On that day in Ambler I thought this is too much to explain to a simpleton from Pennsylvania country-side and just said: "I am Ukrainian." I don't know if it was my pronunciation, his hearing or lapses in public education, but gopnik went around town telling people that those new guys on a corner are 'Real Iranians'. It took me a better part of a year to convince locals that: "No, I am UKRAI-nian, not IRA-nian... No, it's not the same thing... No, it's not the same part of the World."
On Tuesday, at 11:07 am, for the first time in my life, I met a real IRA-nian.
Man was in a talkative mood, so I quickly disposed of 'Dictator Putin vs Our Democracy' theme he tried to start with me, and went straight for the jugular. I had an important matter to discuss. Although the ride was about 30 minutes long, there was no time to waste since I wanted to give him a little background behind my 'loaded' question.
I think he decided there and then to give me a 'loaded' answer, but first the man wanted to provide some background of his own.
Having left Iran for university in America in 1971, he called himself a 'victim of circumstance'. American degree was no good in post-Shah Iran, but their economy was tanking anyway. Plus mobs on a street chanting "Death to Americans" made his American-born wife very 'uncomfortable'. He praised Shah for developing Iranian oil fields and investing 60 billion of revenues into infrastructure and public projects, making Iran one of the leading economies of Arab World. He said: "Life was pretty good. We had cars and electronics, but we had no political freedoms. Now, there are some kinds of freedom, but economy stinks, country is in isolation, while government squandered 1 Trillion dollars of oil profits."
I was getting tired of his social-economic excursion when he finally got to the point. In a peculiar Eastern way, there are always two sides to a coin. While Iranian government propaganda in mid-20th Century was highly negative of Russia, Iranian people had great affinity towards Russian culture. His family often enjoyed 'pirozki' and 'babka', and everything 'Russian' was really cool.
Fast-forward 50 years - Iran is bashing everything American, but people walking around in Levi's jeans, Apple iPhone is 'it' and the best present for a teen-age boy is a NY Yankees baseball hat.
Go figure.
Восток дело тонкое.
The man spoke with such warmth about his country, I guess that given the choice again he would never gone to America in a first place.
The fate of a person is not written on his forehead. It's really all quite random, you know, except...
I told him: "Picking between 'here' and 'there' - I personally choose 'here' every day of the week and twice on a weekend".
I went back to the old country once. After living in America for many years and gotten used to comforts of modern society - it was a fucking nightmare.
"Have you gone back to your lands since then?", I asked.
"O, sure. I go every year if I can and more often while my parents were alive."
I was dumbfounded.
"Wasn't it the place where people from America feel 'UN-comfortable'?", I confronted him.
"O, I couldn't live or work there, but to visit for a couple of weeks is fine. Nobody cares. Traveling in Arab World is not like in Western countries. People move around all the time."
His parents came to Iran from what used to be Azerbaijan. Some family members moved to what now called Armenia. Borderlines are largely a recent phenomenon and they keep on changing. Just to see your family may require visits to several countries on a same trip.
That was it. A Fat Pitch! We stopped on a red light. I looked him square in the eyes:
"Where is Your Home?"
Iranian didn't have to think.
"HERE. My children and grand-kids are Here. My wife... My life... You know, when I travel There, I can stay for a week, 2 weeks, but every day after that is like torture. I just want to go home..."
He went quiet and looked out the window. Wrinkled olive skin of his relaxed face basking in diffused sunlight of a cloudy summer noon. We drove in silence through spectacular slopes of Manayunk to where serene waters of Schuylkill River meets Twin Bridge.
Real Iranian looked perfectly comfortable in a back seat of Beloye Taksi.
In a way, All PeopleS are the Same...
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