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All day I peeped out from the corner of the window, which is now the last vantage point in our apartment, from where we can still catch a glimpse of the sea. The broad marine vista, that same window had afforded us fourteen years back, when we had first moved into this apartment, was now just a fading memory. All we could see now, when we looked directly out of it, was the parking lot and a row of buildings. My blues and greens, were now definitely greys and browns. There was however, one little grace still left; From my chair by the window, I could see diagonally to the left and catch an undisturbed view, of both trees and sea, and this is where I sat, especially on good days, and enjoyed the view.

Through the day I had admired its myriad shades of beautiful blues. But by the time we finally made it to its shore, it had lost its glorious promise of beauty and looked dull and listless, as the sun began descending. Nevertheless, we sat down in the spot we seem to have claimed now as our own, as no one ever comes there, though people do picnic nearby. But that particular bit of green, bordered by bougainvillea seems to have been left exclusively for us. We come here by unspoken agreement whenever we decide to go out at the week-end or sometimes even during the week-day, when it is especially beautiful.

It is a pretty spot; the ground is covered by a creeper that has begun to turn yellow in places, but whose verdure we have enjoyed for many months. People walk or ride cycles on the curving promenade that circles Green island right around, but few glance up, to where we sit. There is a wall above us that encloses a small piece of ground, which can be used for bar-be-cues or picnics, but rarely is. Tables and chairs are plentiful all over the island and we just have to pick a couple for ourselves and carry them here.

As we sit here while the evening grows, the setting sun turns the sea behind us to rich gold. Behind us is the city, with its skyline of monolithic sky scrapers; hungry to gobble up the sky greedily. Before us, touching the horizon, lies the sea, so often beautifully clad in regal blues, that we feel we can stare at it tirelessly, for hours. The promenade is lined by trees, and rows of trees grow everywhere, to justify the island’s name.

It is a quiet sea, that speaks often in hushed, respectful tones to the shore. It is a rare day when it rushes in blue green waves, to spill its excitement and exuberance upon the sand. We sit in the shade of a tree, the whisper of its leaves in the breeze, plays a soft, soothing note on our consciousness. Busy sparrows chirp in the boughs above. Once in a while, one of the numerous bulbuls, bursts suddenly into the sweetest song. The only other companions here are the cats, lying stretched out on the ground, or walking through the bougainvillea bushes, or mewling pitifully besides us, if we have brought food for that rare picnic.

Once in a while, the peace is disturbed, not unpleasantly by a jet ski or two, or by a motorboat going past, close to the Island. some times we smile as we hear laughter of unseen children playing close by somewhere. Huge container ships, sail gracefully in the distance. Sometimes we can spy a white sail of a boat, that is content to drift languidly, with the breeze. The gulls and cormorants fly past us, swooping down to the sea. No conversation is required, and we can sit here for hours in a companionable silence, that drains off completely the tensions of the work week.

The bougainvillea bushes that lie just a little ahead from where we sit, are almost bare now but just a month back they were a riot of pinks, reds, oranges and magenta, a rare and brilliant sight in a place that is mostly desert. The bulbuls like it here and many can be found inside them or sitting on the branches.

Beyond them is the tree with twisted arms yet a strange beauty. Another stands close to it. It is hidden from where we sit but when we walk down, we can spy it. It is always bare, empty arms outstretched towards the sky. Its brown branches, silhouetted against a deep blue sky, glow orange as the evening grows, and sometimes as night appears we can see the moon shining bright, through them. A stranger in this, all surrounding green beauty, it still holds a fascination all its own.

The idyll is so perfect, it is hard to tear ourselves away as the evening grows and the wind increases bringing with it an unwelcome chill.

Note: I have many pictures of this place but wished to paint the picture simply with words.

I have reclined ‘neath trees
woven with yellow green leaves
or silhouetted bare and stark
against deep cerulaen skies
besides undecided waves
changing shades constantly

I have watched gulls dip and rise
and fly off into the distance
heard sparrows sing in harmony
with melodious bulbuls
in late afternoons
as the sun warmed our backs
and lavishly gilted dancing waves
so they chuckled with golden laughter

I have imbibed contentment
from slow crafts sailing lazily
from the whisper of the breeze
the soft answers of the leaves
the sage nodding of the boughs
the blushing of the blooms

I have heard I have seen I have felt
I have been content
I have been happy
I have lived

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There is nothing I regret more than the lost chances of doing good. I wrote this once but did not write about the event behind it.

Once I was travelling by myself from Mumbai to Kuwait, by Jazeera Airways. Now Jazeera Airways is a low cost airline and in those days used to be very particular about the weight of the luggage and if it exceeded even a little over 20 kilos, the passenger was asked to pay for overweight. That night, as usual I reached the airport just in time to make the flight, in fact I was the last passenger, all the others except one, had gone into immigration. The person before me looked like a labourer. Strangely there was a problem. Strangely because labourers and blue collar workers usually travel very light, many with just an airbag. This particular passenger though, was overweight by about 5 kilos and he would have to pay around Rupees 1000/- as extra baggage charges. The passenger did not have any money with him. The person at the check in counter refused point blank, to waive the charge.

I looked at the man; thin, badly dressed, uneducated, with poverty screaming out from his every pore. I had seen many like him in my own home country and the airport was full of them, making their way to the countries of the Arabian Gulf to seek their livelihood. So many of them mortgaged or even sold their lands for the coveted visa to the promised lands. They borrowed from friends and relatives to buy the visa and ticket that would enable them to take the flight, to what they thought was prosperity. So many of them were duped by unscrupulous recruiting agents who sold visas dearly. They travelled to the desert with dreams of making a fortune, which soon dissipated in the scorching summer heat. Though the dreams turned quickly to dust when they faced reality, they were tied to their incomes, due to a lack of a better alternative in their home country, compounded by the needs of their family and dependants.

As Jazeera at that time, did not serve meals, I was carrying a little money for a sandwich and some coffee and a little extra. Rupees 1000/- to be exact. I looked at the man and thought of paying for his extra baggage. The airline official was very adamant that he either paid or he could not board the flight. The man could barely understand what was going on. Even as the angel on my right shoulder was prodding me to pay for him, the miserable devil on my left shoulder was speaking in a voice of calm reason, as is his wont. I hesitated and was lost. The official turned the passenger away and the poor man began walking with his unnecessary luggage away from the counter and towards the exit, and even as I moved to the counter and handed over my passport and ticket, he was swallowed up by the crowd and I had lost that moment to help a fellow soul in need.

What was the result of my inaction on that life? Did he lose his job? He certainly lost the money for his ticket. Was the money borrowed? How did his family survive if he lost his job, for not being able to reach in time? Was he ever able to get to Kuwait again or to any other place where he could earn enough to support his dependants?

The questions tortured me. I was unable to buy the meal that had cost a man his livelihood. That would have been a very expensive meal, one I could not afford or even I could it would have been impossible to swallow. But it was more than just my own survival for the next few hours that had stopped me. Most of the time I appear to be brash and bold but can be being painfully shy. At that moment my shyness had held me back, I had not been able to act and that inaction had proved to be unaffordable.

I am not being completely honest here, there was another reason also to that had held me back. It was a reason I am hesitant to mention because many will find it utterly ridiculous and even scoff, which would only be right. I thought, what if he is not supposed to be on that plane, what if there is a crash and he dies only because I made it possible. I know it sounds really, really stupid, but when that miserable little devil speaks in his soft, convincing voice of reason, one can, for a moment believe it. Unfortunately, often that moment is all one has.

It has been a few years but I still regret it and berate myself, when I remember, and I remember very often. After all when one is asked a simple question, to save or not save a life, the answer should be quite easy. I cannot accept that for me, it was not.

Another thing is that I believe that we are put in a particular place at a particular time for a reason, and Providence had put me there, to help that man and I failed. I do believe though, that Providence is not just kind but also wise and it would not depend completely on one person who was prone to being shy or silly but would have prepared a backup. There is also the off chance that Providence may have had a better alternative lined up for him and so arranged it in a way that he would not be able to travel. The fact that the unknown man may now actually be in a better position, doesn’t really help me deal with my shame and guilt.

The only way I will be able to forgive myself is perhaps by helping someone else when the occasion arrives.

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Most of Kuwait woke up this morning either still in awe of the sights they had witnessed yesterday or then regretting not having reached the venue last evening, after watching it on television.

Every website and blog on Kuwait had been proclaiming for days that the fireworks were ‘not to be missed’, so of course they were on out list of must do things and we were debating on how we would reach the place as we were aware of the many hurdles we would have to face, when a friend called and offered to take us there. The fireworks were scheduled to begin at 7 pm, but it was almost that by the time we set off. We went on the Gulf Road that led straight to Kuwait Towers where the laser and firework show was to be held, only to find out it was closed due to the merry makers and traffic. We turned around and made our way to the express-way that runs parallel to the Gulf Road and found out that everyone else had the same idea.

Seeing the traffic we now gave up all hope of actually seeing the fireworks and decided as we were all stuck in this traffic anyway, we would just sit and enjoy the madness all around. There were cars not just from Kuwait but Saudi, Qatar, UAE, etc. Many boys were just dancing in their cars, or standing with heads through the sunroofs and dancing and clapping. There was a general atmosphere of fun and merriment. All the cars were heading to the firework show but by now most thought they would not reach there in time, but were still determined to go there anyways, and over and above the journey was fun so why care if they reached the destination or not.

Some of it was beyond madness and even frightening and dangerous though, for it seemed some kids were giving very little attention to any safety whatsoever. Two boys from Qatar, were sitting in the opposite windows of their SUV and every once in a while they would bend out completely, head towards the road, holding the car door by their knees. There were other kids who brought our hearts to our mouths, little kids half out of there cars through open windows.

At one time we heard a lot of police cars. The police cleared a way somehow to make a way for a convoy of VIP buses. Seeing the buses, which we knew were headed to the firework show, gave us some hope that maybe they had not begun yet

We managed to reach Bneid al Gar, where we had decided to park the car in one of the lanes and walk to the sea side right across, which would give us a good view of the show. It was 8 pm then, but as we were driving down we saw a glimpse of fireworks and so hurried to get to the other side. We were not too late after all.
A helicopter hovered overhead with the lit up flag of Kuwait. The fireworks were concentrated on Kuwait Towers it seemed and we crossed the road and climbed a small landscaped hillock, to get a closer view. My friend, her husband and my elder daughter with her camera, went right down to the sea side, I and my younger daughter stayed on the hillock without cameras, just drinking in with our eyes. Just then the grand spectacle began.

We had been concentrating on the Towers to our left, but suddenly the fireworks that began over Kuwait Towers then continued like a chain, all the way down over the sea, in a show that left us gasping. Big globes of light that travelled up to the night sky and turned into great showers of red, green and gold that glowed in brilliant reflections in the sea, and finally dissolved into trembling shimmers before disappearing completely. The first one left us stunned and open mouthed, for though there are fireworks all over the world, we had never witnessed a show of this scale live.

Excitement welled in us, we held each other tight, exchanging hugs and smiles, every now and then, exhilarated and happy to be sharing the such a spectacular event together. We could not stop grinning and every expression of joy and delight passed over our faces at some time. We both at that moment were of the same age and perhaps would have even begun a small dance of glee. For once we were free of cameras but were recording everything in our minds and hearts, not just what we were witnessing but our own personal joy in it and our moment of closeness, sharing and love that enhanced the happiness of the moment, manifold.

The sky was lit by palm trees and stars and great big showers of silver woven with gold, then more red and more green and more gold. Fireworks and lasers worked together to make it utterly dazzling. They showers seemed to come closer and closer to us. The grand finale was at the Towers as the circumference of the globes of the Towers seemed to throw out zillions of sparks. This was the biggest and the best show ever in Kuwait and everyone who watched it was enthralled and enchanted and I am sure it will not be forgotten for a long time. It is one more moment of sharing with my daughters, especially the delight that we experienced together, that I will treasure.

No pictures of this one because but a professional video from the Tv channel is on youtube

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The celebrations for the 50th National Day of Kuwait began in earnest today. I find it hard to resist any celebration. I love the lively atmosphere celebrations create, the feeling of joy and happiness emanating from everywhere. Lights, crowds, palpable excitement, laughter, enjoyment on every face, the list is endless. I love shopping during festivals like Diwali and Christmas, or even just walking through the crowds, looking into brightly lit shops and just being part of the general atmosphere, back home in India. Therefore it is unthinkable that we would stay home, like many people prefer to, during the National Day celebrations here in Kuwait. especially as we have been looking forward to them all month.

Usually Kuwaitis would drive down Arabian Gulf Street in bumper to bumper traffic, waving flags, dancing on the streets, or through the sunroof, loud music blaring from most cars, and spraying each other with foam. I and my younger daughter would walk down the short distance to the Gulf Road and take pictures and just enjoy the general exhilaration. This year though the spray has been banned but the cars are all lined up. There are many events planned for the celebrations including an illusionist from Las Vegas , whom we hoped to see, but got the dates wrong and it seems it is now over. Other events are parades, fireworks, kite flying festival, etc.

This is also possibly the only time that one can take candid shots of life in Kuwait quite openly. Everyone has there cameras out and it is almost impossible to avoid getting into other people’s pictures. For me the cosmopolitan world that is Kuwait is very fascinating, and I love events where I can just capture people acting naturally.

Some kids even posed for me

They kicked off the celebrations today with the release of 5000 pigeons and doves at the Marina Crescent, in an attempt to set a Guinness World Record. The crowds began gathering quite early, we though reached at 3:30 pm, people were hurrying through the Marina to get a good place to view the event from.

Some had arrived early to book the gallery view from the verandah that runs along the outside of the Crescent.

some were squatting on the ground, some had brought small chairs to sit on

I was less interested in the release of pigeons and more in just being there and capturing the spirit of the crowds on camera. I was not disappointed. The fervour of patriotism permeated everywhere. The Kuwait flag was flying high held by hands from many nations. There was a group of American who stood by the beach holding the flags.

Kuwaitis and expats showed equal ingenuity in the many ways they wore the flag colours. The green, red, white and black colours of the Kuwait flag were worn as clothes, jewellery and headwear. Imagination was allowed to roam wild and free and it was quite an enjoyable sight. Loved this cute little kid

and this one had a fan

Others were equally interesting

Adorable little kids were everywhere, many dressed in flag colours, like this sweet little girl.

some perched on their fathers’ shoulders, for a better view

Some doing their own thing

Some having new experiences away from the crowds

When the pigeons were released they flew over head, landed on the beach, swooped down on the crowds, Young and old reached out to hold them in their hands.

That was today, tomorrow is another day!

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Woke up this morning wishing to just relax and take a break. A break from going out, from worries, from chores and from a 101 things in the day that take up time and energy. I feel like just sitting down on my chair by the window and reflecting, or reading, or writing, or exchanging random thoughts with my daughters, or then doing just nothing at all but sitting quite still. Today I will just flow with my thoughts, wherever they take me.

It is strange but often when one of my two daughters’ expresses something, it is something that I have been thinking of simultaneously or vice versa. We seem to be totally tuned for much of the time, so it is not really an exchange of thoughts but more like an affirmation or agreement. Just as I was typing the first paragraph, my daughter unknowing of what I was typing, said it is so nice to just sit at home and relax for a change, to which I burst out laughing and then read out to her what I had written.

My elder daughter is in her early twenties and single, so continues living with us, as is customary in Indian families. She has finished her MBA and is looking for a job. In the meantime she is maintaining a blog, doing a creative writing course and catching up with all the books, which she always wanted to read and just could not find the time to.

Our home is unlike most homes. More time is given to discussing ideas collected either by reflection, or reading, or watching some information or knowledge imparting programme on television or youtube, then to the daily chores of cleaning and cooking or to gossiping or mindless pleasure seeking. Often we sit in the living room, each engrossed in a book or reading from the net, and when we come across something strange or interesting we share it with the others and discuss it for a while, then go back to what we were doing.

None of us like to gossip. When we go out, it is usually for a walk on the beach or to some interesting event, or to the desert, or then to visit our few close friends. It is not that we don’t enjoy shopping or eating out. We do, the girls have thankfully outgrown burgers and pizzas, so with mature palates, we now march on boldly to savour global cuisines. The girls love to shop for clothes, shoes and accessories and take in the sales at the various malls. For me it is something that will enhance the beauty of my home; even if it is something small, for though I do not spend much time in cleaning, I do like order and cleanliness and beauty in my home.

Cooking is quick and basic, yet results in a table-spread of good food. I once used to be slow in the kitchen, but have over time developed my own system of quick meals, which taste good. We all love salads and fresh fruits. Recently though, I have a growing desire to try cooking new dishes from around the world, experiment in techniques, recipes, and hitherto unknown combinations of taste and flavours of vegetables, fruits, condiments and spices.

We do have maid from Sri Lanka, who takes care of the general cleaning. Both of us speak different languages, so we normally converse either by sign, or our limited Arabic, which sometimes leads to disasters or humourous situations. She is sweet and ever smiling and radiates a positive aura that is very pleasant to have around the house. I do believe strongly that ‘order in the house results in order in the mind’ and a disorderly home upsets me.

So there are days, when I go into my ‘clean the house mood’, when cupboards are turned out, all the unnecessary accumulated items are dispensed with, nooks and corners are thoroughly cleaned. Clothes are washed, ironed, sent to be dry cleaned or set in cupboards, or given away to the poor.

I do not like clutter and accumulation, my husband on the other hand adores both, and out of sheer need for maintaining my sanity I’ve trained my vision and mind, to block out all the ugly bags and boxes and focus only on the pretty and neat parts of the house. Through the years, my clean and neat parts have slowly encroached on his clutter, and my vision has the space to grow broader. The best times I have found are during my husbands’ frequent trips abroad, when I have the time to bring about changes. Sometimes though it is a constant battle to maintain the ground I have conquered, for no sooner an empty space appears, than he finds more things to put in or on it. Sometimes I think he is a conjurer and can conjure things out of nowhere. For some reason these things are always packed in the most disreputable packages and make me think that he has chanced upon a tramp’s treasure house and is borrowing freely from it.

It is in recent years that that I have begun to notice many of my relatives have a cleanliness fetish, which explains my own desire for order as genetic. I also like classic furniture, carved wood, etc, which sometimes tends to be space taking and heavy, (inherited no doubt, from a long gone great grand-father, who owned a furniture business) yet another part of me likes empty spaces and minimalistic look, (the source of which is yet to be discovered as we certainly don’t have any Japanese genes), so I do have to compromise with one need, as both seem unachievable. One day though, I am sure that the minimalist me will appear the victor and I will hold a garage sale for all the rest.

Which reminds me: Yesterday, taking advantage of the dear one’s latest trip, I bravely delved into a corner piled high with shoe boxes. Now he is not all disreputable packages, he also loves to collect shoes; expensive, pure leather, Italian shoes. We already had one shoe cupboard filled to the brim with 20 pairs and when we moved back to Kuwait a couple of months back, I immediately acquired another one, which could easily accommodate another 20 pairs of shoes. Ten of these are ours (mine and the girls’), the rest are all his. These have been worn a few times. The ones I removed from the corner were untouched. I counted at least another twenty pairs and found cupboard space for them, the new vacuum cleaner and two older ones, (of course we cannot throw them away, there is always a chance that one morning we will wake up and find them miraculously restored) easily fit into the emptied space and so did some odds and ends.

Now I live in fear of what he is going to find to fill the space that was taken by the vacuum cleaners and odds and ends, which are presently, cosily ensconced in the place, previously utilised by the untidy and badly balanced pile of shoe boxes. A bit convoluted but I am sure you get my drift.

The piles of untouched, beautiful, leather shoes in the meantime are tempting me to hold a sale. Any takers????

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It began as a cloudy day, the colours were dull and we were on our way to Wafra, about 100 km from our home.
My daughter had applied as a volunteer to an animal shelter and we were going there for her orientation. It was already late and we didn’t have much chance of making it, but we had planned the day’s outing so we decided to go anyway. The road to Wafra goes via the highway to Saudi. Many seas-side resorts and holiday chalets lie close to this road and it is often taken during holidays and the week-ends. We stopped at a fuel station to fill up, at the exit to the station stood a vanette and three men, selling kites. Some tied up kites were flying gaily in the sky, among them there was a black shark. I suddenly got an urge to go into the desert and fly a shark, sadly the idea was scoffed at, a sad fate many of my more exciting ideas meet.

One of the men selling the kites was an old, bearded bedouin, sitting on a chair, smoking a sheesha. He was perfect portrait material, the kind of portrait that one can always be proud of. Unfortunately I missed the opportunity and now I carry his picture in my head and hope to see him again in the same position. After we left the petrol station, the back seat voices started singing “Lets go fly a kite, up to the high of heights, lets go fly a kite and send it soaring, up to the atmosphere, up where the air is clear….” Mary Poppins had always been a great favourite with us as the kids were growing up, not just Mary Poppins but Disney as a whole and even now my elder daughter can quote from a Disney movie to suit many an occasion.

Soon we took the right turn off the highway, to Wafra. Once Wafra must have been all desert, unending plains that touched the horizon. Even now many part of it are just stretches of sand. The acacia trees, which had been planted at the side of the road a few years back, had grown. Parts of the desert was covered with tents, as the Kuwaiti’s revive their traditions of living in the desert during the winter, when on week ends many families live in tents in the desert. Camping is very popular here. Far in the desert to the right, I spotted the lone tree that I had claimed as mine a long time ago. It is too far off to photograph and going closer would take away some of its mystic, so there it stands undisturbed, a proud and solitary testimony of survival under harsh conditions.

Further down the tents thinned out, then disappeared completely and the desert was dotted in some parts by grazing camels and sheep. After we turned left, we came upon triangular pigeon coops standing like remnants of some ancient Inca civilisation.

Some time back, farms were developed artificially in this area, and each farm is bordered by tall Casuarina or Florida Buttonwood trees, which act as a windbreak as well as provide privacy. Normally the Casuarinas turn dull grey green, due to the many dust and sand storms but the Florida buttonwoods continue to gleam. Thousands of sparrows and other birds live in these trees and in the early mornings and late evening one can be entertained by their sweet choir.

Rains usually begin in November and go on till late April. The rains bring the desert alive with wildflowers and grasses and there is little brown and much yellow and green to be seen.

The landscape is dotted with grazing sheep, goats and camels. The vast skies are a riot of colours during sunset and the trees have a washed clean look.

This year though it has been different. It is February now, yet the rains have not really made their presence felt. We have had a number of dull cloudy days but the clouds seem reluctant to lose any of their moisture, and roll away with all the precipitation contained in them, intact. The trees in Wafra were showing signs of the lack of rain. Many were stark, even the gleaming buttonwoods looked bare in places, while in others they continued to thrive only due to artificial irrigation. The sheep and camels were still there but they were given feed as there was barely any grass.

The trees bore a look of neglect but the farms were green and lush, many with fresh vegetables, which are supplied to the many markets from here, including the Central Vegetable market and also the small local farmers market in Wafra itself. The farms assure a constant supply of fresh local vegetables at unbelievably cheap prices. I found an old picture of the farmer’s market.

We visited a spot we usually visit. It has a long column of trees growing close together and had once inspired me to write a poem. Now many of the trees had fallen down but two long rows of trees intertwined together still held a charm

This spot is a microcosm of Wafra, for it has a stretch of desert,

tall casuarinas, and beyond them the lush verdure of a farm. Vegetables growing, date palms and farmhands from Bangla Desh working in the fields

and goats and sheep grazing

and Arab boys on a week-end stay in their thick brown winter wear, out exploring with their friends and their dog

On the way back we stopped at the side of a road opposite a farm with a green farmhouse and a red gate. Once there were two ponds with grasses and reeds growing on the side of the short drive to the gate. the lamp post at the gate used to glow honey in the evenings. It was another favourite spot. I had taken many pictures of the ponds and the gate and house, which were now only on webshots.

The changes were stark but though the ponds have dried up and it all had a rather neglected and desolate look, the gate still held fascination for my daughters as it had for me once, and they immediately took pictures of it.

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It was a beautiful day. It began with a chill but the temperatures rose a little to comfortable levels, the sky was a beautiful blue and here in this little corner it seemed that all was right with the world. It was the annual mobike show in Kuwait and the second Concours d Elegance. They were both held at the Marina Crescent. Now I do not know much about either cars or bikes, but that does not restrict my enjoyment of these beautiful machines, which were crafted to suit individual style and taste and I was filled with much wonder and awe as I wandered among them.

Bikes have long been a passion of many young men in Kuwait and every visit to the Arabian Gulf Street is rewarded by glimpses of them wheeling or racing. There seem to be a number of big powerful bikes of all kinds, colours and shapes, which race and wheel through the main traffic on Gulf road all day long. Most of these have been customized, which seems a kind of signature of the owner. We see them all the time but the show gave us a chance of coming close to them.
Bikes are a passion not just in Kuwait but the entire Gulf area and on this day they had come from all over, riding overland to join in this bike show. There were bikers from Saudi, Dubai, Bahrain, and many other countries. The Saudi riders were from different Saudi cities.

The population of Kuwait is composed of many nationalities from around the world. It was like a small representation of the world all come together for the single purpose, of enjoying the day as well as this annual event….

….and the bikes, many of which were showcases of what ingenuity and imagination can achieve when coupled with a passion and ready availability of funds.

My daughter managed to get some really good close up shots of the bikes, here are some pics courtesy daughter Z aka purple moonbeams. http://ephemeralimpressions.blogspot.com/

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