Shopping Lists to Suitcase Wars: The comic ordeal of UAE Indians’ summer homecoming

By the time May arrives in the UAE, every married Indian man develops the same expression. Half excitement. Half fear. Mostly fear. The summer vacation to India is approaching. In theory, it sounds beautiful. Family reunions. Mangoes. Long naps. Homemade food. Childhood nostalgia. In reality, it is a military operation conducted under the command of one woman holding three shopping lists and a loyalty points card.

The first sign of danger begins with a casual sentence from the wife. “We should start buying things slowly.” Slowly. The biggest lie in married life after “We’ll leave in five minutes.” That one sentence launches six consecutive weekends inside supermarkets, malls, discount centres, wholesale shops and mysterious stores discovered through forwarded WhatsApp messages from relatives.

The mission is never about us. I once suggested we buy ourselves matching holiday clothes. My wife looked at me like I had suggested investing in underwater real estate.

“No no. First finish buying for everyone back home.” Everyone back home apparently includes cousins I have not seen since the invention of ringtone downloads.

Half the luggage allowance belongs to people who will eventually say, “Arrey, why did you bring anything?”

Then begins the advanced mathematics. “How many kilos are we allowed?” This calculation becomes more complicated than engineering entrance exams. Every suitcase is weighed 15 times using three different weighing machines. Nobody trusts the first machine, that's why.

Meanwhile, the shopping lists never end. Every evening another message arrives from India. “If possible, bring vitamin gummies for the kids. If possible, one small air fryer. If possible, branded sneakers size 9.” The phrase “if possible” carries the emotional pressure of a court summons.

My role during these shopping expeditions is mostly financial and logistical. I push the trolley while pretending to compare prices seriously. Husbands in supermarkets during May recognise one another instantly. Tired eyes. Silent nods. Occasional deep sighs near the cookware section.

There is also the famous argument phase. “Why are we buying this?” “Because they bought us something last time.” “But we don’t even use what they gave us.” “That’s not the point.”

I never understand the point. I simply continue pushing the trolley toward destiny. The final week before departure feels like a reality survival show. Laundry piles everywhere. Open suitcases occupying entire rooms. Adapters disappearing mysteriously. Passports being checked every eleven minutes.

Then arrives airport day. No human being should have to experience the emotional pressure of loading four oversized suitcases onto an airport trolley, pretending everything is under control.

The airport itself deserves its own documentary series. Indian families travelling from the UAE during summer look like migrating civilisations. Children sleeping on luggage. Parents guarding passports with their lives. Somebody arguing with airline staff about excess baggage charges. Somebody else sitting on a suitcase trying to close it through sheer determination and body weight.

Meanwhile, the missus wafts along, astonishingly calm despite weeks of shopping chaos. Handbags sorted. Duty-free strategy mentally prepared. I, on the other hand am breaking into sweats at the baggage counter while mentally trying to justify a very skewed gift-to-relative ratio. My wife notices. “Relax,” she purrs.

Easy for her. She won the war three supermarkets ago.