I am in Bahrain now. It is hot really hot . The schools have closed and we have time to contemplate on our life here.
My first impression was this is a rich city. The roads were good, the buildings beautiful, all glass and glitter. From Muharraq where the airport is, on to Manama and to the concrete jungles of the city. I felt a bit depressed and sort of walled in as we stopped at the huge concrete walls of the Gosi shopping complex near where we stayed.
Watching the world go by , is now a favoured pastime.

The picture I have chosen for my profile in a way reflects on my longing for the cool, cool sight of greenery.
The soft green of the grassy lawn in Nigeria to the lime green leaves of the Neem tree in India. The coconut trees gently swaying in the breeze and the mango tree which always cooled the kitchen as I went about the days chores not so long ago.
I see a line of trees in an orderly way blocking the huge GOSI car park from the window. Any errant branch that tries to stray is chopped off.

The dust swirls about as the cars inch their way to the parking lot. Cars and more Cars. A never ending stream of them . Once I got up at 3am in the morning and there were around fifteen cars moving around their headlights lighting up the roads of this island town of Manama.
The muezzin calling the faithful at 3.30am in the morning, broadcast into the stillness of the dawn by the loudspeakers of the mosque. And just when you try to catch up on your sleep, there he is at his task again at 4am or so .

Krishna and his friend Vishnu are having yet another one of their games at the playstation.
They never seem to tire of these games. It is too hot for them to play outside and it is unsafe with the moving cars. There is really no place for them to kick the ball around or play a refreshing game of cricket.
As cities all around the world compete to create concrete jungles, they are increasingly becoming child unfriendly. I hope the day will come, when trees and open spaces to play are integrated into every block in every city.

We started our walk to Manama in the evening. It was a long walk, the heat of the sun getting to us , as we walked along the shade of huge multi-storied buildings to reach the Manama gate. It was cooler here, the buildings completely sheltering us from the sun.
Passed a few lanes , looking out for those speeding cars which are so much part of Bahrain. The Manama market is a exciting place to be in. From the never ending glitter of the tiny gold shops and the colours and sights, it is a feast to the eye.

I see more Indians here than the locals. The shops are run by Indians and all you hear is Malayalam, Tamil and Hindi. The shops too are like the ones in the Mumbai markets with their colourful products lined up to the road.
A few big cars are here too but here they move around more carefully as the roads are as crowded as the markets of India. The bachelor(there are restrictions for bringing in the family in most gulf countries) crowds are on the move during weekends. The vegetarian restaurants here are equal to the best in India.

The Krishna temple is a focal point for most Indians coming from other areas in Bahrain. The pigeons flocking in the courtyard of the temple, the chant of bhajans (religious music) from its cool interiors, it is a must visit spot .
Then for a bit of shopping at the Manama souq, all the walking will surely tire you out. Head out to the nearest vegetarian restaurant, the Anand Bhavan and the Woodlands are just a stone throw away from the temple. For some tasty “sambar vadai” and a glass of delicious sweet lime juice. Life can be satisfying.

We go to the Aswaq supermarket to find the vegetables for the week,for our seriously vegetarian diet. It is a long walk past the busy exhibition avenue,with its sweet shops and cold stores(that is what they call the small shops selling basic things like bread and milk) and its currency exchange houses. These currency exchange places are always busy.
The supermarkets catering to Indians have everything you want and more. In Nigeria, I had to hunt around for spices in Onitsha and Asaba and if you didn’t visit Lagos, you had to do without some of them .

The moustache man sits at platforms somewhere along the pedestrian path. He seems to be Turkish and his long sharp moustache is turned upward and curved like the horns of some exotic African cattle, the ends sharply set. He has more than a foot of hair growing from his chest and he struts about with his chest hair showing.
People stop by to take a picture with him, for which he charges. He carries a Polaroid camera with him at all times and also a piece of cardboard to prevent pictures of him, taken for free. His appearance shocks you.

Then there are the broadcasters. They come in their cars with the music system in full blast and trawl the road, much to the disgust of other road users. They enjoy the drama they create.
There are the loudsters too. They shout out to buddies and scream out conversation sometimes followed by raucous laughter. I studiously, avoid looking at the vermin of the roads. All else is peaceful. There is hardly any honking and if you close your eyes for a moment, you would never think, that there were more than a hundred cars, on this stretch of the road.

The Hoora mosque stands majestic with its beautiful minarets. There is always activity around it, though I am unaware of what is happening inside its vast interiors.
On some days , I see the fruit sellers, outside its doorsteps. They have their products lined out on tables, the apples , mangoes and the oranges to catch the crowd as they come out after their evening prayers.
On Fridays, there is a long service as I hear the maulana over the mosque’s loudspeakers. At about 12.45 in the afternoon,the service finishes and people trickle out of the mosque.

There is a flurry of activity at the car park as the faithful reclaim their parked vehicles and speed out, into the hot and bright roads.
The walkers come at a more leisurely pace, the men and the boys in their traditional white dresses with white caps on their heads or the “keffiyeh” in checked pattern of red and white or just plain white with the black ring holding it in place.
Then all activity ends, in the stillness of the afternoon . The roads are silent, the cars long gone and the whole world seems to slumber, till dusk.

The “Gosi” shopping mall is a high end shopping centre with its numerous cell phone shops, the perfume places, the small snack outlets and an odd university in its first floor. You pass by its doors and feel cooled by its efficient airconditioners.
Its interiors and the area around it including the car park are sparkling clean. I see a lone Keralite, toiling from six in the morning to eight at night in the car park. We are coming from our weekly shopping into the carpark and there he is picking up the last plastic bag or bottle. carelessly dropped.

Our Kerala, “God’s own country” is one of the strikingly beautiful Indian states. But, the Persian gulf attracts the malayalis enormously. Keralites are everywhere here, as salesmen in the shops to owning huge shopping malls.
Only people earning above a certain salary level, are allowed to bring in their families to the gulf countries. The result of this is there are innumerable compulsory bachelors, who are away from their families for most part of the year or rather two years. This is because they are allowed a long paid holiday, only after their contract period of two years, is over.

They might be allowed a week or so during the year , if they can afford to pay their airfares. Most people come here to save money, as jobs here are supposed to pay more than in India. But at what cost? There are generations of children growing up without a father back home in “God’s own country”.
Sometimes, the grass appears greener on the other bank. For once, there is very little greenery, these being desert countries.Then they have to slave in the heat, for a mere pittance, which is what I term the salary of construction workers here.

Did they know, my dear god what they have headed for. Initially, the little extra they get will ease things up back home. Then the families sort of get accustomed to the extras and the poor soul finds himself in a position of no return. He toils day in and out in severe conditions and very little risk insurance. This is a sort of, voluntary prison sentence.
At the end of the two year period, he returns home hoping to call it a day and finds the needs back home, are growing. And things being less rosy there,he returns.

And coming to the car park cleaner of “Gosi”, these sort of jobs are looked down upon ,back home. But, it seems the whole of this country and others around it are kept clean by the youth of India and other less fortunate Asian countries. They sure, are doing a good job.
But I hope the politicians of “God’s own country” will wake up to the harsh fact, that their irresponsibility in running the state, have driven their literate youth (remember kerala has full literacy) to this state of affairs. Give them jobs there and reverse this trend, gentlemen ???

There are a lot of huge shopping malls for a small population of six hundred thousand. And there are more on the way. Shopping a national hobby, perhaps? Or do they have more money than necessary.
On weekends the malls are crowded with shoppers and with the kids running around it is more of a communal gathering. The food courts of these malls are popular hangouts too.
Krishna is attracted to the playstations in electronics. The boys become friendly in a matter of minutes and when Krishna leaves they turn around hurriedly and ask “Are you leaving?” like old friends.

The Marina has a small recreation area. The joggers carry on earnestly in its footpaths. We saw a dolphin show advertised and went to enquire.
There is a sea lion on show they said and the show was about to start. The show area was a small pool surrounded by the visitors gallery. The sea lion came in with his expat(expatriate) trainer and put up a good show for fifteen minutes. Krishna was asked to throw the ball to the sea lion and he was delighted.
Since it works for a living here, the sea lion is an expat too!

The expat community in Bahrain consists of a vast majority of Indians and other Asians. There are Arabs from other countries in the region too and a fair number of Caucasians. Within the expat community are the qualified expats and the less qualified ones.
Both types of expats come here to earn a better salary than in his or her country. But the qualified expats' earnings entitle him, to bring in his family. The unfortunate ones, the lesser paid expats (the locals do not want these jobs), exist (I couldn’t really call it living) in shared accommodations, with other bachelors.

The other day there was an innocuous column in the inside pages of the local newspaper that the government is planning to renovate parts of the old Manama area and would shift the bachelor accommodations outside the area, to create broader roads etc. etc.
Now most of the bachelors might have no inkling of the foreboding doom. This was one thing that they thought they had. They lived in the heart of Manama.
They could step out of their rooms into the colourful Manama souq and its visiting crowd. They could find their kind of food right in the neighbourhood.

Smoking is an epidemic here forcing the Kingdom to ban smoking in some public places. Do you really need to heat up your lungs in this scorching heat? I can sort of understand the smoking in a cold country.
For the bachelor boys, smoking relieves the stresses of everyday living. The brotherhood survives and the tragedies of young lives wasted are forgotten. The reports of suicides and freak accidents are folded up in old newspapers.
There are some poor souls gathering empty cans from the garbage bins in Manama. Do the families back home have an inkling of their sufferings?

You get the feeling that the average Bahraini feels superior to his Asian neighbours. Friendly smiles are far and few. There are outright rude taxi drivers. Mostly, they are ignored. The Asians from poorer countries are here to work for them, is the vibe.
I read about the situation of a half –Bahraini, half- Indian girl who faces a lot of discrimination in her life. This university student has been called a “maid” or “daughter of a maid” just because her mother happens to be Indian (and a working banker).
In the Gulf countries are the gulfs,separating the races.

The months of July and August are the hottest time of the year here. The schools are closed and it is difficult to escape the heat when you are outside. The rich have fled to cooler lands.
Bahrain is supposed to be the land of a million palm trees. In the developed areas, most of it is gone because of the construction frenzy that is going on. The highways do sport a line of dusty date palms trying to survive. This is the time they bear their bright yellow and red fruits catching you by surprise when you pass through.

Bahrain being an island,I expected to see a lot of water birds. Except for a few small dark birds at the water’s edge, I did not catch sight of any inland. The pigeons are there, the mynah birds and sparrows common.
In summer it lightens up early. The sparrows are very active at this time of the day,there being very little disturbance as the town slumbers. I see them flit too and fro chirping merrily in the branches of the trees bordering the car park. I hear their chirps echo in the honeycomb structured frontage of our building.

Julie or Juliette is the cat of the securityman of the building. She has been his companion for over fourteen years. She is the proud mother of two fine looking kittens.
As cats are not allowed into the building, she and Henry scout for safe places around the building, to keep her kittens safe. Often the places Henry chooses for her family is not upto her standards and she shifts her family to places, that Henry does not approve. He brings her kittens back and she firmly carries them away. This is a prime topic we discuss with Henry often.

Though I did not experience any water problems, we do not drink the water straight from the taps. Desalinated water is supplied, but the water for drinking and cooking has to be bought.
The security man delivers the water, which he in turn buys. The water arrives in mini trucks almost everyday. The big transparent plastic water containers are piled up and it is unlike anything, I have seen. The containers themselves remind me of the pots the genie carries in the Arabian nights’, or was it in Alladin’s cave. They are like huge ancient jars (of plastic) with handles.

It is very difficult to get a driving license. The learner’s license comes and you think it is a matter of time before you get a driver’s license. You scout around for a driving instructor (he has to test you and then your license comes through).
You find the honourable gentleman (?) then he says he is booked for the next few months and has no time for you and you try to find another one. Well this one shocks you with his monetary demands, this being a multiple of what he is supposed to charge and on it goes.

It is very difficult to carry on in a foreign country without a car of your own. This being a hot country,walking outside in the daytime is difficult. You have to judge the distance and start out as soon as the sunlight fades. Always remember you have to make the trip back on foot, so do not carry on till you are too exhausted to make it back. Then you have to shell out a lot of hard earned money on exorbitant taxi fares.
You thought Coimbatore auto drivers charged more! Wait till you meet the Bahraini taxi driver.

Fuel prices here are not even one-fifth of that in India. No wonder there are too many cars and the bigger the better. And the nomadic Arab trend continues. They crisscross the countries in their cars now. You see cars from as far away as Kuwait and Abudhabi here. While the neighbourhood of Qataris and Saudis are more frequently seen.
The Saudi presence is more as you see a lot of Saudi products, in Bahrain’s supermarkets. Saudi products are of good quality and reasonably priced. The causeway between Bahrain and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is crucial to transport goods.

There is a dust storm today. The bigger buildings are hidden behind the dust cloud, which enters everywhere. The plastic bags are blown out of the dustbin and fly around like mini parachutes. People cover their mouth while walking outside.
The dust curtain keeps some of the heat away. This dust which blows in from the Saudi deserts is of a pale brown colour quite different from the silvery grey sand of the Bahrain Island.
The desert has always fascinated me. Tomorrow, when I sweep the balcony, I will be reminded of the journey of the handful of sand recovered.