It is that time of the year when my nationalistic sentiment stands deeply divided – this period between Diwali and the UAE National Day.
It is almost impossible to not feel the joy of belonging to a country so doused in the gaiety of a festival that makes entire neighbourhoods in Dubai take on an Indian avatar. It is equally impossible to be not in awe of the euphoria that sweeps the UAE in hues of red, green, white and black in the days ahead of December 2 every year.
For an Indian to who Independence Day and Republic Day back home just meant two days off work and the national parade watched on TV, the fervour that is displayed here in the days leading up to National Day is a source of wonder, and many times, acute envy. As I wade through the sea of national colours now spurting in all possible forms, I put my patriotic responses under the scanner and fetch results that might explain the ambivalence prevailing in my heart.
There are no two ways about the fact that I love my country, but it is like the love a parent has for his or her wayward son. You love him because he is your flesh and blood, and it is not within your capacity to hate him despite his deficiencies. You censure him for his errant manner. He doesn’t give you sufficient reasons to compliment him yet you celebrate his birthday because you can’t disregard the congenital link.
You can’t disown him because he defines your existence in many ways. Often, you conceal your parental love and berate him, even as you wish that he gave you a chance to put him on the pedestal and raise a toast to him.
And then you have a friend, whose son is an epitome of virtues, and you almost wished that he was yours. Over a period of time you establish a bond with him that nudges and dislodges your parental leanings. A war in the heart ensues. Your affection is put to test. You have to choose between your son who went astray and your friend’s boy who gave a new meaning to your life with his charming ways and endearing company. You loathe making comparisons between them, but you do it anyway. For all the admiration you have for the latter, you know he can’t be yours. Sooner or later, you have to return home and share the roof with your incorrigible brat, in the hope that someday he would turn the corner.
Year after year, during vacation, I suffer the pangs of my divided love between the land of my birth and land of domicile. Just a few days into the holidays, once the early charm of homecoming wears off, I long to return to Dubai. The reasons are too stark and murky to merit detailing in the present moment. Back here, life acquires a rare charm and quality. It gains an even tenor, making monsoons and monsoon weddings in the family a distant memory that I cherish, but don’t sigh for audibly. Even my houseboy who shares a ten-by-ten room with seven of his friends and slogs for more than 12 hours a day says life here is a fairytale for many reasons.
Every expat here has more than one reason to love this place. Like the friend’s son, it cannot be completely ours, but while we are here, we owe a large share of our happiness to this land that we have nested in.
For this reason, l’m going to don some merchandise in the Spirit of the Union colours this weekend to express my gratitude and appreciation towards the nation that makes me smile every time I get off the plane. Sometimes, it feels good to wear your heart on your sleeve.
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