Blood & Music

Weekday mornings in office is always a rush. Parallel jobs. Multi-tasking. Mails. Deadlines.
A lovely voice came on the PA system two days ago. It invited people to go to the common area where there was a blood donation camp being set up.

I took some time off and landed there. In the queue were scores of people ready to donate blood.
Aerosmith Concert. Dubai Exiles Rugby Stadium. This could be once in a lifetime chance. I took it. And reached there. After a quick haemoglobin and BP check, it was my turn. I took my place in one of the beach beds temporarily set up for the day. To my left was an Arab gentleman and to my right was someone from Srilanka.

We all had tubes running from our arms and the de-coagulator was working. It moved the blood collecting pouch in a slow see-saw motion to ensure that the blood did not coagulate.

The pouches were marked with the blood group and taken away. I wondered who the recipient would be. Irrespective of his nationality, creed, color, race, he would use my blood or anyone else's. It didn't matter. The blood was common.

Last night I landed at the Aerosmith Concert in Dubai Exiles Rugby Stadium. The place was packed. I haven't seen a more energetic action packed crowd.

Steve and gang pelted some amazing music last night. The best of Aerosmith hits. People from all races, all sizes and shapes. Different nationalities. And thanks to Aerosmith producing hits since the 70s, there were different age groups too. From 6 to 60.

I stood there in the crowd, tipsy and happy. The crowd sang along many famous numbers. I felt the power of music.

The same crowd that lives in different social circles, siloed sang together. To my right was an Arab. To my left was a bunch of Englishmen. We sang the same songs. Irrespective of his nationality, creed, color, race, Aerosmith cut through. Nothing mattered. The music was common.

What are you made of?

I took a cab after a short shopping trip to the Mall of Emirates- took the first available one at the cab stand.

Internet City, I told him.

“How are you?” asked the driver. I thought he was being sweet and exchanged wishes. He kept checking me in the mirror.
“Do you work there?” “Yes”
“Did you take a cab to there yesterday?” “Yes”

He continued, “I think you took my cab yesterday too from Mall of Emirates”
I smiled. “That’s cool. Nice to see you again, then” I joked. “ but I don’t think I took your cab. Because I went from Greens to Internet City” That is my route to work

He told me the whole story in his best English, “someone like you come in my cab yesterday. His meter 21.50. He gave 51.50 and he go. Can’t stop cab in the middle of the road. Lots of cars behind . So, I park in parking lot and go to his office. Cant find him. 30 Dirhams he left.”

I quipped him “Good for you, my friend. Bonus for the day, huh?”

“No” He did not sound amused.” I don’t want other people money.”

“Why?, I asked him. “So, what did you do?”

I put in the box. Medicine charity. Khalaas. That’s all. And he ended the conversation\

I knew a cabbie does not make more than Dhs.100 a day. And 30 dirhams would have meant a lot to him.

But his principles were bigger than 30 dirhams. He did not sell his principles for that measly sum. This is what he is and this is what he was made of. I was happy to meet this guy.

My cab fare was 21.50 too. I gave him 22 and started walking. He shouted out. “My friend, your 50 fil. Please take”