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!

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....

Love, Dona! ( Part 2)

Early Nov 1989, late evening.

After keeping me in custody while he was filling out paperwork charging me with breaking US laws, the officer allowed me to go. He took my mug shots, my fingerprints and handed me a motion or something stating what US laws I have violated etc. Earlier during the day he drove me to my apartment and did some preliminary search. Looked at my stuff....pics ...and took away my passport.  

It was so humiliating to go up to my apartment with my handcuffed like a criminal. My roommates were also in the same "work-boat", so after initial shock of watching me with cops, they were hiding and praying that I don’t reveal their names...

I did not.

The office escorted me out of the building. He blurred " You are a good man Mr. Sayed!"

What a feeling it was to be free again! Yet freedom it was.  To walk without getting noticed. To go anywhere I wanted. I walked and walked all the way to Cheshire Road, an off campus community near Georgia Tech - to my apartment!

Then I went into a serious depression...

Late Nov 1989

My friend Ted Schelling had come over to pick me up. He wanted to take me to some "Dinner for International Students" arranged by some Socio-Cultural organization at a hotel. I had told him and not going, yet he showed up. I was too depressed to be social. He was trying to get me out of my pathetic state of mind. Reluctantly I went with him.

By the time we got there, the program has already begun. The hall was full of international students from all countries. Not many seats were empty. I notice one empty seat in the last row.  Here I was with my unshaven and unkempt sitting there staring at the stage blankly.

The speaker mentioned something and everyone started looking at a pamphlet or something. I did not have one, so I looking around to see what it was...just then white women sitting on my left stretched her hand to show me what it was. I noticed her for the first time. She smiled. 

"You can look here!"

That was Dona!

That’s how I met her 25 years ago!!

At the end of the program, the Organizers requested the Americans present in the audience to invite one international student for the Thanksgiving Dinner to their homes. 

Dona invited me.

Early Dec 1989

Dona by knows the whole mess that I am in. She wants to help me whatever way possible. I am trying to be brave. But how much brave you can be when you are in a new country, have no job and need money for tuition for the winter session. And yes, you have a court case coming up. 

I call up various attorneys from the yellow pages about helping me out. They all quote huge amount. I have problem feeding myself where I am going to get that kind of money. My diet has become "Omletty" these days. I eat egg for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner. 

My recent frnd from India N.K. (who is a good story teller in Mumbai film Industry now) offers to take me to the nearest Kroger for shopping essentials. The nearest Kroger was miles away, poor KN used to drive three times that distance to pick me up, take me there, wait till I finish shopping and then drop me back home. 

After doing my routine of Maatam (Depression, reasoning and resolution) I have decided to fight it out. I can’t be home sitting all day feeling sorry for myself. I am not going back to India without a fight.

I need a job again. So rejoin the same job. I told myself “they can’t charge me twice for the same crime”

I am doing three jobs now. The Egyptian owner of gift shop was so kind that he hired me back taking a risk with me.

My day starts at 6 am. I am gift shop of Holiday Inn by 7 am. I take off from them at 3:30 pm and come home for lunch. Then I go to my on campus job at gymnasium for 2 hours and then I head for Sandy Spring to work in a Baskin Robbins Ice Cream shop till 11.

All day my mind drifts into calculating my earnings the day in dollars. Then I convert those earnings into Indian currency.

Every night while mid town to my apartment, I go to Georgia Tech to check my mailbox. I am desperately waiting for some letter to arrive from India. With heavy heart and hope I open my mailbox…. only to find letters for Jennifer Drummond, a girl who is sharing my mail box.

Nothing for me!

I come out of Student Center Post office and sit down on one of the steps outside.

I cry.

At the end of those crying sessions, I remind myself “ There is no India for you Shahid, no one except Maa. You are alone. You have to fight this all alone…this is home…. there is no India…. no India now!