Our housemaid walked out on us saying she had enough of working long hours and no one appreciating her cooking.

She preempted my wife, who was looking around for someone to replace her, because of her tardy timings. The housemaid promptly fell sick, leaving behind a sink full of dirty dishes, unmade beds, wrinkled uniforms and no sandwiches for the school lunch break.

“Don’t worry, I can handle this,” I told my wife and kids, as I entered the kitchen and put on an apron with an illustration of a grinning moose. After a few minutes of peering into the Tab and websites proclaiming, “Indian cooking in a jiffy,” I shouted, “Where is the coriander powder? What does it smell like?”

I do not remember this, but my family says after a few minutes in the kitchen I put on my sandals and said that I was going grocery shopping, and disappeared for a few hours. Meanwhile, everyone started bickering over what takeaway to order from the sheaf of menus that were left in a plastic cover at our door.

As my wife’s friend had left the country and there was no one else to turn to for a temporary maid, my wife put an advert online.

She then started receiving calls from women and men with various accents. “Everyone seems to be on WhatsApp,” said my wife, surprised that maids have become tech savvy. Then, a maid who had left the country and was now back again, wanted to “friend” us on Facebook. “Should I befriend her?” I asked my wife. “You are spending too much time on social media, instead of looking for writing jobs,” she said.

One woman said she charged Dh30 per hour and would work only for three hours every day as she had other homes to look after. “I can’t afford her, she wants as much as the physics tutor,” said my wife, as I wrestled with the steam mop.

They were everywhere

“I get one dirham a word. Maybe I should learn cooking,” I thought to myself, imagining myself as a rich cook and speaking with a French accent.

Now suddenly, all I saw were housemaids everywhere; they were in the playgrounds looking after expatriates’ kids. They were in buses speaking rapidly into their cell phones. They were sitting with families at the mall food courts, they were in clinics coughing with the kids.

From my living room window, I could even see tiny maids pedalling away along the garden path perched on bicycles.

One man called and said he had maids from various parts of India. “If you hire a maid and a cleaner together, I will give you a discount,” he said.

“We are trying out one man from UP,” said my wife. “Can’t we get someone from Hyderabad?” I asked. “I would have preferred someone from Tamil Nadu,” said my wife, showing how united Indians are in their rich diversity and many cuisines.

I asked the man who was his visa sponsor, and the cook looked up from chopping chillies and said that he was running his own business. “Isn’t it tough to start a business here?” I asked. He said not if you have enough “finances”. The man apparently loves cooking and he and his brother own a cleaning and cooking outfit that supplies maids and cooks to busy expat families across Dubai. He also cooks for a family on the Palm.

I then decided to learn cooking quickly and get my own business cards. “Should the cards say, Independent Writer, Editor and Cook?” I asked my wife. “It certainly is eye-catching and writers are imaginative cooks.”

“Dad, for the illustration on the card, I suggest a man wearing a chef’s hat and holding a pen,” added my son helpfully.

Mahmood Saberi is a freelance journalist based in Dubai. You can follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/ mahmood_saberi