This may well be remembered as Dubai’s summer of empathy, a season when staying back became less about missing out and more about understanding one another’s realities.
Authored by Purva Grover
Dubai, UAE- Summer of ’69—one that most of us didn’t really live through, but one that feels extremely familiar and endearing even in 2026. Oh, yeah, back in the summer of ’69, uh-huh. It was the summer, summer, summer of ’69. Yeah. Generations who weren’t even born when the song was released still know every word. We have borrowed its nostalgia for decades. Why am I reminded of this Bryan Adams number in the summer of ’26? For I can’t help thinking that this one deserves its own chorus too. Hear me out.
Yes, summer in Dubai, and perhaps in various other parts of the world too, comes loaded with one question: Are you here this summer? Followed by: Where are you headed? Back home to meet family, a cottage in the suburbs, an expansive hike, a country tour… almost any answer suffices, as long as it involves a flight; even in this heat, Georgia still counts. Me? Well, I am heading nowhere, and as I look around, I have ample company.
Dubai, like any other destination in the world, has had its share of bad times: recession, pandemic, and, recently, geopolitical tensions. The fact that we’ve always been in the limelight has only led to us being viewed more closely recently than we, or any other place, would have liked. We’ve repeatedly found ways to adapt without losing optimism. And we’re doing so this summer too. The city seems decidedly less quiet than the previous summers I’ve spent here. The traffic has reduced, but there are still enough vehicles on the road. The let’s-catch-up invites are as steady as the business meetings. The hospitality industry has fought back with tempting offers for lunches, staycations, and more. And in the midst of all this, I’ve faced another fact: sometimes, to experience a place for what it is, it’s not a bad idea to get up close and personal with it. We live in a desert, and believe it or not, the desert blooms in its own way each summer. No, I am not suggesting a desert safari or a camping trip; I am asking you to give it a chance—watch how the place thrives and survives in the hot, humid months. Summer strips Dubai down to its essentials. Without the queues and packed calendars, the city reveals a different rhythm.
As my Weather App indicates a harsh 42 degrees, I somehow sense a softness in the air. I sense this is a summer of empathy more than anything. For many residents, the year has come with uncertainty. Some have lost jobs. Others have postponed plans or watched businesses slow down. Yes, a few left the country too. But many have stayed back as well—some for lack of income, some to use the time to brush up on their plans to tackle what they hope will be a busy few months ahead, but mostly because they are allowing themselves to breathe. “The peer pressure to travel, to holiday, to have a good time is off,” I heard someone remark the other day. “I like being in Dubai in summer; it reminds me of the earlier days when I’d just moved to Dubai—less crowded, when one didn’t have to exchange a marathon of messages to have a coffee together,” was another conversation I eavesdropped on.
With almost 25-plus days left of the summer vacation, yes, one may still be expected to be seen at Terminal 3, but for those of us who have decided otherwise, this summer doesn’t feel as heavy, even with all the responsibilities, goals, and deadlines—it feels more humane. It may not be marked by air miles or photo dumps, but it is surely one that we’ll remember as one we didn’t give up on, just as much as the city didn’t let us down. Oh, yeah, back in the summer of ’26, uh-huh. It was the summer, summer, summer of ’26.
About the author: Purva Grover is a journalist, author, editorial leader, and community builder who believes in the power of stories to bring people together. With 19 years of experience in journalism, she is the author of four traditionally published books, a TEDx speaker, and the founder-editor of The Indian Trumpet. Her work spans journalism, publishing, literature, community building, and interdisciplinary storytelling.
