One afternoon i met dear Mrs. Dalal, a jovial sexagenarian on a bus ride home from Dubai Internet City in Dubai. It isn't everyday you get to have a cheery chat with a kind old Arab lady with stories to tell.
The bus driver hadn't arrived yet and Mrs. Dalal wondered aloud about when he'd be back. Since there wasn't anyone else in the area designated for ladies, i answered back and mentioned seeing him smoking a cigarette nearby. She seemed to be in a hurry and so decided to go outside and check. I could tell she hadn't traveled by the bus before since she found difficulty in getting the door open. Dubai buses have doors enabled with little circular, touch-sensitive pads where a door handle would normally have been. She looked to me with her raised eyebrows for help and i motioned her to palm the red circle; she did like so, it turned green, and she got off. The driver, to the dismay of Mrs. Dalal couldn't be located and so she returned to her seat by the door.
There are about three to four regular bus models and there are those with a seat for one near the front entrance. These single-seaters can be quite unsafe during sharp turns and roundabouts, or when a bus jerks unexpectedly. I've seen plenty commuters nearly slide right off their seats. Mrs. Dalal seemed to find her seat uncomfortable already without the bus moving even and she grumbled about it too. I thought it best to ask her if she'd like take one of the more safer seats behind where i was. She gladly agreed and took one right next to mine.
Our missing driver finally returned to the wheel, started up the engine and soon enough we were on our way. By then, Mrs. Dalal had already begun to tell me about her room in a hotel nearby, where she was headed and who she was to meet with. She began by asking me how long it would take to Mercato Mall, which was about 20 minutes away by bus. A dear friend was waiting to have lunch at a restaurant and then later pay a visit to the Yemen lady's home. "Where are you from?" she wanted to know. When i told her i was from India she was so thrilled; her grandfather who was originally from India had married a lady from Yemen, thus explains her name.
Most of my female Muslim friends usually wear headscarves that cover just the ears and hair but Mrs. Dalal wore a traditional niqab that only allowed her to express herself with her eyes. It was such a different experience paying complete attention to her lively voice instead of lip-reading while listening at the same time as I was accustomed to before. An everyday experience for so many others around the world, but unfortunately not so for myself.
During our nearly half hour together, we shared our experiences, sorrows of loved ones lost, similarities in modern outlooks, and our love for public transport with its priceless vistas of the city. She showed me pictures of her children and grandchildren scattered across the globe and how she tries to visit them all whenever she can.
The lady from Yemen also shared how she had battled depression after hearing about the loss of her father from a friend; her family knew she wouldn't take it well and at that time decided it was best not to inform her. It took two years for her to move on from her grief, which is more than my mum did after my elder sister passed away. I told her of how my dear mother could never get over the loss right till her dying day. We consoled each other on our respective losses and that's when Mrs. Dalal pointed out, "Honestly, there's no right and wrong way, everyone deals with loss differently. You've seen death so often (as told to her of my past experiences), so now you handle your emotions far better. It is good to be strong. It does not mean you are emotionless or feel no pain. It's not only better for your own well-being but it's so that nobody ever pities you. Anybody can sympathise, but after that they get tired of your constant grieving and leave you behind. Then you will be all alone, and nobody should be left alone."
---
Soon enough, her stop got closer and we exchanged numbers, tight embraces and goodbyes before she alighted. From my window I saw my Yemeni friend wave to to me. I waved back just in time before she turned to hug her vibrantly dressed Arab friend who had been waiting patiently for her. Arm-in-arm, they slowly moved towards Mercato Mall while the driver drove away from the bus stand.
