Diary of a Ship Superintendent’s Wimpy Wife : Anchored in Dubai

 Living in Dubai as a ship technical superintendent’s wife means my life is one big shipping log book filled with chaos and glitter, and, of course, a lot of “Dubai Bling.”  Sometime between the last year’s and this year’s Diwali, my “White & Beige” living room quietly morphed into something that wouldn’t look out of place on a Sheikh’s yacht.  Now it’s quite a bit of golden accents and  shiny furniture. I even have tea-coasters in golden to match with the  gold-rimmed teacups!!!

Life in Dubai adds its own drama. Between juggling the three kids and  school WhatsApp groups that explode at 6 a.m., there are  grocery runs that mysteriously end at Marks & Spencers and sometimes even Meena Bazaar!!!  Even though they relocated the temple to Jebel Ali, Meena Bazaar is still my spiritual harbour where regular visits give me solace and some sense of cultural connect. Though these expeditions also leave a deep burn in the pocket  and sometimes a heartburn too, thanks to the  Paani Poori and Samosa Chat which clearly ignore all spice regulations. If IMO regulations ruled the city, Meena Bazaar would be the only place exempt from safety checks because everyone’s too busy trying to find a parking spot and evading those sales-guys trying to come too close to whisper in your ear “Madam bag chahiye? Gucci? Prada?, Watch? Rolex?”

At home, IMO compliance means keeping track of every cargo (the three kids), monitoring noise pollution levels, and enforcing safety protocols when attempting to charting a course aross the living room especially when lego blocks strewn all over on the floor, threaten navigation.  So, I announced the launch of a Home Safety Management System which is like having an IMO-compliant ship on land, minus the rolling, but with Legos to watch out for, iPads to manage, Roblox battles to restrain, and plenty of Chai requests to keep the ‘Super’ happy! 

Other than Chai, I think my man is emotionally attached to Microsoft Outlook. He is so much glued to his emails that I’m convinced if I ever confiscated his laptop, the way I  do with the kids when they cross their screen-time limits,  he’ll be completely ‘at sea’ !! And now the kids have started revolting against their device confiscation, ‘But Dad’s on his laptop way longer than us.”  One day, my youngest asked, “Mom, does Dad fix ships or just emails?” Honestly, it’s a  good question.

By the time he’s done staring at his laptop, his eyes have basically turned into Excel cells ,so to “relax,” he switches to Firstpost News, at which moment I feel I lost him to  Palki Sharma. She talks GeoPolitics in a saree and I talk groceries in Pajamas and the only news I have to share is sourced from the kids’ school Whatsapp groups. Someday, I want to bring out my chiffon saree and impress him with some intelligent chatter, instead of just my daily rant about lunchboxes and maid issues. 

Sometimes I think he just changes screens, not activities, his Laptop ->  Office Phone -> TV ->Office Phone-> Personal Phone -> Laptop.. in a cyclic loop (not necessarily ordered). It’s like he’s in a committed relationship with backlit rectangles, basically anything as long as it is driven by iOS, Microsoft or Android. Interestingly, his TV time is mine too, even if it is a little far away, from the kitchen. Other wise  I would have no chance to get any updates on the world’s state of affairs because sitting in front of the TV while winding down a school day is a gross ‘Human-Error’.  

The other day, when President Trump popped up on TV, I don’t know why I pictured him as a ship captain,  running a  “Make Shipping Great Again” campaign and tweeting ,  “Best anchorage spot, believe me. Nobody anchors better than me!”. 

And it didn’t stop there. My cinematic mental imagery paints another visual. 

President Trump magically appearing in our living room, his red tie flying in slow motion and his hair  glowing like a golden halo to perfectly match the golden accents in the room, This guest appearance happens just when we are  arguing about chores and screen time, followed by a sudden peace deal when I offer Icecream with Gulab Jamuns. President Trump takes the credit and claims he deserves the ‘Family Peace Prize’ and naturally the ever elusive Nobel Peace Prize too.  

Such wild imaginations are just the side effects of too many sleepless nights on my own night watch, juggling three kids, an engineer husband, and a sacred ritual of Instagram scrolling for my so-called “me time.” I feel I’m already running a tight-er ship than half the fleet out there.

And while he dozes off on the sofa, while waiting for the callback from his ship’s captain, I curl up in the armchair opposite try to get hold of some sleep before his phone rings again.  In no time, I am dreaming of a quiet life, one where phones don’t ring in the midnight, IMO stops changing rules, and Meena Bazaar finally gives me a loyalty card.