Libyan Diary - Part Three

Hello friend…

It has been a while since I recorded my thoughts on Libya. Doing so while living in that land had been a difficult task. I was fully submerged in the cultural and social ethos of that country. Experience after experience fed into my mouth. Sometimes it was more than what I could chew. Most of the times I suffered from indigestion and uneasiness. As I write this third diary I fondly remember the response, you had given me for the first two write-ups on Libya. The only difference this time is that I am writing this episode from my hometown in India. I am somewhat free these days. Please do not think that I using my time in a constructive way by writing this piece. It is the sheer force of memories that made me sit and type this mail today. I have not told you about the seamy side of my life in Libya. It is one part of my life which I am trying to forget, so please do not expect me to elaborate on the details. I have gone through myriad experiences, which will never have any impact on your life. It is somewhat foolishness to share pain with others because your sorrows are your own. They are NOT a public limited company. I am writing this to calm myself and to tell you that this was my life plus the lessons that I learned.

I expected to learn a lot about when I reached Libya. New culture and new people. All that I learned from Libya was about India. It is true that we will compare the new culture with something, which we are already familiar with. Therefore, the immediate reference for Indians in Libya was India. It began with food and most of the time ended with woman. I still remember one doctor friend of mine making a remark comparing Indian women and Libyan women. According to him, Indian women had a special quality, which the Libyans greatly lacked. To describe that quality he used the word – Femininity. I am still puzzled at this description and I have stopped thinking about that.

The initial few months in Libya was a BPL (Below Poverty Line) existence. Everybody saving dinars as Libyans saved water in the Sahara desert. For me it had been a wonderful learning experience. With whatever the amount the University gave, I purchased a laptop. It was like buying a dream from a shop. I was so possessive about my first laptop that I never allowed a second person to touch it. I never saw the mischievous smile that was there in God’s face. Exactly four months after I purchased the laptop, it was stolen one day. It happened on a Sunday. Sundays in Libya never used to have the romantic touch that we usually associate with Sundays in India. To describe Indian Christian Sundays in four words (Church/Heavy lunch/afternoon nap/Evening tea plus Sunday movie in television). I along with my friend was at the police station filing a complaint for the lost laptop. We had two Libyans with us to translate English to Arabic. That night my mind and body was in state of numbness. I was able to measure the degree of attachment I had with my Laptop. The song by Queen – ‘Too Much Love Will Kill You’ and the poetic lines ‘Good fences make Good neighbours’ kept me awake that night.

On one side, my fellow Indian friends were drowning in the financial whirlpool and on the other side I was trying to cope with the loss of a material thing. I did receive kind words of encouragement and support from people around me. Some were from the heart and others from the throat. I learned two main lessons from this incident.

Never be attached to anything in this world – animate or inanimate – I appreciate the romantic poets for coining the word – Negative Capability. The concept of hating and loving the same thing.

People and the emotions they shower upon you, need not be genuine. They can act and react in umpteen ways, which will make Al Pacino a pygmy.

That’s all for the time being
I will be back with some more stories about my life in Libya. I have many topics to cover

Some sample topics:
How I survived an attempt on life and property?
Can Jealousy turn a Man into a Hooligan?
An Arabian tale of Communism
Money, Money, Money- It is so funny for Indians in Libya.


With love and respect
Prem