While my means may not be enviable by any stretch, it allows me the ability to take risks, and a generosity of spirit towards those like me
y poverty is special because I've elected to live on the merit of choices that strengthen my independence
Once you come to terms with the precarious nature of your financial wellbeing, you find fresh perspective. Yes, it's not ideal to be broke in a city like Dubai, but it's almost adventurous to penny-pinch one's way through the city. You begin to experience it differently, especially when you consciously expose yourself to worlds that seem to contrast headlong with that of the industry in which I am embedded—the art world. I've spent the last few days at Art Dubai, and though I've been here before, it always surprises me how wealthy its biggest players are and how almost disconnected most collectors are from the realities within which the works they buy are entrenched.
When I left Madinat Jumeirah last evening, for instance, to join the rest of the press trip team for dinner, most visitors were waiting for their luxury chauffeur-driven cars to pull up. I had skipped lunch because I couldn't afford the prices at the fair venue. We had been given a stipend but my penny-pinching proclivity prevented me from dipping into it. I was hungry and thought it best to join the team at the dinner site. Except, it was in Burjaman, another end of the city. I waited for the shuttle that would take me to Zabeel House, where I was being put up. The driver waited in case there was another passenger. When enough time had passed, he decided to start the bus. I was the only other person on board besides him. Naturally we ended up talking. He was from Pakistan. I told him I was from India. He'd been living in Dubai since 1998. He shared a common distaste for each of our government's policies towards the other. We ranted. We connected. We bit each other goodbye when it was time for me to get off.
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I saw the next bus I was meant to board leave just as the shuttle was pulling up to the hotel. This meant I had to settle for a cab to the metro as the next bus would take 10 minutes to arrive. I hailed a passing cab. I got in. I told the driver to take me to the nearby Dubai Internet City Metro station. Soon enough he asked where I was from. I said India. He was from Dhaka. I told him I'd visited at least thrice, even made my way to the Chittagong Hill Tracks. He was suitably impressed. We could have chatted some more but the station was barely two kilometres away. We said goodbye and I took the metro to Burjuman. There I changed to the green line in the direction of Etisalat and got off at Al Fahidi. I had to walk about 900 metres to get to Arabian Tea House, the restaurant where we were to get dinner. I was instantly at ease as I navigated my way.
This was the Dubai I related to. No hectic high-rises competing with each other for prominence on the skyline. I could trace the proximity of the creek from the sudden increase in humidity. The streets were populated. There were pedestrians. The footpaths were lined with shops selling beautiful looking mojris. The shopkeepers were all Pakistani. There was a feeling of leisure. It was all laidback. I realised when I was on the metro that I felt more of a sense of belonging with the crowd that was on it more than that at the art fair.
A lot of us dream about making it big or of that mythical "break" that will give us the career lift we've been working towards. I don't know if I know anymore what that means for me. My poverty is special because I've elected to live on the merit of choices that strengthen my independence. While capitalist structures ensure that you can't escape their tentacles, I do think it's possible to imagine radically negating their hold and choosing not to be taken hostage by the dreams being continually peddled. Poverty of means ensures a frugality which strangely transforms into an abundance of resources, most luxurious among them all is the privilege of being able to connect and empathise with those who share your struggle. There must be a relationship between generosity, hospitality and restrained means. I've often found that have-nots like me are more capable of extending generosity because we know what it is like to be hungry, to thirst, to dream.
As I continue to straddle the art world that reeks of privilege and my own world which is peopled by others like me who worry about making ends meet, I find I have the more enviable advantage, the ability to take more and more risks. Anything I have left to lose is immaterial and intangible.
Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
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