Observations: An Alien in El Dorado

If you look up “El Dorado” on Google, you will find many different definitions for it. The simplest one says that it means "the Gilded One" or "the Golden Man," which refers to a legendary South American king who covered himself in gold – a sort of South American King Midas. European adventurers (mostly Spanish) became obsessed with finding the legendary treasures of El Dorado, and searched for a city filled with gold in the 16th and 17th centuries. These Spanish conquistadors were initially led by the notorious Cortez. They were filled with missionary zeal and insatiable greed. For two centuries, they raped, pillaged and brutalized the original inhabitants of the South American continent in their search for the fabled “City of Gold”. In many ways, the phrase itself came to symbolize the obsession with material greed that consumes us as human beings.

The Middle East in general and Qatar in particular, appear to symbolize the new “El Dorado”. The region’s economy is booming, thanks to the world’s insatiable demand for petroleum products. Tiny Qatar is the world’s third largest producer of natural gas, and is well-positioned to cash in on this demand. There are new, futuristically designed office buildings coming up everywhere. Local inflation rates and real estate prices have skyrocketed over the past few years. The number of foreign expatriates has also skyrocketed. Like the rest of us, they come to Qatar only for the money. The total population of this country is approximately 1.5 million people, of which 80% are expatriate workers – a polyglot of nationalities, of which South Asians form the majority.

So what is life like in this new El Dorado? On the surface, everything is new, larger than life and shiny. The locals drive around in super-sized SUVs since petrol is ridiculously cheap. The men are immaculately turned out in their Arab traditional white dress. The women are covered from head to toe in their black “abayaas”, yet wear large amounts of make-up and expensive designer clothes under their traditional garb.

The aim is to impress peers and countrymen with large houses, oversized cars, branded luxury goods and a lavish lifestyle. The amount of food one sees wasted at local restaurants is staggering. Recycling of plastic bottles, newspapers and cans is unheard of. Someone told me that all plastic cans and bottles are sent to India as trash – they are then recycled there. Qatar is a desert with no large bodies of fresh water or rivers, yet very few people think of conserving water. Desalinated sea-water is used to satisfy the country’s water needs. It is an expensive proposition but money is not a constraint for such a small, rich country.

Obesity amongst the local population has reached alarming levels. Conspicuous consumption (and the need to let everyone else know that you have “arrived”) is the order of the day. This need for an ostentatious display of wealth is contagious, and one sees it amongst locals and expatriates alike. If the United States is (or at least was) the land of plenty, the oil-rich states of the Gulf are the land of excess.

Part of this phenomenon can be traced back to the fact that the entire Gulf region was unproductive desert only two generations ago. It is only in the last forty years or so, and particularly since the OPEC oil crisis of 1973, that these tiny autonomous states became prosperous overnight. Therefore, the wealth is all new, and one can understand (though not necessarily sympathize with) the desire to flaunt this new-found status. On the surface, all material needs of the population (resident and expatriate) are met, with more than enough to spare - which is why all the expatriates are here in the first place.

There are strict social hierarchies here, as rigid and inflexible as any caste system. The locals are at the top of the social totem pole, followed by those with passports from developed Western countries (it doesn’t matter where you come from, as long as you are blessed with such a passport). Next on the totem pole are Arabs from other rich countries, followed by Arabs from less fortunate countries (Sudan, Somalia and parts of Africa). Then come the Filipinos who do a lot of the semi-skilled work in the country. Bringing up the rear are the South Asians (Pakistanis, Indians, Bangladeshis, Nepalese and Sri Lankan Tamils – in that order). The Indian community is a mixed bag – a majority are laborers, clerks and peons, but there are quite a few highly qualified Indians as well. The way you are treated depends in large part on the nationality stamped on your passport.

I often wonder whether the Indians here are a happy lot. One of the people I know here is a man who irons clothes for a living. I will call him Dilip. He is typical of the large South Asian labor community. He is from eastern Uttar Pradesh, India’s Gangetic heartland, an area that is culturally and historically rich, yet economically impoverished. He has been here for many years. I used to walk by his little shop every evening, with a bunch of clothes that needed ironing. There was a beat-up old cassette player in the corner of his shop, which played old Hindi movie songs by Kishore Kumar, Mohammed Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar. I often watched Dilip through the glass window of his shop while walking by late at night, with the music playing inside. You could see the grief, homesickness and sense of loss in his eyes. He was in Qatar because his own country was been unable to provide him with a decent livelihood.

Looking at people like Dilip, I feel ashamed; ashamed that one of my countrymen is forced to live in such deprived circumstances so far away from home; ashamed that sixty-three years after independence, we still haven’t found a way to provide basic essentials such as elementary education, safe drinking water, healthcare and literacy to a third of our population. Spin it as you will, that is the grim truth.

As Indians, we are proud of our lively parliamentary democracy. I am all for parliamentary democracy and the ability of an individual to participate in guiding the destiny of his or her nation. However, how much of a difference does this make to people like Dilip and three hundred million other Indians who do not have access to the basic necessities that most of us take for granted? For people like Dilip, what is more important? Are they happy with a democratic political system that provides them the fundamental right to vote and (at least theoretically) participate in shaping their destinies? Or would they prefer to live under a totalitarian (but efficient) system of government in India if it provided them with a roof over their heads, moderately paying jobs, an education for their children and uninterrupted access to safe drinking water, healthcare and electricity?

I do not know the answer to this question, and neither, I suspect, does Dilip. He probably hasn’t thought about it, and I do not blame him. He is too busy struggling to survive in this alien land and save up some money for his retirement and his children’s future. Unlike Indian expatriates in Western countries, he cannot assimilate into this culture, since that is not an option in this part of the world. So he remains an eternal alien in El Dorado.

My time in Qatar has been financially rewarding, and provided me with significant financial security. Still, looking at Dilip, I realize that all that glitters is not gold. And even gold exacts a very heavy price on those who come to El Dorado in search of it.