• Home
• /
• Opinion

Abra-cadabra: the Magic of the One-Dirham Coin

In Dubai, it is tough to imagine doing that: what can a one-dirham coin possibly get you? Last Saturday evening, I had taken my mother, who is visiting me for a couple of weeks, to the gold souk — where all wares on display hammered home the point till it hurt. Everything seemed priced out of what seemed like (to me) the realms of consciousness.

The shining waters of the Creek looked much more inviting, and I thought it would be a good idea to take a boat — an abra — from the gold souk to Bur Dubai on the other side.

“Shall we just go back home?” I asked mom. She nodded. “Let’s take an abra and cross the Creek — we can walk from there,” I sighed. “Sounds like a plan,” she said enthusiastically.

There was what looked like a ticket counter at the abra station in front of the souk. I realised it was an information counter: the tickets you had to 
buy while you were on the abra, the gent manning the counter informed 
us gratuitously.

We rushed out on the tiny pier since a boat was just leaving, gingerly climbed on to the abra’s wooden plank, and found ourselves two rickety seats.

“How much is a ticket to ride?” I asked the boat conductor, drawing out a 20-dirham note.

“One dirham,” he said solemnly. I put the 20-dirham note back in my bag and pulled out two one-dirham coins.

“It’s nice to see that there are some things you can buy in Dubai with a coin,” my mother joked but, honestly, it seemed like such an epiphanic moment. I feel odd giving a one-dirham tip to the delivery boy from the grocery shop next to my apartment building: it just seems too cheap. I end up 
giving him two dirhams at least (when he comes with my supply of bottled 
water every other day), something 
that my mother observed with 
horror (she later lectured me as to how two dirhams is worth more than 
Rs25 in Indian currency: “Really, 
that’s too much for a tip,” she tut-
tutted disapprovingly).

On the abra, we settled down to bask in the twinkling lights on both sides of the Creek (wasn’t quite like cruising in Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong — but it was charming nevertheless), studied the swimming black waters, enjoyed the gentle breeze and observed how the other passengers appeared unmoved by the experience — simply because they take an abra for their crossing every day. Both of us rode in complete silence, and when the time came for us to disembark, my mother remarked: “Well, that, I must say, was rather nice.” From the Bur Dubai abra station, we drifted into Meena Bazaar — the Indian souk in Dubai — and I was immediately sorry for having set foot there. It was a different world: too noisy, too many excited people, too 
much trading.

I missed the inky blackness of the night sky and the water, and the dispassionate, deadpan faces surrounding us. “You get much better stuff in India,” my mother hissed. “And much cheaper. Take me back to the Creek, I want to ride on the abra again: so much nicer to be in a space where a one-dirham coin buys you such happiness.”

One more ride: this time, we 
bought return tickets for the princely sum of four dirhams.

It was abra-cadabra — magic.

Sushmita Bose is Khaleej Times’ 
Features Editor. She can be reached
at sushmita@khaleejtimes.com