A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.
~Edward de Bono
~Edward de Bono
As a little girl and then as an adult, my world is full of memories of the past - some pleasant, some not so and some horridly terrifying. There are some memories that are vividly recalled while others are pushed down to the bottom core of where they would be. 2 August itself has so many memories associated. However, 2 August 1990 stands out more than any other. The day when two nations changed history, the day when world economies changed but more so the day when a little girl explored a new world.
I can never forget 2 August 1990. It has been clearly etched in my mind. Just the day before, my parents took me on my first trip to the beach. Before that the beach and the sea was only a word and some pictures I had seen in books. But that day my Arabic teacher had punished me with an 'out-standing' reward for answering a question incorrectly, and as I came back I was noticeably upset. It was then my parents had taken me to the Kuwait Towers and the beach there for the first time. It was awesome. The breeze in the faces, the waves lapping the little rocks and the magnificent revolving towers in the background. Life was picture perfect.
And then dawned the day of 2 August 1990. As I woke up that day, I knew something was quite not right. One, my parents were not in a hurry to get ready and shoot off for work but were glued to the TV. Second, I was not sent to school. I could feel the tension in the air but who cares - I had a day off and could play with my friends in the building to my heart's content.
For that day and several days later, I was only playing around, meeting up, running around buildings enjoying oblivious to what was going on. I definitely could see a little too many armed and uniformed officers but that did not bother me then. Neither did the fact that they were Kuwaitis or Iraqis. I was a free bird - and a little one with no worries, no school and a lot of friends.
As days passed, my parents decided to sell off their belongings and most household stuff they could not carry home. They would pitch ground in some place along with a lot of other families and people would come bargain and buy. I have no clue whether they did pocket some profit but now that I think of it, I am sure they got nothing but a paltry amount.
Terrifying as it sounds now, I had no clue what was going on. All I knew was that an eight year old was on an extended picnic. Apparently then the Indian Government decided to get their citizens back but what they could manage was to charter their citizens in a flight from Jordan to Mumbai. So my parents and other Goan families pooled their resources and got into buses that would take them to Jordan. Ideally, a flight trip from Kuwait to Mumbai takes 3 hours, that journey took us nine days traveling from Kuwait to Jordan via the terrains of Iraq.
The bus was stopped at every juncture, and whenever stopped one needed to change the bus, bribe the Iraqi officers to allow passage and finally living in refugee camps at minus temperatures and freezing conditions. But I enjoyed the entire journey. It was the best adventure I've ever had. It still pumps the adrenaline in me when I think of how helicopters dropped down an egg, and a tomato, jostling to grab a bite and my first night in a tent.
Finally as we arrive in Mumbai, the smiling and happy faces of my grandparents is clearly etched. I could not but understand their concern considering they had just met me last month when I had been to India.
Twenty years later life is back to normal. In fact what India could not achieve after sixty four years of independence, Kuwait has achieved ten times more in a few years. The rate of development and the structures built have erased every remembrance of the Gulf war. Except a few monuments remembering the Prisoners of War (POW), there is no trace that ever Saddam Hussien called this place as Iraq's seventeenth province. The world may curse the man called Saddam Hussien with expletives, but today I'd like to thank him. He gave me some beautiful memories. He gave me a life I would not have known had I been in Kuwait till now. He changed my fate. Thank You Mr Saddam Hussien. May you rest in peace.
I can never forget 2 August 1990. It has been clearly etched in my mind. Just the day before, my parents took me on my first trip to the beach. Before that the beach and the sea was only a word and some pictures I had seen in books. But that day my Arabic teacher had punished me with an 'out-standing' reward for answering a question incorrectly, and as I came back I was noticeably upset. It was then my parents had taken me to the Kuwait Towers and the beach there for the first time. It was awesome. The breeze in the faces, the waves lapping the little rocks and the magnificent revolving towers in the background. Life was picture perfect.
And then dawned the day of 2 August 1990. As I woke up that day, I knew something was quite not right. One, my parents were not in a hurry to get ready and shoot off for work but were glued to the TV. Second, I was not sent to school. I could feel the tension in the air but who cares - I had a day off and could play with my friends in the building to my heart's content.
For that day and several days later, I was only playing around, meeting up, running around buildings enjoying oblivious to what was going on. I definitely could see a little too many armed and uniformed officers but that did not bother me then. Neither did the fact that they were Kuwaitis or Iraqis. I was a free bird - and a little one with no worries, no school and a lot of friends.
As days passed, my parents decided to sell off their belongings and most household stuff they could not carry home. They would pitch ground in some place along with a lot of other families and people would come bargain and buy. I have no clue whether they did pocket some profit but now that I think of it, I am sure they got nothing but a paltry amount.
Terrifying as it sounds now, I had no clue what was going on. All I knew was that an eight year old was on an extended picnic. Apparently then the Indian Government decided to get their citizens back but what they could manage was to charter their citizens in a flight from Jordan to Mumbai. So my parents and other Goan families pooled their resources and got into buses that would take them to Jordan. Ideally, a flight trip from Kuwait to Mumbai takes 3 hours, that journey took us nine days traveling from Kuwait to Jordan via the terrains of Iraq.
The bus was stopped at every juncture, and whenever stopped one needed to change the bus, bribe the Iraqi officers to allow passage and finally living in refugee camps at minus temperatures and freezing conditions. But I enjoyed the entire journey. It was the best adventure I've ever had. It still pumps the adrenaline in me when I think of how helicopters dropped down an egg, and a tomato, jostling to grab a bite and my first night in a tent.
Finally as we arrive in Mumbai, the smiling and happy faces of my grandparents is clearly etched. I could not but understand their concern considering they had just met me last month when I had been to India.
Twenty years later life is back to normal. In fact what India could not achieve after sixty four years of independence, Kuwait has achieved ten times more in a few years. The rate of development and the structures built have erased every remembrance of the Gulf war. Except a few monuments remembering the Prisoners of War (POW), there is no trace that ever Saddam Hussien called this place as Iraq's seventeenth province. The world may curse the man called Saddam Hussien with expletives, but today I'd like to thank him. He gave me some beautiful memories. He gave me a life I would not have known had I been in Kuwait till now. He changed my fate. Thank You Mr Saddam Hussien. May you rest in peace.
