Dubai Return (perfume)
Newsletter 3.2025
“Dubai Return” was a constant phrase I kept hearing when I was growing up in Lagos, Nigeria in the late 1980s. “Dubai” was always part of conversations between the grown-ups. Did someone’s son return to India from his seemingly lucrative job in Dubai? Well, his name would proceed with a suffix: “Dubai Return”! I mean, “Lagos Return” never held any currency at all. Our poor problems of inconsistent electricity and running water supply, armed robberies, military coups, oil prices collapsing or whatever Henry Kissinger decided would be our country’s fate that day held no appeal to the vetiver cooler-cooled relative drinking rose sherbet in a steel glass back home.
Maybe “London Return” held some allure but everyone knew that sons and the daughters who married them, going off to western countries were suffering. No servants! No drivers! No support! No savings! Bad climate! And so far away! No visa! No air ticket!
When we used to come to India for our yearly vacations, I always heard gossip about “Dubai”. There was some Bombay don who escaped to this Emirate where he might have (allegedly) paid off Bollywood actresses to come dance for him or something. Whatever it was, the bottomline was always the same: Indians (and South Asians in general) who left pre-liberalised India for Dubai, returned with abundance guaranteed! Social mobility, upliftment out of difficult circumstances was assured!
And what of those who didn’t live there? Well, as soon as airline routes via Dubai opened up, it was time to transit through to buy gold for weddings in India. Till today my mother says, “we earned so much, we bought so much, we gave so much away. If only, we had held on to that wealth instead of giving it to all the relatives!”. This is a common theme in South Asian families, uplifting needy yet ungrateful relatives!
We tell ourselves these stories, but it’s no one’s fault. Times all around were extremely difficult and if one could afford to help, they did. I think that this generation’s spirit of community, responsibility, duty and selflessness is what we ought to recognise, rather than fixate on the lack…of everything. Just between 1960-1980 India was going through war, famine, and deep political turmoil. And before that, between 1940-50s, well, everyone lost everything in the Partition. Material and spiritual scarcity made it difficult to foster love and break generational burdens.
On my holiday the last two weeks, I asked my dad about his old pals from his Lagos days who had long retired and settled in Dubai. We marvelled at how much money they must have made in order to afford a retired lifestyle there! And then we laughed at how dull and boring their lives are coddled in comfort. Too much hot-heat? Enter the Mall of Emirates, Habibi, there is AC. The whole time I was reminded of my experience living in Singapore, the Air condition nation that learned so hard from Dubai it ended up becoming the poor man’s Switzerland! Read here the excellent critiques of political thinker and author of “Air Condition Nation”, George Cherian:
Anyways, I had such a relaxing vacation for two weeks. For the first time since 2019, I was not on some hurried press trip being bussed from art fair to gallery to restaurant to museum to hotel, to write about the art in the UAE. I could just let my old life as an art critic fade. I’m a perfumer now, Oooooo!
My most disappointing experience - and the reason I was reminded so much about my life in Singapore - was the fact that the city demands you spend extra, extra, just a little more extra, on the least substantive return. No value for money. My uncle and aunt who came from Hong Kong, wanted to see all the sights with my parents including the Perfume Museum, Museum of the Future (both in Dubai) and The Louvre (Abu Dhabi). I wanted to skip all except The Louvre. On our first day, we went to The Frame. We deliberated if we wanted to buy a ticket after all. It was costly, it was hot, and was it worthwhile? We stood in a queue for an hour exposed in the high noon sun to be finally let inside the lobby and pushed in front of a photo booth by an usher who said no doubt by rote, “Expeeeeerience, Enjooooy, It’s freee”. The photographer snapped our photo and on we were pushed further to the elevator that took us up to the top to enjoy the views of Dubai city, and then pushed along to buy bready snacks from a Japanese brand cafe as we took in the sights. My uncle who had lived for a stretch in Japan, glanced around and said matter of factly, “Tokyo tower is better. They explain the context of all the buildings and locations we can see.” Sigh.
When we stood in line for the elevator down, and descended that final escalator, those “Enjoy, it’s free” photos were on display and they were not free. I hoped they would destroy our images that they took without our will. After this experience, we sent our uncle to go alone to The Museum of the Future as only he seemed enthusiastic to spend on the exorbitant ticket. It was a Wednesday and as it turned out, the museum was sold out till Sunday! I don’t know how a museum sells out of tickets but…ok.
The Louvre: I had been to the Louvre on a press trip shortly after it opened some years back. I had my criticisms then, but nevermind. I emailed the Press office beforehand to share my credentials to arrange a press pass so I did not have to buy a ticket. The museum responded with a ticket:
On the day, the security scanned this barcode several times but it was still invalid. No one at the counter seemed to know if The Louvre had a Press Office! I was advised to step outside the museum, walk some distance in the hot-heat to the Information Counter where I could “argue (my) case”.
We were on a tight schedule, so I asked them to call someone from the PR/Press office. To my utter disbelief, the staff asked me for a phone number! What! I emailed the Press Office again, but till today no one has written back to me with an explanation (or an apology). I suspect that was a fake ticket generated to fob me off. The security guard told me that this was not the first time such a thing has happened.
After this total waste of time, my uncle and aunt kindly bought me a ticket. As we were on a tight schedule, for the next 30 minutes, we sped through the museum searching for the exit, glancing here and there at the “nice statues from our country”, ending up in the gift shop where the most hideous items cheerfully greeted us!
These institutions are so far from their mission that they offered no concessions to the press, to the students, or to senior citizens who visit from overseas. The museum itself was designed to overwhelm visitors with the architecture, rather than the art. Anyone who speaks to me about this museum, ONLY ever talks about the architecture and never the art. Don’t ask critical questions, just gasp in awe at the ceiling and take your photos, peasant!
Long queues met us at various points where the museum photographer could take glamour shots of visitors by the jetty. The lavish displays of consumer goods at the mall was understandable to me. But the excessive pilfering of the public by a public institution was not. After that, I that I felt my time was better spent sight seeing at the malls. Muji offers better cultural value than this. It’s free to look and I bought a beautiful made-in-Japan porcelain teapot (and a made-in-Cambodia denim). As for my personal shopping, I went into Waitrose and M&S to stock up on olive oil, jam, tinned fish, balsamic vinegar and dark chocolate truffles. The lemons, limes, Palestinian olives and Turkish coffee were a bonus!
On my last day, the galleries on Al Serkal avenue were opening their exhibitions ahead of Art Dubai fair. I had half heartedly intended to go, to “make some effort”, but fortunately my friend had to take a rain check and I decided I’d rather have a nap.
I did love the old side of Dubai, long walks while viewing the sunset by the creek, eating pakoras freely offered by Indian and Pakistani vendors, hawking in friendly competition side by side. No karak chai, because I am allergic to dairy. I smelled enough bread to not feel so bad about my gluten intolerance as well. And, I just relaxed. And yawned. Alot.
I’ve thought about the simple pleasures Dubai still offers and what I wanted to embody in this quaint idea of “Dubai Return”. It’s a perfume with very gentle notes of Rose (syrup), chamomile (tea), coffee, cumin/spice and saffron. The formulation will be ready in a week, please reply back if you’d like to order a 6ml bottle for $75. Until next time!
Growing up in sleepy, slow life Muscat, we were always accustomed to being in dullsville compared to glitzier, more happening, and faster Dubai. Every Eid and Oman National Day holidays, there would be an exodus to Dubai because there was so much to do over there as opposed to the same ol road/camping trips in the beaches and wadis in Oman (one vivid memory: the roads in Dubai would literally be filled with the distinctive Omani yellow license plated cars and I bumped into classmates in malls). Years later on, I am so grateful to have grown up in and called the landscape of Oman and I would not exchange it for a day of Dubai. Period.
travel more so we get more such dispatches!!