with a flourish, to one of the many beady-eyed brokers, and move into my own little set-up.
It's my 21st day in the hotel. In between, I tried living in a serviced apartment. I was back like a shot in the hotel in the morning -- will explain why in one of my coming posts.
Three weeks of star hospitality is giving me a phobia. I wake up early in the morning and run and hang out the 'DO NOT DISTURB, HAVING A SNOOZE' sign (which is usually a euphemism for 'I'm Having Sex' - not in my case though) on my door; if I don't, a long line of people troop in: housekeeping, the guy who comes to refill the coffee/tea bar, the chap who comes to water the plants etc etc. I need to wash my clothes, but I dare not: the ‘laundry' tariff says getting a 'hanky' washed and ironed will set you back by 35 dirhams, which is almost Rs 500. Since I don't particularly want to give a handkerchief for washing, I shudder to think how much a pair of trousers will set me back by. (Laundry bills are not being picked up the company.) And yes, yes, yes, I still convert EVERYTHING I buy (or even eye hopefully) into INR.
So here I am feeling homeless and homesick. I could go on and on with my long list of ‘relocation blues', but I have to go and check out a few apartments now. I was out house-hunting yesterday evening too. The broker promised to show me a cosy studio "right opposite, madam" the snazzy Burjaman Mall (it's a gorgeous slice of incredibly high-life consumerism carved out of Dubai's skyline, where you can - and I mean, people like me -- look, maybe even touch gingerly, but almost never, ever buy); I ended up in some building opposite a graveyard, in a terribly depressing neighbourhood, several kilometres away from the mall.
I'm not looking forward to some more house-hunting...
A longer post is just round the corner.