Coming to Dubai was nothing she had ever dreamed of in her entire life. She had never been out of her village. The nearest city she knew was Lucknow where she used to visit sometimes when her father was alive. And that was the World's largest city for her.
She was the daughter of a school master and his illiterate wife. The first one among his three children. She had a sister two years younger to her and a baby brother. Father had chosen her name- Meera Bai- as a respect to his own teacher at school who had influenced him a lot as a child.
Meera Bai was also a Hindu Mystic Poet and a devotee of Lord Krishna. That name became a nuisance for her. Everyone in that Muslim majority locality used to raise a finger at her name.
Years later, after she arrived in Dubai, did she realise that Meera was also counted as a Muslim name.
People have the habit of dividing everything based on religion or culture in India. Not just names, animals too. If a goat is considered Muslim, a cow may be considered Hindu. Then they debate over it. Fight over it. And even kill over it. That is what not enough schooling does to people.
Mostafa couldn't sponsor her resident permit in Dubai. So he had taken a job visa for her. She was thus employed the very first time in her life, in a cloth factory in Ajman.
She was a quick learner. And had pleasing manners. She learned her trade well. She was assigned duty in the cutting and stitching section of the factory. And that was something she had experience in.
She made friends quickly with the fellow workers, mostly females from Sri Lanka and Indonesia. A few were from India and Bangladesh. They lived at the company accommodation, more or less constructed like a shed.
Meera was lucky. Mostafa had found a small room with a kitchen and toilet for them. Life moved fast and was beautiful. For the first time, Mostafa started seeing her happy.
Both of them would leave for work in the morning. She would cook breakfast and lunch and fill in lunch boxes before leaving for work. She was the one who returned earlier by five in the evening. Mostafa used to be late. Sometimes he came at eight , at other times, late at night.
He worked overtime many evenings and off days. He wanted to earn enough to give them both a better life. He had to also send money to his parents.
They used to spend time at the beach on weekends. Standing at the beach always made her remember her mother back home. She always wondered where the birds were actually flying off to. She imagined them flying off to her village, to her mother, to her friends, to the orphanage.
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Meera's Husband!
Short Story......She was a Muslim woman and he was a Hindu man. She had been working at the place for ten years with no one actually suspecting anything about her Identity. Then a casual question from a colleague triggers nervousness, confusions and tensions...
