His hopes take off like an Indian Airlines aircraft. It’s a shelter – from the hundred degrees Celsius issues – that Sajan seeks in the Dubai Desert. Days are dry like the *kuboos in the labor camp. Here laborers live to labor – never labor to live. His fallen hairs on the bathroom floor scare him – he fears a marble pate. Fresh date bunches can’t tempt him. Alluring fragrance of the herbal oil – from his wife’s hair sea miles away – passes through his nostrils again. As he lies in his bed, his distant babe’s babbling detains his sleep awhile. His alter egos are all around. An expat is like a tap-root – going so deep under the dry sand for the green leaves and the bright blooms beyond the sea. *Kuboos – an Arabian flat bread. First appeared in The Literary Hatchet