Love, Dona!

Blog ( Sept 8, 2008) continues:

I used to feel protected while hanging around you. I used to enjoy those long drives with no destinations. Your talks of contributing and changing the world still live in my imagination. My writings and films do show a flavor of what we used to talk back then. I have not changed!

One day, when a bully made me realize that " America is not your country", I was feeling depressed and down when you showed up and took me to the library. Thrusting the constitution of the United States in my hands you said, " This is as much as your country as theirs, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, Shahid!".

You always pronounced my name right. I was surprised and wondered where and how you learned to pronounce my name properly. It’s been so many years now and yet my friends and colleagues don’t call me Shahid, I am Shaheeed to them. The other day Mullah Luis's FPN called my name properly. I missed you!

In spite of being such a gem of a person you had complexities too. You never allowed me to take your pictures. One evening, while we were driving under a moon lit night, I wanted to take your pictures. I had bought a camera for that purpose. You said no and that was it. I pleaded and cited the magic of moonlight dancing on your face, the poetry of the moment, the lovely environment. But you did not relent even at the cost of me remaining upset for a few days.

However, a week before my departure to India, you came to my apartment with a few pictures. This time I did not even ask for them. I don’t remember what happened other then that Shakir was not in, and I was watching Atlanta play Minnesota for the World Series. I was totally engrossed in the game when you showed up.... I took the pictures from you but did not open the envelope as I was waiting for a commercial break. In a few seconds you did a reversal, and announced you not only wanted to go but also would like to take the picture back as well.

I still have those pictures...

I always admired your ability to rise above the petty boundaries of religion, border and color. You wanted to " go work in a third world country and contribute". You were a global citizen even before it became a buzzword. Mullah Luis says “by working and living in Montana you are like living and contributing to a third world Country. You have kept your words!" :)))

Ps: I found you on classmate’s finder web site. It provided me all the information about you like where you are now, where have you been since leaving Tech and whom you are married to? What distance you have traveled!'

PPS: I am no going to call you ...am a man of my words!

Blog Ends

July 2014.

I connect with her and get an immediate response. (Age mellows everyone and am no exception). After initial surprises, I share my blog post. She reads the blog and responds. Every response and the thought behind it makes me smile and is worth a poem, a painting, a film – or a Taj Mahal.

- " First of all the the color of my eyes is Hazel Green and not just Green!"

- “ You sleep at 3AM, I wake up at 4 AM looking at the maps of India!”

- " I want to know everything that happened after that night!"

- "That night cud have gone either way. I was getting pulled towards you and was even preparing to go with you to India. You were so upset that you cud not notice the turbulence inside me."

Let me take a time out here….

Love, Dona!

Life is back on track.

I am invited to a desi student dinner on campus, where the hosts ask me to recite my poetry. I recite an old Ghazal

"Tawalat Shab e Gham Bhadhati Rahogi

Mujhe Kab Talak Aazmati Rahogi?

Kabhi Gham Banega Husool E Tabassum

Kahan Tak Bhala Muskurati Rahogi?

I speak with my heart so the repercussions were bound to happen. I was mobbed by some beautiful people in the audience "Kon thi?” " Kis Ke liye likhi?" was the frequent question. These girls were student from Oglethorpe, Agnes Scott and Georgia State. I rely on Ustaad Jigar Moradabadi to get out of the situation and say " Koi Ek Ho To Bataoon!"

However, this incident establishes my writing ability in the eyes of my hosts. They ask me to write a play for them, which they were planning to stage at GSU auditorium.

I write a play called "Roshni " which was against a system prevalent in Sindh, in which men of wealthy families get their sisters and daughters to marry the holy Quran.  That way they save their land and wealth from outsiders. It was shocking to me when I heard this custom. Nazish Mushedi plays the lead role and Shad Khan helps in production.

"Roshni" was staged at the Georgia State University auditorium to a full house. I introduce the play. Dona was in the audience throughout the play even though she could not understand a word.

At the end of the play, an on lady came looking for the writer of the play. She put her hand on head and said ‘ Beta bahut accha likha. Allah Tumhen Khsuh Rakhe!’ – That sentence from an old women that night, still gives me a high. What I did was right….needed.

Summer 1990, GA Tech

I have taken an elective in the school of management. There I meet someone awesome.  After keeping quiet for 18 years I write about her on my blog in 2008. Here is the cut and paste of it:

September 8, 2008

It’s past midnight here in Atlanta, GA and I am writing about you on my blog. Why? Why now after so many years? I don’t know. I just do not know. Just felt like it.

I have been missing you more since my office moved in to the building on North Avenue. While we were enjoying the views of midtown from 27th floor, I saw the College of Management at Georgia Tech. I saw that classroom, conference room, that tree outside and I saw that lonely bench underneath the tree - and I saw you!

My friend Shakir found me after 15 years. The first thing he did was to enquire about your whereabouts. I had no update, no information to give. I never made an attempt to meet you or find you since we departed.... I am a man of my words.

I don’t know why we were attracted toward each other to begin with? I have some clue of my reasons, but you had no reason to come close to a small time jebroni like me. Back then, I had nothing, not even a basic car. I was surprised when one day in the conference room you touched my face and said " Shahid, I never imagined I would fall in love with some one from overseas". I was surprised. I assumed you were joking, pagal hai - I thought?...apparently you were not!

I was the only engineering graduate to have signed up for Org behavior in the school of management. That is when I met you for the first time. I, a jebroni and you, the most beautiful thing in the class. You with Brunette hair, deep dimples and green eyes that used to disarm and grab me by my senses.

Do you remember one day during the class I started writing your name in Hindi in your notebook and you in turn responded by writing mine in French.? I came back with Urdu and you chose German to write my name. We kept going back and forth oblivious to the ongoing class. I don’t remember how many languages we exhausted until we found the professor shouting in our direction " IS THIS SOME KIND OF A UNDERGRADUATE CLASS?” The entire class burst into laughter. I felt good for some reasons - you were embarrassed!

That moment changed a lot though, and everyone in the class after that started looking at us differently. My other fiends who were in the reckoning to get your attention gave up after that.....life was not the same! I knew I was the chosen one. I remember telling you after the class that if I end up making movies, this scene will find a place...you just smiled and kept walking.

I used to feel protected while hanging around you. I used to enjoy those long drives with no destinations. Your talks of contributing and changing the world still live in my imagination. My writings and films do show a flavor of what we used to talk back then. I have not changed!

One day, when a bully made me realize that " America is not your country", I was feeling depressed and down when you showed up and took me to the library. Thrusting the constitution of the United States in my hands you said, " This is as much as your country as theirs, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, Shahid!".

You always pronounced my name right. I was surprised and wondered where and how you learned to pronounce my name properly. It’s been so many years now and yet my friends and colleagues don’t call me Shahid, I am Shaheeed to them. The other day Mullah's FPN called my name properly. I missed you!

In spite of being such a gem of a person you had complexities too. You never allowed me to take your pictures. One evening, while we were driving under a moon lit night, I wanted to take your pictures. I had bought a camera for that purpose. You said no and that was it. I pleaded and cited the magic of moonlight dancing on your face, the poetry of the moment, the lovely environment. But you did not relent even at the cost of me remaining upset for a few days.

However, a week before my departure for India, you came to my apartment with a few pictures. This time I did not even ask for them. I don’t remember what happened other then that Shakir was not in, and I was watching Atlanta play Minnesota for the World Series. I was totally engrossed in the game when you showed up.... I took the pictures from you but did not open the envelope as I was waiting for a commercial break. In a few seconds you did a reversal, and announced you not only wanted to go but also would like to take the picture back as well.

I still have those pictures...

I always admired your ability to rise above the petty boundaries of religion, border and color. You wanted to " go work in a third world country and contribute". You were a global citizen even before it became a buzzword. Mullah says “by working and living in Vermont you are like living and contributing to a third world Country”. You have kept your words! (Please don't mind him. He is a dear friend and an occasional side-kick).

Ps: I found you on classmate’s finder web site. It provided me all the information about you like where you are now, where have you been since leaving Tech and whom you are married to? What distance you have traveled!

PPS: I am not going to call you. I am a man of my words!

Love, Dona!

Winter 1989, Grady Memorial Hospital,

The cops drive me straight to Grady and get me admitted in a psychiatric ward where they keep me “under observation”. 

“Yahan Kaise Aaya?”

SK a new entrant to my life has come to see me at Grady Hospital.  I explain to him the events leading up to here.  I tell him not to tell anyone else that I am here. I am ok.

After taking my leave, I see SK talking with the nurses. As soon as he leaves, the ambulance drives me to a ground floor building on the outskirts of the city. Later SK informs me that he told nurses that I am talking about jumping from the building.

Why you lied? I ask him.

“Now they wont be able to deport you! “He explains.

This new hospital is full of seriously disturbed people I think I am the only sane person in this wards, OR was I? I fear for my life now. One of these “disturbing “ looking guy is going to strangle me tonight – I think…. I have stopped sleeping at night…I only sleep during daytime. ( Grady sends me a bill of $313 which becomes $13,000 later with interest. I pay $5000 in 2001to get them off my back. This is capitalism at its best!)

Steve comes to pick me up. He is my best frnd and a student at Georgia Tech.

“I am sorry you have to go thru this man.” He takes me on a long drive. He cracks jokes to make me laugh. It’s a great sight to see a friend trying to lift you up… Friendship is the best medicine in this World…it cures many ills. Years later, in 2007 Jeff Shipman would do that in my life…but that story some other time.

Winter 1989, LaGrange, GA

I meet “A” at a party that Steve invited me to. She is good looking and is fun to be with.  Even though she comes from a rural Dixie background, her ability to see beyond is fascinating. For her, I am a perfect candidate for settling down in life. I am working on my Masters at Georgia Tech and have a bright career ahead.

For me – I am in the middle of a war. Everything else will have to wait.

Winter 1989, Francis 14^th Condos

My deportation is on hold. The Judge has given me an extension to stay and finish my degree.

SK and I have moved in to fancy condos on 14^th street. I am back to focusing on my studies. He has great sense of humor. He paints. He speaks without an accent. He prays. He cooks great food. He has class and is flamboyant.  He organizes little get together in which I recite my stories and ghazals. He is yaron ka yaaar types.

The only time I have issues with SK is when his girl friend Anita comes to see him and they spend time closeted in his bedroom.

But other than that, no complaints!

Spring 1990, Virginia Highlands

Dona introduces me to Shakespeare, Mozart and Bach. Music always keeps playing in her house, even in her absence. As soon as you enter her house you are greeted by symphony no 9 of Beethoven of Mozart or Atlanta Symphony Orchestra playing Bernstein’s. She is a fan of Jimmy Carter and is a member of Jimmy Carter Center of Peace and many other such organizations.

My horizons are expanding. I used to think Ghalib, Sahir and Harivansh Rai to to be the ultimate of literature and art, now new names populating my head.  

Spring 1990, GA Tech

For some weeks now, I ma having this light headache and a feeling of nausea 24x7. I have trouble walking straight. SK says it is nothing; it is just in “my head!” Dona takes me more seriously and sends me to her neurologist frnd for a brain check up. All is well there. But the condition persists.

One day I am lying on my bed thinking about my life script.  The script that I wrote for myself was different than what I am living. My script had a 2 years stay and a degree from America. India is my Karma Bhumi. Who wrote these scenes and why? And now am pulled in different directions.  On one hand I have this great country with unlimited options and freedom to achieve any heights. On the other hand I have unanswered question and a vacuum.  On one hand I have this beautiful Blondie who wants to be my partner…. On the other hand….

Whenever SK finds me lying on my bed looking in the sky with some crappy sad Hindi song playing in the background, he would not leave me alone.

One day he comes home early and finds me in that state.

“Lets go shopping”

“Nahi jana”

We get down at Lindberg MARTA station.  As soon as we come out SK wants to go to the loo.

“Gas station main janaa”

“Nahi, they are dirty. Lets go to Cheetah 3” – SK pointing to a nude club right next to the station.

“Pagal hai. Nahi.”

“Yaar Ek minute lagegga. Tu mat janaa ..main foran aa jaoongaa”

“Nahi mujhe nahi janaa”

As soon as we reach Cheetah 3, SK buys two entrance tickets for 16 dollars.

“Arre, kiya kar raah hai?”

“Chalnaa Yaar, please, 16 dollar waste ho jayenge” SK pulls me by my hand with a mischievous smile.

Khuda Ki Panaha, is what came to my mind as soon as we enter the club. I have the poetry in my genes and we poets like things “hidden!”  We are more prone to fall for a pair of eyes or hands or hair but to see this brazen display of human body parts was too much to handle.  But I am supposed to be a man and running away at this time would amount to be being a sissy. I am a fighter and not a sissy…so I don’t run back to the door.

SK is enjoying the tamasha. He is stuffing 5-dollar bills in the stocking of these dancers. Stockings are all they are wearing. He gives me a bill too, but I refuse to stick it in her stockings. A dancer comes down the pole and approaches me for money. I am embarrassed. All eyes are following her. She gets closer. My heart stops. I feel a sudden 2000-degree heat next to me. I hand over the money as she goes away. The entire exercise takes 30 seconds or less, for me it felt longer. SK laughs at my discomfort. 

To keep myself busy I start noticing things and people. Till my eyes set on a Queen Rania or a look alike of Queen Rania, who is sitting with her frnds on the table next t ours. She smiles. I smile back. She looks khandaani. She too is like me – and does not belong here. I think.

I get distracted for a few minutes as SK whispers something in my ears.

“Who dekh, who abhi apne paas bathi thi na”

“OMG”

That was Queen Rania look like. She was coming on stage and removing whatever worldly possessions she had in front of the crowd.

I run out of the Club. SK follows.

“Dard Kaisa hai ab? Chakkar aa rahe hain?”

“Dard badh gyaa hai. Chakkr bhi. Ab kiya kareneg ye bol?”

We laugh.

PS:  A few years later, Cheetah 3 filed for bankruptcy. A church bought it. I read it that they kept the entire setup as is. They did not even remove the “poles”.

Even though Cheetah 3 changed hands from Godless people to God fearing ones, the “worship” still goes on – this time to a different God! 

Love, Dona!

Love, Dona!

I have picked out a name for you

What is it?

I will tell you when we meet.

Dona calls for once a month dinner meeting.  Looking back now, I realize what she was doing. By seeing me personally over the dinner every two or three weeks she was making sure I am doing fine and staying sane.

In the US, it is common for folks to pick up names. I had never thought of it but now that she brought this up, I was curious to see what name she thinks for me. 

Most of the times I carry flowers whenever I see her.  I have never ever seen anyone respect my flowers like she does.  She would take pictures of the flowers and send me showing how they are doing. Those flowers from Virginia Highlands flower shop used to last long, sometime weeks. To gift her flower was an occasion I used to Cherish.

After so many years of gifting flowers I have developed a theory. I can predict with reasonable accuracy the amount of time my relationship with someone is going to last, depending how he or she handles my flowers with in first 10 minutes of receiving it.

Example:  A few years back in Bhopal, I met two awesome ladies both belonging to same socioeconomic class. I took flowers with me to both of them. One did not care enough but the other sent me whatsapp picture of how my flowers are doing. One relation ended within a few days, the other is still going strong.

I had bought proper gift able flowers for the first lady, but for the second I cud not find a flower shop.  It was past 9 and only flower shop open was in the temple. The temple was closed so that shop was almost winding up for the day.

Temple flowers are normally yellow loose Marigold not fit for gifting as a bouquet.  I buy hose loose Marilgold for RS 75 and arrive at her home, where her entire family is shocked to see me carrying flowers in a newspaper.  I was prepared for this so I start with “ Devi Ko Chadane walen phool hain – Mandir Band Ho Gyaa Hai. Hum socha Us Devi Ko nahi Is Devi Pe chada Doon. Swaab Tab Bhi Mielgaa!!”

I have carried flowers to her many more times. Proper flowers. Expensive. Bouquet.  But she talks of those 75RS ones everytime she finds flowers in my hand and she says “ Un phoolon ki baat hi aur thi”.

See what I mean…

What is it? I ask Dona

The name that fits you and that I like is – Dona paused.

My anticipation peaked with names Mike, Sean, Chris doing the rounds of my field of imagination.

The name that I like and fits you like a tee is “Khush Guftaar!”

“What?”

And each letter in Khush Guftaar stands for something.

Where did u find this? This is Persian…

I had gone to the library.

This is how I lost my chance to be called “Sean” or “ Mike” or whatever. The bottom line is “ Khush Guftaar” is what I was, and what I have always will be.

Dona knew it.

Sad part is I do not remember now what each letter stood for in Kush Guftaar.

Life is good. I am elected as the new Senator from the School of Civil Engineering.  I represent my college in the Student Governing council. When the President of the Council asks me to take oath by putting my hand on my heart and repeating after him, I feel something.  Don’t know what to call feeling but the deepest desire and commitment to serve the students comes to mind.  But I am sure it was much deeper something words cant describe.

These days when I see India’s MPS and MLAs take oath, I look for familiar signs n feelings on their faces. Mostly I don’t see anything…

USA V/S Shahid Sayed

“You are herby requested to leave the country by 30^th and inform our office of the arrangements you made to depart, failing of which INS will deport you thereafter”

That was the notice from INS.

My World went into a spin again. But this time I am angry.

I am doing great academically. Why are they being unreasonable to me? What sins have I committed by working and saving money for my tuition? Is this the greatest country they talk about? Why me?

All my frnds are not happy with new INS notice, but they have reconciled to the fact that I have to leave. After crying one night, Dona too accepted my fate.

The only problem is I have not accepted this fate. No. I am not ready to go back to India without my degree.

Crazy ideas entering my mind on hourly basis as the day of departure approaches.

A day before the deadline I call President of the University Dr. Patrick Crecine to seek his help. He is away attending GA Tech football championship in Florida. A lady called Jennifer picks up the phone and talks sweetly. ( She introduces herself as his Girl Friend, I remember. Girlfriends are always nice)

I tell her what INS is doing to me and ask for help from the President. I end my conversation by saying “ I will burn myself at Georgia Tech Student Center if INS deports me today”.

Some student in India had burnt himself protesting against Mandal Commsion – that is where the idea came from.

She calms me down and asks me that I give her 15 mins before I do anything stupid. She wants a promise from me. I promise.

She hangs up.

In 5 minutes two cops knock on my door.  They too do a search of my body for any weapon.

And then they ask me to come up with them for a ride.

Love, Dona!

"Love, Dona!"

"You go to a women's bedroom and "don’t do a thing" man???"

I did not go her bedroom...she took me there...
Okay, let me get this straight. She picks you up from home, takes you to a dinner and a movie...
And she teaches me how to play pools too
Okay, she takes you to a bar and teaches you how to play pool...
Yes
And then
She wanted to show me her apartment, so she took me her home.
And then
She wanted me to see her bedroom...
AND THEN?
And then I ask her to drop me home...

Tony unable to control his laughter gets out his truck and laughs away to glory.

Tony Ross, my immediate boss and I are sitting in a truck talking about my journeys in the last weekend.  Tony is an African American and like most African Americans he laughs with is body and soul.

I am able to secure an internship with GDOT and am responsible for the bridge constructions on GA 400 Buckhead Extension.

I am feeling offended with his non-stop laughter and he realizes it. It is a chilly morning. He comes back in the truck and tries to be nice.

"Look here man, I understand you from India and you all that, but THIS IS AMERICA. You don’t go to a woman's bedroom and don’t DO a thing. You insulted her man. By your action you told her she is not desire able.

The desire able girl under discussion is called M.A.  She had asked me out the last weekend. However, from Monday I had noticed a change in her attitude, so I was jiving with Tony to get to the bottom of the issue.

In my defense I throw the following words: "Emotions, Culture, Soul, Islam, Haram, Mental Block, Love, Poetry, Stranger etc." and I end my argument with " besides I am saving myself for my wife"

Tony erupts again.

{Note: In those days million years ago "saving yourself for your spouse" was a valid reason for not doing a lot of crazy things. I feel my generation is the last one that would produce Sufi saints and Rishis.}

“If not doing anything was an insult – I would do that again” - I declare.
“She wont give you a chance to insult her again man!”

Tony was right…

Tony is a character. Whenever I see him in the morning and say " Good Morning Tony" he wud always respond with " Too early for a good morning man, we have not seen the boss man yet".

He drops me home every day. That weekend episode was a topic of discussion among male employees for a while, and as a result Tony started calling me "Casanova without the Car!"

Winter, 1990. Restaurant

Why you need a car? Dona wants to know.

By this time, I have made enough money to buy a second hand car. I was looking for a go ahead from Dona. She has become my guardian angel in these months. So running things by her before doing was the norm.

I need a car because.... I tried to make up some crappy excuses.

Dona is a Georgia Tech graduate and is at a high position in a Railway company. She did not get to that position by listening some BS from idiots. She explains to me rationally why a car is not a good idea. I need to pay attention to studies.

I agree with her!

Earlier, Even though the court had given me a break my struggle was far from over. I had no money to pay $2100 tuition fee. The office of international students at Georgia Tech recommended me for an out of state tuition waiver which means I have to $610 only - a fee that long time residents of Georgia pay.

Dona arranged First Presbyterian Church at Peachtree Street to pay my in state tuition of $610.  At First Presbyterian, I meet some genuine people who made me feel like home.I visited Sunday school of the First Presbyterian many a times but never, ever anyone suggested or hinted that I convert to Christianity. Ever.

I still have the copy of the $610 that First Presbyterian issued to me!

Life is good!!

Love, Dona!

Main Roya Pardesh Main

Bheeega Maa Ka Piyaar

Dukh Ne Dukh Se Baat Ki

Bin Chitti, Bin Taar ...   Nida Fazli

The news that her son is arrested, is enough to scare the daylight of any mother - mine was no exception. In her case, she had no clue as to why I was arrested. I call her to inform her that am ok. Those days a call to India was $2.49/minute.  I only call for a few minutes. 

I try to be brave...but fail. " Mera Shahid to bahut bahadur hai. Dil chota nahi karte beta. Allah pe Bharosa Rakho", says she in order to boost my morale.  I can guarantee hat that after hanging up the phone she must have cried a hundred times.  To this day, I have not re-visited this topic with her.

January first week, 1990.

There is this 18-year-old freshman at Emory University who asks me out. She says she has been noticing my behavior at work. She says when I am dealing with customers I am very cheerful, but on my break I look so gloomy and sad. She is curious to know.  She is fun to be work with and every third sentence of hers starts with “ am only 18!”

She picks me up from Lennox Marta Station and takes me to a fancy restaurant.  I don’t eat. It’s only while on a walk after the dinner that we talk. She tells me her story and that she is the "unplanned baby" of her owners (parents). She is not happy with them. She is rebelling against them. Then it was my turn to open up. At some point while talking about mother I break down.

Here she was holding me by my arms and am crying like a baby, with the crowd asking her " Is he ok? U need help?”

Life!

January 2nd week, 1990.

" Tell your frnd to stop seeing my daughter else I will come there, blow his brains and send his body to his *** father!" 

I am sitting with my Nigerian frnds one evening, when her owner (father) calls to lay down the terms of endearment. Her other owner (mother) tells me that "Both of you are not compatible". I went to "Chor Bazar Municipal Urdu School and she went to the top school in Atlanta - there can never be anything compatible between us. 

Her owner punish her by transferring her from Emory to a low grade university away from Atalnta, GA.

That story ends in a few weeks. One day I send her a card saying good-bye. She writes me back saying, " I saved her life. She was so going to commit suicide on the railway track. She checked her mail and found my card and that my words saved her!” She ends the note with " Whoever she is going to be Shahid, your wife is going to be very lucky!"

Nine years later in India, a Dhaan Paan Si, Sanvli Ladki, sitting on a boat in river Ganga looks at me lovingly and informs, " I am so lucky to have you - you are the best gift from Allah!”  I smile back and pretend that I never heard that before. I don’t want to spoil her honeymoon!

January 3rd week, 1990.

I am in the Court Room with Dona. I am already a " Dead Man Walking". There are two mean looking cops in the courtroom. They are in full police gear and look threatening. These cops are the ones who on the order of the judge will take me into custody, and take me to the airport.

I am scared...really scared.

ALL RISE! Shouts the clerk of the court. We all stand up as a middle aged white man enters the courtroom. He asks us to sit down. He identifies me and reads the charges against me. He asks me a few more questions. Then...

The judge says " There are some changes the laws relating to the students, let me see of Mr. Sayed gets the benefits of new laws". He wants another hearing in future. 

Well, the judge just gave me a break! The judicial system and ideals of Jefferson, Lincoln and Carter helped me out. 

I breathe again....