By Karan Thapar

They say Emirates is the best airline in the world and I am not inclined to disagree. For me the first delight was the fresh carrot juice on offer. It’s hard to describe beyond saying it was delicious. It was soft on the palate. It tasted substantial. And it was also red. But the clincher was the solicitous ministrations of the airhostesses. The one attending on me wasn’t pretty but her smile was beguiling. When I scattered crumbs from my breakfast croissant all over my shirt front she produced a small clothes brush. It came from the pocket of her apron as if she was expecting me to make a spectacle of myself.

“Thank you” I said a little sheepishly after I had brushed myself clean.

“Keep it Sir” she replied. “It’s pocket-size and I’m sure you will need it again.”

I spent last weekend in Dubai as the guest of Dubai Media City. It’s an unbelievably modern, hi-tech, single-point television and media hub. The owner – as he is of much of Dubai – is Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al-Maktoum, the city state’s Crown Prince and the Defence Minister of the Emirates. I had no idea he or his associates and colleagues knew of me but I am grateful to have been invited.

Sheikh Mohammed is to Dubai what Lee Kuan Yew has been to Singapore. I was repeatedly told that his ‘vision’ is responsible for what Dubai is today. And that is very impressive. What was once a desert is now a shining spanking metropolis. It’s hotels are lavish, its shops overflowing, the restaurants are full and the people look content. Sheikh Mohammed did all this without oil. Dubai is at best a marginal producer. But it’s a free trade port and, more recently, a financial centre. That is the core of the Sheikh’s vision.

Media City is the Sheikh’s latest brainchild. Its aim is to woo clients presently using Singapore, Hong Kong and even London to broadcast to the Arab world. The project was launched in October 1999. Just fourteen months later it was inaugurated. On saturday night the ceremonies were climaxed by a fireworks display that put Sydney Harbour Bridge on New Year’s eve to shame. For thirty minutes the sky exploded in a thousand colours, popping like champagne corks, streaking, flaring and, most surprisingly of all, dancing. I’ve never seen dancing fireworks before. Now that I have I’ll never forget them.

I had no idea that 7-star hotels existed until I walked into one in Dubai. Shaped like the mast of an Arab dhow it’s called the Burj Al Arab. Technically it’s been built offshore on a man-made island. From this location in the sea it rises 27 floors. By day it looks like a blue and white ship. At night it’s a series of flashing lasers and sparkling lights.

From the inside the hotel’s décor is to marvel at, whether you like it or not. It’s a cross between Alladin’s cave and a child’s dream of a tutti-frutti ice cream. Its opulent but at times it also seems tasteless and, sadly, even vulgar. Yet despite this it’s impressive. Very, very impressive.

The first thing you notice are the fountains. The ellipse fountain outside has sprays that rise and fall, jump and skip and then flip back on themselves. At night flares of fire shoot alongside the water. In the lobby there is a fountain display that rises 25 metres. But it’s totally silent. Instead, it’s the changing musical shapes and the lights that shine through the perfect formations that hold your attention.

After the fountains come the carpets. Designed in bright shades of red and yellow, blue and green, gold and black, they assault the eyes. They demand attention. And they constantly change colours. I am not sure I liked them but I couldn’t stop looking at them. Loud colours have that effect.

The hotel has 202 rooms and each is a suite set on two floors. The rooms have individual instant internet connections, 48 inch plasma TV screens, and silk- covered walls. The smallest is 170 Sq.Mtrs. It costs 40,000/- rupees plus 20 per cent tax. The Royal Suite costs seven times more. It’s almost a thousand square metres.

Casual visitors to the hotel are not welcome. There’s a cover charge of 140 dirhams which is nearly 2000 rupees. Fortunately Sheikh Mohammed is the owner. I was his guest for lunch.

It may sound odd but this week-end in Dubai I found myself reflecting upon the nature of power and what it means. At different times it has different meanings. Yet each of these has a place in Dubai. For this city resonates with power. The way the desert has been harnessed and civilised is perhaps the obvious example. It’s a symbol of man’s power to mould nature to his demands. The ceaseless construction, the bright, flashy, highly illuminated exteriors and the large fast cars speak of a different aspect of power. The power of money. And then there’s the expatriate community – Indian, Pakistani and British – who have flocked to Dubai to live and make their fortune. I’m told that for every citizen there are nine expatriates. They are proof of the power of Dubai’s magnetic appeal. This is more than the lure of money or the metamorphosis of nature. It’s the power of the Dubai dream. The expatriates not only make it happen. They share it.

Late on saturday night, listening to the BBC, I realised that power is something else as well. I was watching the news. A beleaguered Joseph Estrada was struggling to stay on at the Malacanang Palace as the forces of people’s power gathered outside. The commentary questioned how long he could hold out.

“Estrada is a sorry figure” the correspondent explained. “Tonight he’s a lonely man with no one to give orders to.”

Those simple words said it all. Ultimately, power is the ability to give commands and have them obeyed. Everything else flows from that. Sheikh Mohammed is powerful because this country responds to his orders. For the opposite reason Estrada’s fall was inevitable. Our leaders in India, I suppose, come somewhere in between.