The Dark Horse

An emotive ride of romance and twists, it is the story of trials and tribulations of an ordinary man of modest means, his story of success, like a Dark Horse becoming a winner. It’s a saga of his success in Iran and romance with an American woman, her tryst with Iranian Revolution, her face to face with tyranny and qualities of human perseverance!

The novel deals with the events during Iran’s Cultural Revolution causing the end of Shah of Iran. Therefore, it will have worldwide appeal especially for Americans and other foreigners who were caught in the quagmire of those events. It will also be appealing to Indian audience and Non Resident Indian Diaspora abroad, and IIT and CMU alumni.

Prelude

PASSIONS WITHIN-THE DARK HORSE

Author: Uday Agnihotri

prelude.

OJ was an IIT Kharagpur alumnus in India, an undergra , incubated at the renowned talent hub, to win over the world. But that wasn’t to be. At least the way he had woven web of his aspirations to materialization. India’s economic conditions in 1974, resulting from Arab-Israeli war of 1973, precluded any worthwhile gains in his line of work. But, then, he was in a league of his own. He chose to create opportunity for himself rather than waiting for something to happen. He went global in his search and never gave up in spite of many negatives in his way. Taking on odds and running them over was something he had mastered since the very first gateway he tried to open, when pitted against gigantic odds, he won the race to get into the IIT. He embarked on his professional journey in the same vein when he chose to go Iran for his first career assignment. There was an in campus search for a suitable candidate by an Iranian company offering good remunerative job in Tehran. OJ stood up the challenge and sailed through a stiff competition and got the job. This meant that he would have to leave India and move to Tehran. He was now poised to win the war for his family and people, earn a name for himself and come out winner in the true spirit of the metaphor ‘Seventh Samurai-The Dark Horse’. He did it this time and every subsequent time and could successfully take on the large numbers of brilliant guys winning them all as he traversed the road to even higher achievements.

New Biginning-1975

1975 – NEW BEGINNING

I was ecstatic going on my maiden flight to Tehran. Looking down below from the plane window at the pattern of lights, I was mesmerized and I tried figuring out as to what streets and which neighborhoods we were flying over. It was night time, yet it was truly amazing and my emotions were traveling faster than the speed of light. I was still quite young and the zeal and enthusiasm of youth was spilling over my conscious mind and overpowering my outward expressions and even verbal mutterings for that matter. The life appeared beautiful. My female acquaintance from my old office sat next to me. She just wanted to have some known company. I kept expressing my wonderfully wild outpourings with wide eyed eloquence. I didn’t have a wink of a sleep that night. The anxiety of the very first flight of my life, the thought of going to a foreign country, the fear of new challenges and above all going away from home kept me awake and wondering about the future, what it had in store for me.

My flight wasn’t all that long and tiring. In fact it was pleasant and exciting. The airhostesses were pretty and very helpful. They took care of me rather nicely. For an international flight and a short one at that, a merely three hour all told, they served us scotch, wine and a nice decent meal too. And as I said, that was my first, maiden airborne experience. There was nothing I could compare it to except the train rides I had and they were different altogether. In fact the train rides had a certain amount of nostalgia as we had grown with the choo-choo sound and the rollicking motion in the train, and the odor of coal particles mixed with steam and the sounds of steel wheels rolling over the steel tracks and making screeching sound. However, air travel had a different aura for me. Trains didn’t have beautiful hostesses serving you but on a flight there were hostesses galore.

The landing at the Tehran’s Mehrabad International Airport was quite exhilarating. I looked out of the window and got lost in the warmth and sensitivity of my mother and memorable moments just prior to my journey. The memory was absolutely vivid and I could see it flashing across my eyes right at this moment.

xxxx

Actually the voyage that began the previous night from New Delhi was exciting enough not only for me personally but for my parents, brothers and sisters and even my old office mates. My Mom had wet eyes. I forbade her from crying when I left for Tehran. It was like a bad omen. I never liked crying faces, especially not my Mom’s or for that matter my Dad’s or any other person’s. I was overwhelmed with their emotive outbursts. But I was too engrossed in my own happiness that nothing else mattered to me that much. I didn’t think I would be missing any of my family or friends. I couldn’t feel sad at al after all it was a family affair and I was doing it for the family too.

For me personally this Tehran job was like turning a new leaf and I felt the exhilarating joy with it. After a long dry one year spell of sustained efforts I could alleviate my miseries or misfortunes fairly quickly, as one might say. I had grabbed a brand new high paying job in Tehran after a job-drought of whole one year. I was running out of options and bang, I was called out of almost a thousand aspirants. And that was why precisely I didn’t want sobs or wet eyes and crying faces to celebrate a happy occasion like this one. Indian Moms weren’t accustomed to all these etiquettes of modern day living, they were still the same old sentimental fools for their children; couldn’t see them go away. They didn’t want to let go the child even though he wasn’t a child any more but a fully-grown adult, but how did it matter to a mom! Family cohesiveness!

Two women colleagues from my ex-office had also come to see me off. One of them was close to me in relationship compared to the other, can say a girlfriend in a very loose sense of the term. We did like each other no denying, we even dated for most of the last year or so. But other than that if you asked me, what more?!! I would say ‘Nada’, meaning simply ‘No’.

I was a Brahmin boy and she a Sikh girl and the ‘Twain’ could never meet. Her mom knew about me being her boyfriend but nixed anything beyond what it was, no marriage between a Sikh and non-Sikh. So that was that!! This girlfriend of mine didn’t have enough guts; at least that’s what I thought about her then and I told her so. The least she could do was to argue with her mom or could have told to take a hike, But no, she couldn’t do that, pray why? She didn’t know or she didn’t care to know. Perhaps, because I didn’t have much money at that point in time, I didn’t have a decent job and decent salary. It all boiled down to the matter of money rather than the matter of heart. Still she couldn’t resist coming to bid me farewell. Perhaps there was some spark in her heart for me, which prompted her to come to the airport to see me off since it was like seeing me for one last time, bidding adieu. She did ask me whether I would call her to Iran, I reminded her that I had told her I wanted to take her to Iran with me, but it was she who was behaving indecisive. I had, indeed, invited her to come to Iran with me just the last month when I was getting my visa to Iran but she declined to come with me then; in her own words, she said that she was not sure whether we even loved each other; she was not ready then or now or ever, I knew.

The fact of the matter was that it gave me quite a hurt; I longed for her company in Iran, I truly wanted her with me. I had strong emotions for her or rather I surely had started to enjoy her as a companion. I might even venture to say that in a way I had feelings of love for her. But, I was not sure if she even loved me. Actual fact was she wanted to keep her options open, and by the same token I had my pride, so the same applied to me too. I just couldn’t let her walk all over me.

We both knew that this is the end of the road for us. Our final goodbyes! Our nascent love ended, ‘finito’ before even we had a chance to nurture it further to let it blossom. Not that we didn’t have some very good time together. We went out together to the cinema, restaurants and up to the river Yamuna to watch the morning sun. But we never openly expressed our love to each other, we hesitated; and so it could as well had been the last goodbye for us, which indeed it was. Somehow, at that moment I felt a constriction within, I was sad. I probably thought I loved her at one time but couldn’t bring it to my lips to tell her that since it wasn’t manly enough in my opinion; it was like fighting my ego, my masculine pride. On the outside, I held the strength of steel, a façade of bravado; while, inside I was actually not so brave, I knew I was going to lose her. How could a man utter words like love, sorry, etc.? My smugness came in my way and our airport tryst became a simple ‘so long’ forever. I could hold out a carrot to her and offered to call her to Iran, but that would be a deceit, contrary to my beliefs. It would be dishonest of me to make false promises, the promises I could not keep. It would sure be convenient to call her there and she would, perhaps, come also on the premise that I would marry her and it would be cool to her owing to the fact that I would have cushy job and money. I would certainly enjoy a great pleasure with her physical proximity, but at the cost of being not so truthful to her since I had no inkling to marry her anymore. I couldn’t do to call her to Iran. I wanted to be a free bird. So if I did call her to Iran pretending I would marry her, I would not be able to face the mirror ’cause I would see a ghost of a liar, a con artist. It was Macbethan delusion! So ultimate farewell!!!

Besides my family and office friends, my neighbors too bade me farewell, this did not happen at the airport, they came to my home to say their goodbye since their coming to the airport would have been cumbersome for all. They didn’t own any cars then. The automobile revolution was still distant in the future; rental cab would have been their mode of transport. Way too expensive.

My neighborhood people knew my parents well and hence me too. That was the Indian cultural phenomenon; one was part of a giant extended family. One’s existence was because of one’s parents’ existence. Indian culture had none of the existential thoughts then, it was very much spiritual and God fearing. I didn’t know most of them but they knew me by face and rather well. Our neighborhood consisted of middle class ethos and mentality. There was great warmth and fellow feeling; everyone cared for the other it was like a big family. It had its negatives too though; curiosity of knowing what is happening in other’s homes and also poking their noses in other’s affairs was something one could never digest of! But still there was a sense of belonging and togetherness.

They had gathered at my parents’ home where I stayed those days. It was from there I was to set off on my journey to board my anxiously awaited flight, the flight that would take me away miles and miles for the distant land, the wild blue yonder, a mirage - if I might call it - of my fertile imagination. They gave me a very warm and touching send off to the new horizon, to the shores out there I was ready to venture out to, which was something beyond their comprehension, and probably beyond my wildest dreams. For them it was a big day, times were difficult in circa 1975 for middle class Indians, scarcity ruled the roost. So these moments gave them a sense of pride; for the first time one of their kin was making a new endeavor into an unknown territory on his own without the protection of his parents and extended family.

They all had some or other story of yonder to tell us, all sorts of wild tales; they were all putting in their bit putting in their effort to show they are not ignorant about Tehran. The stories they gave they might have heard from some distant relative or from their friend’s friends or acquaintances but not their own personal accounts or even story of any person that they really knew personally that was close to them. One could make out that those were merely stories, made up fantasies from the figment of their imagination for the consumption of the people around us to project their image larger than life, and not to be let down by other neighbors in the crowd. It was just a pretend game for them to look knowledgeable. They did not want to remain behind, it was mainly to boast about ‘been there, done that’, sort of having ventured to an exotic foreign land like Iran. And in a way, the stories mainly concluded with that it was no big deal to go to Iran. Any way, even with all such insinuations they meant well for me. To be honest there was a tad bit of jealousy in the voices of some of them. But really, no one boded any sort of ill will towards me.

My feeling was these neighborhood gatherings were normally pretty boring. And this was no exception. No one had any musings, subjects or tales that could attract and hold my attention at all. No one had any personal anecdotes or travails to narrate or rattle off about the travel abroad. Their main thrust in that little gathering was in snacking and small talk. What was going on was actually meaningless there was nothing that could hold my interest in anyway.

Amidst all the noise and merry making, my focus was not on ‘what was’ but on ‘what would be’. Although I participated in the conversation with the people and my family but ultimately they could not hold my attention. My mind was weaving the web of my new surroundings far away from that maddening crowd of where I was. My aim was to bring out the best in me to which would reflect my potential and intelligence, and then I could build on it better and higher with time. For me getting this far was a product of my hard perseverance and dogged determination to keep searching for that one key opportunity that was ordained only for me and now was at last, that last moment of the exceedingly ‘new beginning’ for my whole life ahead. I could smell it and feel it down my spine. What a wonderful world it was.

xxxx

I was excited with the new beginning; a new leaf would turn in my life. I had no doubts about my prowess and I believed that a bright and successful future lay ahead for me; I anticipated dark clouds to go away and golden sunshine to appear in my life and make it more vibrant. What destiny had in store for me I couldn’t fathom since I didn’t believe in destiny? But I knew about my own ways of tackling problems and coming out clearly ahead of other competitors. People usually didn’t first believe in my ways that I would attain success. But ultimately I always did achieve and achieved things with passion. I always came out smiling like a lark and smelling like a rose. The race was mine to win!

I was laughing at myself, thinking of all that jargon. It had a very good reason to behave in such an irrational way. The fact of the matter was that having had one hell of an education- what I meant was- from a topnotch school, IIT Kharagpur; it did not give me what it promised that is earn a decent living. What a joke! What a travesty of justice! My highly valued alma mater could not guarantee me what I expected it to precisely do to me. Those credentials should have helped me provide- in my own profession- some semblance of good generous pay packet to be able to avail the comforts and luxuries I had aspired to have. Was it too much to ask for? Really!

Perhaps, some of it was because of my own folly. I must admit that I was quite a simpleton towards the worldly ways. There were ways by which one makes things work for self like I could have compromised with the circumstances like resorting to bribery, licking up bosses and undercutting my coworkers and friends in order to go forward. My problem was these were not acceptable to me and there somehow I fell short in fulfilling my dreams. I never thought these traits to be in any way appropriate or the right thing to do. At least this was not for me; treachery didn’t make any sense at all. So there I was getting rewarded for self-pity. It dawned on me that I was an out of place in my own country and thus by default, perhaps, my own country didn’t have much need of me.

Or rather it had in the sense of making me a foreign exchange commodity, or by way of euphemism, made me a special breed of an Indian called an NRI, a Non Resident Indian. We could articulate it in a more circumspect thought, though it sounds tongue in cheek, that my own motherland had exiled me to a foreign land for a few pieces of gold so to speak. That way I was liable to send back few pieces of gold, dollars whatever little or more I could, out of shear love for my land of birth. The sweat money sent back home was not called taxes, oh no, not at all, it wouldn’t be appropriate or politically expedient. Would it? But we did definitely know, however, that Mother India did enormously benefit from the NRI dollars and we mustn’t forget that. Unless we would rather be ungrateful bastards! But nevertheless I was quite pleased with my new beginning. I looked forward to meeting and mixing with new people, learning new ways, knowing new culture and speaking new tongue, all very fascinating state of affairs I must say!

I stepped out of the plane and on to the ladder, I felt the first breath of the new air, the oxygen of an unknown land touched me, it was the name of a country I had only read in the newspapers or seen in history books, now it had become so real, that I felt as if I can touch it! An overwhelming reality dawned on me and I looked around turning my eyes from one side to the other. I didn’t want to miss any of the panoramic view of the new land as a world citizen. It struck to me at that moment in time that I could, from then on, embark on my destiny writing it with my own two hands. The horizon was opening up in my mind. I recalled that I hardly ever went to a temple or a church or for that matter a mosque to pray. Whenever I visited any of the religious places it was more for the sake to satisfy my curiosity as to the building details and to study them as historical monuments. I had never bent my head down before any deity to ask for anything for myself as I never had felt the need for doing so. So at that hour of truth I couldn’t honestly pray or call upon God but reflected back on my will, grit, strong determination, sense of responsibility and my own two hands. They were the ones that had helped me create the destiny of where I was standing at that moment. Sumptuous thoughts!

Looking around I gathered it was a gray morning, absolutely sordid looking. There was whitish haze in the air. It was the result of very fine snowflakes suspended in the air. Very gently snow was falling and on realization of the phenomenon I decided to take back my previous conceived adjective ‘sordid’ for the weather. In fact I quite liked the feeling. So I held out my hand to the air outside to directly experience that fine white fluff. Oh, what a wonderful cold wetness ‘twas. It was quite different for a change compared to where I came from. There wasn’t any sun at all. The snow-laden clouds won’t let the sun come out. They had their romancing to do up there in the mid air covering the old sun with a thick white blanket of cotton-woolly fluff. Speaking of the light there was light all right. It was from the building lights and also from some floodlights on the tarmac. Other than that it was still on the border of being dark, yet slowly speck of a very faint light was trying to make its appearance known to us lowly creatures, the human beings. Trees at a distance were only silhouettes of skeletons of themselves. They were devoid of all the foliage due to harsh winter. Even so, they made it a point to keep their nakedness under a wrap. By golly they did it so beautifully with a coat of fine white snowflakes covering their bare bones - branches and trunks. They all had the same color tone of the falling white powdery stuff, merging from the ground below to the trees above. And beyond that what eyes could register small shrubs or shacks lay under the open sky. That was what my contemplating vision could gather just at a quick glance. It was so different from where I came and that made it so intriguing and charming, something new. That was straight from some of the French or Russian short stories or a Kafka novel that I had read, it had similar landscape, similar weather, and similar trees. I walked along with my small carry-on baggage down the stairway on to the tarmac. A bus was waiting for the passengers to take us to the arrival building. The bus was heated inside and had a low floor. The driver was courteous and greeted us in Persian, which I couldn’t make head or tail of. It went something like ‘sobe-kher’. It must have meant well. So I also waived and bowed my head a little and boarded the bus. Thus far it went rather well. Clearly, I thought the beginning was terrific and my life was there to change for the better. At that point of time I only looked forward to getting in the building and quickly finishing all what was needed for the visa counter and immigration check. One thing at a time!

As we came to the arrival building and bus came to a halt, I noticed that it was aluminum and glass panel facade of very much new and modern international style building. It was a pleasant change compared to what we had in Delhi. As I entered the door into the building behind the line of people in front of me, I saw some signs in English indicating where the ‘tourist visa’ people go and where people with ‘entry visa’ to go. I clearly had the ‘tourist visa’. I went to one of the counters designated for that. That being my first trip to another country other than Nepal, I didn’t know how all it went. I was young and perhaps a tad silly or ignorant to put it in perspective. Of course, I was warned before my flight to Tehran that Iran had a very strict totalitarian regime and I must be careful not to do any action that might offend the cops or military. So there was a little bit of apprehension against making any mistakes. But then what would be a mistake, I couldn’t say or imagine. So it was better to act ignorant and to ask the men in uniform to act decisively about any silly little thing and then do whatever was required of you to do. With all the complicated Immigration Forms and Custom Forms and multiple language entries, I managed to fill the forms out correctly. The stamped and approved form had to be kept with me at all times till I left the country on an outward journey to another country. So I tried not to make a mess of the form and I did it just right. Any way, I fretted and fumed for no apparent good reason. The paperwork turned out to be a bloody damp squid. There was no sweat and it was one hunky-dory sort of a thing. It was done in a very courteous and reasonable way. Perfect! None of those robots in the uniform gave me any grief. Rather, as it were, they were polite and helpful and I thought I felt agitated inside unnecessarily. Needless to say, most of the time we were silly. Any way, after the form was approved and stamped I went to the baggage claim area by the conveyor belt and got my baggage on to the trolley. I took a breath, or two for that matter, to find my bearings. Then I took hold of me and darted to the exit gate to go to the arrival lounge.

There was quite a crowd beyond that gate. In fact there was a four feet high stainless tube steel railing and leaning against it were a lot of people of all colors, mostly Caucasians, some Indian looking, yelling and waiving placards with names scribbled on them. Some of what they said was completely incomprehensible, however, some of it I could understand. Still I was lost completely. What I was looking for was some one with a placard with my name ‘Om Jai’ on it. That was what was of an immediate concern to me. But I didn’t see none. At that moment I needed a face, a body that had the desired placard with my name inscribed on it. Such recognizable inscription, naturally, would be a sure ticket for me to take me out of this mess of totally unfamiliar surroundings of the airport and on to a hotel to stretch my legs. It would be an unknown hotel, with an unknown destination in an unknown country with a lingo that I had no knowledge of at that particular point in time. But I was not worried as much about the knowledge of an unknown entity of a hotel but my plight of not finding or seeing anyone with my name on any paper or card board or a small billboard. So there!

It was a dilemma. It was my destiny that brought me to that place and I was pretty much sure that my employer must have deputed some one for my assistance. Incidentally in IIT, Kharagpur, that was my alma mater; my name ‘Om Jai’ was OJ, an acronym for orange juice. We always took pride in naming the deer ones at IIT with special names of choice. So I was OJ. Another friend of mine Kaushik was christened ‘Cow Shit’; I seriously thought that it was much too below dignity. But he loved it. That was camaraderie. That was how people become bum chums.

So any way, with all these deep emotions I still was looking for some one with my name on a placard. How else would I know who was there to escort me? I waited. I was on the verge of becoming frantic. Then something happened. And sure enough my gaze wandered hither and thither and then stopped on a gentleman entering the arrival lounge from outside. He was not too tall and was fair skinned Iranian gentleman clad in an overcoat and a woolen felt cap. He was hurriedly coming towards the gate from where the arriving passengers were emerging to the arrival lounge. That was where I had positioned myself. My intention was not to miss out the stranger that would be my escort. I was right at the spot from where I could watch curious persons searching for someone like me, and perhaps holding a little paper with my name. This person coming towards the gate stopped for a moment. I could see a briefcase in his right hand. He put it on a counter and took out something that resembled a placard and put it on the counter as well. Then he unbuttoned his overcoat. He then picked up the placard. I was kind of curious about this placard that he was in the process of holding high. Since the gentleman that came in was neatly dressed with a suit and a tie underneath the overcoat, clean cut and about five feet six inches tall, I had an intuition that that was the gentleman for me. After he took out the placard and held it up slightly higher up, I could see from an angle what could be read as ‘Om’. My doubts that that gentleman had come to escort me to the hotel were proving to be true. As I went a little closer to him, I could see my full name on the placard. I was sure the Iranian wouldn’t be able to recognize me since I was not the only Indian in that crowd. There were quite a few Indian doctors and engineers that had come there to try their fortunes as well.

I walked up to him and tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around and looked at me perplexed and in a moment he was back to his normal self. I smiled and said, “Hello! Good Morning! I am Om Jai from India. You must be looking for me.”

By now he was reassured of the fact that he had the man he had come to the airport to fetch. He grinned, his eyes became bright and he said, “Oh, hello!” and took my hand and shook it very warmly and holding it strongly, he continued, “Agaye Om Jai! How are you? My name is Beh Bahani and I am your project manager. I have come here to take you to the hotel and acquaint you with the project and Tehran.”

I couldn’t make head or tail of the prefix ‘agaye’ that the gentleman made with my name, but it seemed like some title. But, anyway, regardless of not knowing what that meant, I extended the courtesies too, “Very pleased to meet you Mister Beh Bahani. And how are you? I was looking forward to meeting you and working with you. Thank you for all the trouble you took to come here and help me out. I am sure there must have been other people in the office that could have taken care of this for you” I had genuine warmth in my voice and my demeanor exhibited cheerful disposition, I kept smiling all this while.

His attitude was courteous and he said cheerfully, “Oh, that’s no problem, Agaye Om Jai. I wanted to meet you personally before we met at the office.” This time I figured it out that this new word was ‘agaye’ and it was sort of equivalent of ‘mister’ perhaps. Beh Bahani had paused but before I could add my two words he queried me further, “Any way were you waiting for long? I am sorry, I didn’t account for the traffic properly and I got late a little bit. I hope it didn’t cause you too much of inconvenience. Where is all your baggage?”

I said in a supportive tone and in a polite manner, “It hasn’t been that long. I didn’t have to wait all that while. Thank you indeed for your concern. That was so nice of you Mister Beh Bahani. But really, please do not worry about it. It’s all right. And for my baggage, I only have a suitcase in addition to this shoulder bag.”

He said, “Well good. I am relieved that everything is all right. I was worried for a moment. I have a request to make. Please don’t call me mister. It sounds like a little unfamiliarity in this part of the world. It will be better if you called me ‘Agaye Bahani’, Agaye is a word for gentleman in Persian.” I was glad that he explained this new word before I even had to ask about it.

“Very well, I got it. So it will be ‘Agaye Bahani’ from now on.”

“All right, then, ‘Agaye Jay’! Let’s go. Follow me; my car is outside next to the sidewalk. Do you need any help with your baggage?”

“Agaye Bahani, please don’t give it a second thought. I have no problem carrying my suitcase. But thanks any way. And now I have to make a request. Please call me OJ and not Jai. If you do add this ‘Agaye’, please call me ‘Agaye OJ’. Right!”

He smiled, his eyes squeezed a little, and he said, “Well, now that we have our names all squared away. We would just be getting along fine. I like transparency and frankness and you have it all and I like it. Let’s go.”

“Agaye Bahani! I am coming right along.” I liked his lucidity and swiftness.

I was wearing a long thick woolen overcoat that had kept me solidly warm regardless of the outside chill as we came out of the terminal building. The building itself was heated inside. But coming out of it was another matter. It froze my bones. Well not all the bones if I must, but only the ones of the face, neck and hands. I wasn’t being fastidious but just wanted to set the record straight. Also, I hadn’t put on a muffler or gloves. But then a youth like me didn’t need them. Or would one? It could be a toss up, ‘six of this or half a dozen of the other, take your pick’. The fact of the matter was I wanted to enjoy the cold weather and the snow. What other way could I enjoy but to experience the chill down under my skin, on tip of my nose and on the lobes of my ears. Oh, what a feeling!

We were by his car in just a few moments. He opened the trunk and I hauled up the suitcase in it and he closed the trunk. Then he unlocked the car doors and asked me to take a seat. It was early January and was cold in fact bitter cold. As he started the car and we were a little way on the street, he turned on the fan and when the hot air came through the air grilles and hit the cold skin of the face, one noticed the difference. Outside there were piles of snow on both sides of the street and on the sloped roofs. There was bright haze of the daylight but the sunlight wasn’t to be. He drove his car beautifully on the snowy streets. As we came closer to the city of Tehran the streets had more traffic and whatever snow had fallen was gone due to the heat of the cars. On both sides of the street I could see small channels of clear water running down hill.

I exclaimed,” That is beautiful, Agaye Bahani”.

He smiled just barely and said, “Agaye OJ, Tehran is a very nice and beautiful city. It’ll grow on you.”

He went through some meandering streets. Traffic was on the wrong side of the street compared to India. In Iran they drove on the right as opposed to on the left in India. I had to make minor adjustments in my own mind before crossing streets or looking out for traffic. Not before too long, we came to a stop. We both came out of the car and Beh Bahani pointed to the door of the hotel. He said, “Agaye OJ, here we are. This will be your hotel, your temporary abode. Let’s go in. I would like you to settle down and freshen up.”

I said, “Very well Agaye Bahani! Thank you very much for the ride and for all your help. How and when do I come to the office?”

Bahani said, “Don’t worry, Agaye OJ. You please check in, go to your room and I am going to leave a note at the reception for you with instructions to reach the office. In the mean time please have these 10,000 rials for your expenses as an advance. All right, see you later.”

x

SYNOPSIS: PASSIONS WITHIN-THE DARK HORSE

PASSIONS WITHIN-THE DARK HORSE

OJ flew to Tehran for his newfound job. Tehran was to his liking as well as it could be. He always lived in the present and not the past, as in right here, right now, no destiny, shear hard work and good deeds. He wanted to live the life as it would be nstead of as it was. He started to comprehend this new land, new culture and people and the new system of living. He kept his vistas as wide as possible at all times.

For OJ, the entire twist of fate was like a beautiful new tapestry of Iranian ethnicity and culture. A new dream world had opened up before OJ who had come out of India…

His interaction with the people of Iran brought him face-to-face with a rare beauty, an Iranian girl of exquisite looks. It did not take long for him to fall in love with her. He started learning Persian to communicate with her. She also started learning English. They had a jolly good time. Her parents liked OJ. Their religions were a little mismatched, he of Hindu persuasion whereas she of Moslem.

As far as, he was concerned he wasn’t orthodox. In fact he was practically an atheist, a nonbeliever. He didn’t much care about this religion or that religion or any particular type of religion as long as no one bothered him in his ways of doing things. He let it be known to Shireen, his Iranian girlfriend. Her parents started liking him a lot and ultimately offered him her hand for marriage, an offer he couldn’t resist.

During the week of all the arrangements, they decide to pay homage to ‘Allah’ and go to the great religious holy city of Qom. But then Providence works in a very mysterious way. The destiny dished out a different script for him. The entire family got involved in a tragic accident and they all succumbed. It was an error of judgment on the part of the driver of the car. OJ was devastated with this heart numbing news and tried to find solace in different places of entertainment to forget the memories of his beloved. He changed his place of residence to get away from the apartment of Shireen’s association and to start a brand new beginning.

In due course of time, OJ met a group of Americans. He moved around with them as well as with other Iranian intellectuals to feed himself the new and varying thoughts, the thoughts that were not the part of his own native surroundings. He felt empathy with the Iranian students and underdogs. He discussed it with his American friends to figure out ways and means to help out the poor. He would go to the orphanage to take care of the poor children and feed them with love and care. He would go to the places where the people fighting the system of repression gathered. He would think and discuss ways and means to eliminate suffering but to keep the economic progress going. He would donate a portion of his income to support the poor.

He figured out that in order to advance and achieve professional distinction, he had to go for an advanced degree in the US. He focused, worked tirelessly to beat the deadlines and submit professional portfolio with a crisp statement of purpose. He also got two top references.

His zeal and perseverance paid off. Carnegie Mellon University (CMU) in Pittsburgh offered him not only admission to the Graduate Studies program but also a full tuition waiver in addition to the research assistantship with a handsome stipend. The professor-in-charge of the program was naturally impressed with the quality of his purpose and presentation. Very pleased, OJ sent in his acceptance to CMU. Again in his own mind, he felt that the dark horse had won the race.

In Tehran though, other important things were happening in his personal life. He got involved in a very cozy mutual relationship with an American, Deborah, an animation artiste working for the Iranian TV channel. They would go out in gatherings, with other friends and mountain outings. They started liking each other and spending time together. They started visualizing their lives from very close quarters.

Then, eventually they fell in love. Along the way, they discussed whether or not to get married. OJ didn’t want to use the crutch of marriage with an American to get a visa to the US. He wanted to be there with his own efforts. His qualm was that the relationships ought to be free from any benefits of convenience, financial or legal. A relationship ought to stand on its own merit, without having to derive some immoral gains or ulterior motives out of it. They both believed in the sense of purpose, honesty and a decent code of moral conduct devoid of playing games or being deceitful.

So of course, he did achieve what he wanted to, like a true dark horse. He definitely did win the race of sorts since he got the student’s F-1 visa as a result of his admission to CMU. That was his ticket to USA. He got things done his way without having to sacrifice his values and ideals. He was happy.

He transferred part of his own savings to the US to pay for the living expenses during the studies. He also took care of his parents with his remaining savings. After all, they had taken care of him from his birth through childhood till he finished his Undergrad Degree from IIT Kharagpur. Now that he could save sufficient funds, he took it upon himself to pay portion of it back by giving them some comfort in their advancing years.

It was the fall of 1977,. OJ went to the US. He got a place for himself and started his studies at CMU. The campus was in the heart of business and research districts of Oakland part of Pittsburgh city. Bordered by quaint residential neighborhoods and wooded hills of a scenic park, the hundred acre campus provided an academic environment that combined the best of both worlds-an urban campus in a green setting.

After joining the program, OJ encountered a wonderful phenomenon. It was that the program had many foreign students from all different parts of the world. It almost seemed like a mini-UN. He made good friends with almost all of them, Americans and other foreign students alike.

All his program mates worked hard on their program project. They all took keen interest in the program goals and made it shine. The professor was very happy and satisfied with them all. He treated them as friends and reached out to them in case of any problems. He would take them out on many occasions for treats.

In a couple months or so, Deborah got a temporary relocation at Pittsburgh. She and OJ were together for some three months. During this time both of them got married legally. They had a registered marriage at the City of Pittsburgh. Both were agnostic and didn’t care about who followed what. For them work was worship, they were workaholics.

So, they worked their butt off as usual. He performed well at CMU. She completed her project assignment. She had to go back to Iran to complete her contractual obligations even though Iran was beginning to be in turmoil. However, since the conditions in Iran became worse, OJ considered her Iran move as her folly that he would not forgive, it created unnecessary hurdles and problems in not only his busy student life but also in the future emotional well-being.

OJ became very friendly with a German classmate. Both worked on the project together. OJ helped out the German friend in his studies. The German was more into parties and fun and frolic and OJ excelled in studies. He pulled along the German friend too. In the meantime, things turned awful in Iran. There was a revolution against the Shah of Iran. He abdicated his throne and quit Iran with his family. The Iranian Revolution terminated freedom of all the foreigners, Americans and others alike.

They were more lenient towards the French and other Europeans, but the Americans had to bear the hardest brunt since Shah was considered an American puppet. Americans, Indians and some other nationalities were not allowed to leave Iran. The revolution was no freedom rally. It was religious fascism in the garb of a revolution. People still suffered.

Life became miserable for Deborah. OJ got actively involved to rescue her from those fascists. He got support from his CMU professors and students alike. He also had help from the students of University of Pittsburgh and other Pittsburgh community organizations. His professor-in-charge personally contacted Senators and Congressmen to exert pressure on Iranian government through the French and Swiss embassies in Tehran for her release. US didn’t have any diplomatic relations with Iran any longer. US embassy staff was captured and made hostage by the revolutionary government of Iran.

By April 1979 they worked out her release, she was now free to go to India and not to the US. The freedom was granted on the basis of her marriage to OJ, an Indian and hence to India. Now to OJ, the Seventh Samurai, her freedom and release was a humanitarian issue, to free a person from the clutches of tyrants. He had the spirit of a Good Samaritan.

Finally, in July of 1979 Deborah was united with OJ in California. It was akin to triumph of sorts for both of them. Yet all was not well with Deborah. Her folly, a considered opinion of OJ and his German friend, resulted in her rape, assault and suffering. She still had fear psychosis. It wasn’t easy for her to come back to the normal day-to-day family life. She was living that horror of Tehran in her sleep and in her dreams. It became a nightmare for her and depression made her nerves panic all the time.

She needed big time psychiatric help to come to terms with her past. However, he became very busy with his work. He couldn’t pay much attention to Deborah. He didn’t even bother about the problems surfacing in their relationship. One thing led to another and they started drifting apart like two icebergs.

Around that time, OJ got a very good job offer in California. His final Program project and the research project were both completed. The German friend was in the process of hitching to a nice girl. He was dating her for some time. He had an offer from a Chicago firm, which he joined in due course of time. OJ decided to go to California. Deborah wouldn’t go with him and went her own separate way. She went to New York to be away from him.

In California, OJ made great strides. He soon became a project manager handling complex multiple projects in the company. In the meantime OJ went on to become the president, and then director, of the firm he was working for. At this point of time he met a young lady, Rupa, a student from India, at a friend’s party. He was quite lonely, ready on the rebound and he liked her; so they hit off very well.

He never consciously chose a Muslim girl or a Christian or any other race for that matter. So he couldn’t care less for Rupa being a Hindu. But she had something else in her mind. Her only motive with him was to grab the Green Card and split. During the course of their courtship, OJ realized that Rupa didn’t really care for him but only for his American citizenship. It wasn’t love but it was merely a relationship of convenience. Soon she found out that he was married to Deborah and not divorced yet. So she couldn’t fulfill her dreams right away. And she decided to end this charade of love and care and went on her way.

Deborah had some rough time in New York but she did come over her trauma. She decided to make a clean break from the past. She found a new friend in John. Though he wasn’t suited for her type of person but she decided to marry him. So she went to OJ in Sacramento with their divorce papers for him to sign. He was awestricken seeing her with those papers. He after wavering for a few days, finally, signed them.

Given some time, he came along another pretty woman, Sheba, an Iranian, that looked almost like Shireen. His old memories of his first love came back to haunt him all over again. They both had a matured loving relationship. They both wanted to have a child of their own and finally they did. They had a baby boy. He turned out to be a fine boy. They all stayed in Sacramento for a long time.

Around beginning of 1991, he felt bored with the sort of life he was leading. So they started thinking of going to India to do something for the society.. Their friends tried to stop him from taking such foolish step. They reminded him of the circumstances under which he had left India in the first place. There were some moments of vacillation for Sheba. But finally OJ and Sheba decided to take the plunge. The same year they packed their bags and took off to go to India to set up and start a big Information Technology University. So the Seventh Samurai ventured again to try if his Dark Horse could still win the race for him!

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Passions Within- The Dark Horse

It is a work of fiction, a novel if you will. It's about trials and tribulations of an ordinary man from a family of modest means, his story of success, like a Dark Horse becoming a winner. His success in his career path takes him to Iran. There he falls in love with an American woman. She has miserable life during Iranian Revolution. Her demeanor and escape from tyranny are qualities of human perseverance!

The novel deals with the events during Iran’s Cultural Revolution causing the end of Shah of Iran. Therefore, it will have worldwide appeal especially for Americans and other foreigners who were caught in the quagmire of those events. It will also be appealing to Indian audience and Non Resident Indian Diaspora abroad, and IIT and CMU alumni.