Abu Dhabi, UAE
I made the move from Mumbai to Abu Dhabi because of one fact that kept popping up in my head: no income tax in the UAE. Back home, the monthly tax sheet felt like a leak in my pocket. So when a tech‑logistics start‑up in Abu Dhabi offered me a job, I jumped. Two hurried weeks of packing, paperwork, and goodbye dinners later, I was on a flight to a city I had only seen in photos.
The first night was calm and bright. From the taxi window I saw the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque glowing white, and then long, empty roads lined with date palms. It felt open and organised, nothing like the honking lanes of Mumbai. My new apartment on Reem Island had a view of the water and its own parking spot—something I could never dream of back home.
Sheikh Zayed Mosque
Work surprised me in the best way. My team is a mix of people from Egypt, the Philippines, Nigeria, Serbia, and two other Indians. Everyone speaks English, with bits of Arabic and Tagalog thrown in. We share lunches, swap recipes, and learn easy words like “shukran” for thank you. Because the salary is tax‑free, my bank balance finally looks as big as my effort. I send money home without feeling the pinch and still save more than before.
Weekends here start on Friday. I like to jog along the Corniche at sunrise. The sea on one side and glass towers on the other make a simple run feel special. When the sun gets too hot, I walk into the air‑conditioned halls of the Louvre Abu Dhabi. Under its silver dome, African masks hang beside European paintings, and it all fits together—just like the city itself.
Once a month I treat myself to a day on Yas Island. I start with an early ride on the red roller‑coaster at Ferrari World—the one that shoots you like a sling into the sky. After the screams fade, I cool off at Yas Waterworld, drifting along the lazy river with families from Jordan, Russia, and Kerala. Lunch is shawarma at Yas Mall under its bright glass roof. By sundown I’m at the marina, watching yachts bob while a DJ sets a slow beat. It’s a postcard mix of speed and calm, only thirty minutes away by car from my doorstep.
Louvre in Abu Dhabi
Food is an adventure too. At the Al Mina Date Market, vendors hand out samples until my pockets are sticky with syrup. In Musaffah, there’s a Saravanaa Bhavan where I eat masala dosa the size of my arm and hear Tamil songs while workers in coveralls crowd the cashier. Diwali feels loud and bright on Electra Street, with fairy lights zig‑zagging over the road and jalebi stands on every corner. The local police smile and guide traffic; they know it is our big day.
Cricket keeps me close to home. Every Saturday, an empty lot behind some warehouses turns into a mini‑stadium. We are accountants, welders, coders, and one chef from Lucknow who bowls deadly yorkers. After the match we drink chilled laban and joke about the heat. It hits 45 °C in summer, but the city answers with air‑conditioned bus stops and ice‑cold malls. I have never felt unsafe; once I left my laptop in a taxi and the driver brought it back within an hour.
When I need a quiet spot, I drive to Al Ain, the “Garden City,” about ninety minutes away. On Jebel Hafeet, the desert stretches out like a sand‑coloured ocean. I sip karak chai from a paper cup and watch the dunes fade into Oman. Up there, I think about the simple choice that changed my life: one ticket, one new address, and suddenly the world feels open.
Al Ain
Opportunities grow fast here. The government’s Golden Visa programme is in the news, hackathons pop up every few months, and art fairs fill the Saadiyat Cultural District. At a climate‑tech event, I met researchers from Japan and investors from Switzerland over free coffee. In India, “global citizen” was a phrase in magazines; in Abu Dhabi, it’s the person in the next seat.
Of course, no place is perfect. Summer heat can feel like walking inside a hair dryer, and I still convert every price to rupees in my head. But the city gives back in simple ways: clean public beaches, smooth highways, and a feeling that tomorrow will bring something new. Projects rise overnight, and it’s normal to see a crane where there was empty sky last week.
Some evenings I stand on my balcony, breeze on my face, and lights from the city dancing on the Gulf. I remember the crowded local train back in Mumbai and the weight of that tax sheet. Here, the air is clear, and the path ahead seems straight. The UAE is a place that rewards risk‑takers, and I’m happy I took my shot.
Moving abroad sounded scary before I did it. Now it feels like the most natural thing I could have done. I live in a city where the call to prayer blends with Bollywood beats from a corner shop. I work with people from five continents. I earn tax‑free and sleep easy. I’m still the same guy who grew up eating vada pav, but my world is bigger. And for now, this desert city is home.
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