Things I have wondered about lately…

… how do Arab men ensure their dishdashas are so spotlessly white?

… how do cafes get away with charging 18 dirhams for a cappuccino which is half filled with foam anyway?

… why do cupboards creak ominously at night?

… why don’t they have restaurants and cafes on Jumeirah beach?

… where are the really interesting people in Dubai?

… when will Etisalat lower their rates?

… what do I want my obituary to say about me?

… what do I really want to write about?

... when will Al Barsha get a decent coffee shop which is NOT part of a gas station?

… what’s the big deal about Kentucky Fried Chicken?

... why do weekends take their time coming and end so swiftly

What I mull about when I mull about running

(with a wink and a nod to Haruki Murakami)


Runners of every shape, size and age run at Safa Park. Each with a distinctive gait, unique motive.  I ignore the brisk walkers and the lazy strollers and concentrate on the runners.

There are those who run to lose weight, and they’re best ignored too. The heavy tread, slack jaw and amoeba-like sweat patches all allude to effort and exercise. Running is more than that.

Then there are the competitive runners, who run with one eye affixed to the digital timer on their wrist. It tells them about how fast their heart is pumping, how well their feet are moving and perhaps even whether the pre-run protein shake has gotten digested. It’s all about results and statistics. Running by numbers.

There are also the sprinters, who run for the adrenaline rush. And the showboats – the ones with the svelte bods, who run like they don’t really need to be running, but need a motive to display their muscle tone.

A few run for no reason at all. Unless you count - for the love of running - as a reason. It looks like they’re running, but it doesn’t feel like they are. There’s exertion, but no struggle. There’s a target, but it’s not entirely numeric. You can tell the difference by observing the rhythm. It’s steady and even, and most importantly, graceful. Like ballet. The eyes are focussed on a zone not in the physical realm. The arms move in unison. The feet strike the earth with nimble, considered moves. Slicing the air, the way a swimmer breaks the water.  

                                                                                    

You don’t try to race such a runner. Or do something as inelegant as keep pace. You gaze at them until they turn a corner or become a speck on the horizon. And then get back to thumping the earth with the grace of a rhino.

I am grateful...

... for big windows without curtains

... for the almost uninterrupted view of the sky through them

... for the cloudy sky this morning

... for the slivers of sun which peeked through

... for a sight that reminded of something a friend once said, "It's like God watching you."

... for being the observer and the observed

... for the spaces between thoughts

... for being alive

... for being

Don't you just love December?

There's a wee nip in the air these days. Not the kind of weather that makes you grab a jacket and thrust your hands deep in its pockets. But the kind that steals up on you and makes the hair on your forearm quiver. The kind that makes you roll down the car windows so that the wind can style your hair.

People seem happier, or is it just me? The prospect of vacations and festivities, reunions and revelry seems to infuse a happy glow everywhere. No matter how the year has turned out this far, December can make it all come together. Leave November to its neuroses, and leave January to handle regrets and resolutions, December is for getting carried away, unabashedly.

Someone I met recently has sworn off meat, spirits and smoking for a whole month in anticipation of the hedonism to follow in the last week of the year. That's how seriously people take December.

And what better way to start off December than with a long weekend. It's the UAE National Day today. And there's another anticipated holiday on account of Eid sometime soon. And there are trails to discover, and locales to explore, and conversations to continue...

Don't you just love December?

The dog ate my post today...

... we'll be back with a new dog tomorrow.

Bemusedus Felineathus - (s)potted at Lime Tree Cafe, Jumeirah