From Chawl to Chandeliers: My Dubai Leap

December 6, 1987. The date is etched in my mind like the finale of a Bollywood movie. Alka hugged me tightly, her tears betraying her fears. I tried to put on a brave face, but my insides churned. My first international flight awaited, courtesy of Khaleej Times. Past check-in and immigration, I boarded an Emirates aircraft—my maiden encounter with airborne luxury. 

Landing in Dubai felt like stepping into a mirage. But Dubai in 1987 was a far cry from the glitzy, chrome-and-steel wonderland it is today. The skyline was modest, dominated by the Dubai World Trade Center, the tallest building then, standing at just 33 stories. Roads were narrower, lined with neat but unremarkable residential buildings. Half the population hugged the  meandering historical Creek. It was a city that hadn’t yet fully unfurled its wings, a place on the brink of transformation. 

Two Pakistani HR staff greeted me warmly at the airport, their smiles a mixture of hospitality and curiosity. They led me to a fancy white hatchback parked outside. One of them opened the car door for me with a flourish, while the other gingerly picked up my small, battered suitcase and placed it in the boot as though it contained priceless treasures. The car glided through Dubai’s neat roads, flanked by tidy rows of modest buildings that hinted at a city with big dreams. 

We arrived at Bur Dubai’s Khyber Restaurant building, where my new home awaited. When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into a plush two-bedroom, french-windowed apartment. And by plush, I mean magazine-cover luxurious. 

Thick carpets cushioned the floors, an eight-seater brown sofa set dominated the living room, and chandeliers sparkled above a gleaming glass-wood dining table. The fully equipped kitchen had a double-door fridge so generously stocked with food brands I had only heard and read, it could feed a small army. Each bedroom boasted quilted double mattresses, dressers, and spacious cupboards. 

The bathrooms? Oh, the bathrooms! Racks of fresh towels, fancy toiletries, aftershaves, shaving kits, and shower accessories I had only ever seen in glossy ads were neatly arranged. Bathtubs gleamed invitingly, and full-length mirrors reflected a man who couldn’t believe his luck. I half-expected a genie to pop out with a golden tray of kebabs. 

But amidst all this luxury sat my small suitcase—a humble companion packed with just three sets of clothes and a pair of scruffy shoes. It looked utterly out of place in this opulent setting, like a stowaway in first class. I felt a pang of self-consciousness but quickly reminded myself of how far I’d come. From Dadar Mumbai to Dubai UAE. 

As I sank into the impossibly comfortable sofa, I spotted a crisp 100-dirham note on the coffee table—a welcome gift. Holding it felt like holding a golden ticket to a new chapter of life. 

Outside, the modest skyline of 1987 hinted at a city dreaming big. Dubai was still finding its identity, but its energy was unmistakable. That night, I toasted my new beginning—not with champagne, but with gratitude. Dubai was calling, and I was ready to answer.