<<     March 2007     >>

Serenity Joon

The thing at the bottom of the stairs

Adventure is my middle name and I'm not afraid of very much, easily throwing myself into most anything with abandon. I've been punished, sometimes mercilessly, by the universe for the more unintelligent actions I would have called 'fun' at one time and I've quite learned my lesson and cooled my heels a bit, settling quietly into my marriage and happily focusing on love and work and getting the heck out of here. But I have one terrible phobia, one desperate fear that holds me somewhat hostage in my own home.

I am afraid of our refrigerator.
I will not touch it anywhere except for the two inches of plastic handle near the top. Whatever is perched on top or housed inside must be plucked to safety with the utmost care because in India, when it comes to construction and all the particulars that go along with that, there seems to be no real understanding of the laws of electricity and a little (apparently unimportant) thing called grounding.

Every time I touch that damn box it shocks me, hard and deeply painful. On the rare occaision I accidentally brush the metal sides I stagger away cursing the landlord, the architect, the electrician, whoever comes to mind as partially responsible for my growing fear and such an idiotic safety hazard.

Hamid seems immune to this phenomenon, reaching into the fridge without a care in the world; rather than whine to him every time I want something I just drink my water and wine room temperature.

The Cure

It's 97 degrees at almost three a.m. - our ceiling fan is set to 'hurricane'. We are grateful the electricity has not gone out today - when it does we suffer like veal calves in a crate. During the random and all-too-often power outages I act out the melodrama of my death by melting and the only thing Hamid can move in his heat inspired lathargy are his eyes. He watches me flop about tut-tutting at my complaining as I go on drawing a sweat with the effort.
Finally, I will give up my impromtu dying to go sit in the bathroom with the cold water tap running at full speed.
Ironically, on these days, we often do not have cold water - the sun has baked it all steaming hot in the massive black plastic solar water tank on our roof. Oh the joys.

I have been feeling sorry for myself lately that I have nothing to wear (you can choose not to believe this as it is a blatant denial of the truth) but it doesn't matter because it is too hot to put much of anything on anyway. I wear a pencil skirt pulled up as a mini dress and call it good. Fortunately, we will escape the most dreaded heat a good month before it starts to get really, really hot - sometimes reaching 110 degrees.

It's been this way for three weeks and will continue to get progressively hotter until we must amp up the fan to 'typhoon' and sit limp before our laptops, listlessly manipulating our heaviness through the pudding thick heat.
It's only March but the Indian summer is coming, and coming fast.

There are a number of things we never bought for this house because from the fifth or sixth month into our cohabitation we were somewhere between convinced and simply hoping we would be leaving soon. One of those stupidly unpurchased things is a cooler - not particularly common in the average Indian home, but something I'm kicking myself for neglecting to invest in. For three years I have been convincing us that we didn't need an A/C - we're leaving soon, no need, I said. But now, as we are again at risk of sweaty fake dying during the eight or so weeks left in our little visit to India, we will buy one.

Then what to do with that big metal and plastic thing when we leave? What to do with any of our clunky household stuff when we leave?
In a nation where the neighbors can be spied going through your garbage to see if you've thrown anything useful away, you don't sell anything...you donate. All of it.
We will give it all away, every last bit, to this place and this place, knowing we will at least save another family from melting once we've gone.

Soph

The night Sophia and I said goodbye, she was six years old; crawling into bed after a long day of whatever it was we did back then. I'd been staying with her family since my return from India a month previous and although I was not travelling back to the third world for over a month they were leaving for their annual summer jaunt to the Cape - a trip I'd made with them previously but couldn't make this time around due to my own pending travel plans.

Soph pulled her quilt up over her lap in the darkened room and with such sweet poignancy looked up at me with her big eyes and tiny voice and asked, "Are you still going back to India?"

I'd known Sophia since she was a fiesty two year old and had never minced words with her, preferring to treat her as an equal - a choice that favored her intelligence and showed her the respect she deserved as a sovereign little being. "Yes, Soph...I'm going back while you're in Cape Cod, so I guess this is the last night we will be together for a while but I will miss you with all my heart."

"I won't see you again..."
Her words trailed off as she blinked back tears and lifted her arms for her good-night hug - the end of an era. I did the only thing I could do, and simply sat with that most-favored little girl just listening to her breathe, both of us trying not to cry.

I went back into her room at least three times that night, to watch her sleep, to wrench my heart over three+ years of loving her like a little sister.

The pictures of her I carried here with me keep her perpetually at five years old, a sunny summer girl sitting in the grass, looking expectantly at the photographer, allowing them to capture her in all her tiny beauty.
Since then, I've received emailed photos of the little darling and cannot immediately reconcile the tiny thing I used to carry around and play Chutes and Ladders with. She's grown so much since I've been gone.

Sometimes I worry she will forget me but even still she asks the same reassuring question, "When are you coming home?"

Just put up a map and throw a dart...

Well, I'm doing my very best to pretend that it doesn't freak me out at all that we're leaving India permanently in less than two months and we still don't really know where we're going...but I do believe in the power of imagination, and I've successfully 'faked' my way through many difficult life transitions and am comforted by the fact that eventually whatever it was I simply believed I was experiencing settled itself in nicely as reality.
There are plenty of people who will say that that just doesn't make sense. That a person can't just fake their way through the bad parts until the bad parts are as convinced as you that they just don't exist - but let me tell you I can, I do, and I will.

We may or may not be going to Iran after all, and for reasons better left undisclosed at this point so it's not really worth getting into at all except to say that it essentially leaves us drifting along in the global scheme of things with no real direction. Until recently, it was to be the next stop after Nepal, and a nice locae in relation to our needing to be in Turkey at some point (the when of which I still have no idea as we wait to hear from someone at the U.S. Embassy in Ankara) but for now at least, it's looking less like an option. A shame really; I'd quite gotten myself geared up for it by ordering loads of capri pants and wedges from the States in anticipation of making due with the dress code. I even decided to sample a pair of ballet flats...something I'd not ordinarily be caught dead in but is so insanely popular in Tehran I decided to at least attempt them. Fortunately, Coach makes a lovely version called 'Joy'.

In any case, I'll cart my stuff along to wherever...and Nepal is looking likely at this point as they allow foreigners five months (150 days in any visa year) in the country without any major hassle, and of course Miss Jess is there now; complete with hotel=bathtub and connections through her darling to help us find a house, set up WiFi and all the other things one needs to stay in business in the virtual world.

And then, there's Turkey - a certainty at some point, and allowing foreigners a three month visa at the port of entry. I'm not sure of the possibility of a visa extension there, but assuming they are reasonable I'd say we can eke out at least another thirty days beyond that. So, we're covered for approximately nine months past the end of May (and both countries will allow us to bring Mooshy in with proper papers...yet another piece of the puzzle).

If we've not been awarded Hamid's visa to the States at that point we'll be looking at another round of applications from scratch as his original forms, doctor's reports, and affidavits are only valid for 365 days after they are initially submitted.

We watch the news, understanding something of how the U.S. is working with Iranian visas these days: not issuing them in time for the President of Iran to arrive for a meeting at the U.N. I mean, if they can't get it together to issue him a visa in time for a meeting of international world leaders we're concerned that we're now facing the gloomier side of our expectations as surely we are much farther down on their list of what and who is important.

I'm now scrutinizing the paperwork that was sent to me when we were first asked to come to the Consulate here in Chennai, India as well as the way the case was handled once we arrived for the interview and realizing that we kind of got played.
First they made a big deal about my income, but according to their little chart I make three times what is required for a family of two to return to the States with the better half on an entry visa. My 12 months worth of freshly printed PDF bank statements were of no importance though.
Then they suggested that I no longer have ties to the United States, having been in India so long - but when I offered a letter signed by both of my parents essentially imploring the Consul to issue the visa so we could come home already the girl looked at me from behind her wire rim glasses and mustache and said "Yeah, I have a mom too..." as if I had some elaborate plan to convince her that my parents love me and know exactly where I am when, as far as she was concerned, I don't have and never did have any parents at all.
Only after I returned three hours later, frustrated and confused, did they announce that we would have to go to one of five other countries to complete the application.
In response to my flustered demeanor the Consul asked me if I'd like him to 'expatriate me, right here, right now' - as if that was the solution to all my troubles. Yes, they are sensitive folks those government employees.

Sad...really...I was initially so impressed with everyone else we'd met with and talked to throughout the process.

Anyway, since my own country is in no big hurry to make it easy for me to come home with my husband (anything else is out of the question, so don't even suggest it) I'm scanning Embassy and Immigration websites for as many countries as I can dream up, calculating where we can get the most tourist visa leeway and how many days we can stay, etc. etc.

Kind of fun, really...having nowhere to go and so many amazing options in the meantime.

Can I get those in glossy?

So I've been having these really strange headaches lately. Not being prone to headaches, or stress, or any of that modern-day illness stuff it kind of scared me when for the past six weeks they got progressively more common and more localized to the back left part of my head.
Accompanied with random unexplained dizziness I had all kinds of possible scenarios in mind.
I'm neither a hypochondriac nor a worrier and will generally refuse to go to hospital unless I'm in dire straits but after much prodding by my darling and a lovely chat with my father I decided to take the two up on their advice that I should visit a specialist.

We walked into Ramaiiah hospital, the best in Bangalore and only three blocks from our house, and were directed to Radiology and Imaging where we shelled out a mere RS 4,900 (about $110 U.S.) for a full scale MRI of my brain.
It was sweetly obvious that the technicians don't get to play with the imaging machine and it's relative computers when they pounced on me as soon as I announced to reception that I was there for a scan. Vying for a spot in the console room, they piled in one by one, leaving the rest of their waiting patients to continue to do so.
One doctor ushered me like a VIP into a wide circular room, all white, centered with it's mechanic jewel.
I was then strapped into the headgear, stretched out flat on a black pleather bed that smelled a bit like pee but was otherwise quite comfortable, and listened as the machine hummed it's alien music around my ears. I was also treated to a symphony of Hindi movie hits while I waited patiently to find out if there was something growing in my head or if I just needed to start doing yoga again.
After thirty minutes of immobility I had sincere pity for whoever it was that 'couldn't wait' and a real pang of urgent curiosity about the results of my brain scan.
Fortunately, the technician announced that everything looked 'normal' (Me? Normal? Go figure.) but asked us to come back tomorrow to pick up the images of the inside of my head. Yet another fabulously unusual souvenir to remember India by:

-One Iranian husband
-One Indian street dog
-One finally-almost-gone upper lip scar from that first dastardly motorcycle accident
-One scar on my right knee, as yet infused with black silk fibers and very small stones from yet another motorcycle accident
-One procelain front tooth, replaced at the half by a French dentist in South India after that first crash
-One set of full brain scan images

Not your everyday set of souvenirs - and believe me, I've got those lovely beaded silk touristy things too. But somehow, these bizarre memorials to a life lived in India are a million times better.

CAMP on Perry

Next stop: Nepal

I've not seen my best girlfriend/might-as-well-be-my sister Miss Jess since my last visit back 'home' to the States over three years ago.
She's admittedly been the better of the two of us at keeping in touch and has remained as close to my heart as ever, despite our divergent locaes.

Now, she's finally on my side of the planet.
She's recently married her darling of eight years in a surprise ceremony in the States and has followed through with her plans to move with him to his native Nepal to help him run the family five-star hotel.

Two round trip tickets to Kathmandu in early May promise lengthy heartfelt conversations, lots of catching up, giggling to a degree one can only achieve with a best girlfriend, and finally, perhaps most importantly, the golden opportunity to introduce my two very best friends to eachother.

The view from where I sit

And the clouds parted...

We're sitting here, latenight, sharing a bottle of red and scanning the channels between conversations and all of a sudden I see the Iron Maiden logo on the screen...smoke and guitars and it's on mute so I scramble for the remote.
Click - not fast enough, I missed the announcement but I can see in that split second that, yes...it is true - Iron Maiden is coming to Bangalore.
This is the best news we've gotten in a long time.


Of course, we will not go. The crowd will be tens of thousands strong and all-male. Not my idea of a good time.
But it's a good sign for Bangalore nonetheless.

Do not pass go

A recent letter "home":

...We've arrived back to Bangalore after our trip to Chennai to meet the Consulate (who made me cry in public, egads!) - it's a very very long story I don't wish to whine over anymore so will keep it short...we did *not* get the visa as easily as we had anticipated and have quite a few more hoops to jump through before we know much of anything.
In the meantime, because Hamid is Iranian, we've to go to Turkey to process his visa application.
There are only five United States Embassy offices that process immigration visas for Iranians - and not one of them is in India. So nice of them to tell us that these past nine months, but whatever!
We're looking at it now the only way that can save our sanity: as a game. One we intend to win.

It's something of a blessing in disguise as I've not yet been to Turkey. We're already planning a long-anticipated jaunt to the island of Antallia, so this will be fun...

We're going to finish out our stay in India (til the third week in May - giving us time to clear our house out, cancel the lease, etc.), then will move back into our house in Iran so we can travel to and from Turkey more easily.

All in all - it was a stressful trip but at least we're not up against that wall of trying to get this all worked out before Hamid's Indian visa expires in two and a half months.
I will say that I honestly felt like the United States government was dead set on penalizing me for my independence: being self employed turned out not to impress them one little bit. The fact that I built the thing from scratch didn't score points in any direction, nor did my homemade billing and accounting systems (which track our invoices to the minute and the penny but might as well have been scrawled on paper napkins with crayon for all they were worth to the Consul). My having lived outside the States for so long, in an effort at exploring the planet coupled with a distinct devotion to my darling husband were equally disdained in the weighing of facts and figures and I ended up feeling like I just couldn't win.
They must process hundreds of proxy marriages for people who've never even seen eachother in person, and yet my wanting to stay with my husband these past two years is something I am being heavily scrutinized for as it meant I was unable to maintain domicile in the U.S.

Our estimates of arriving happily in the States by August 2007 are now as tentative as ever...we do hope to see you soon and THIS YEAR...that is and has been the plan - but it's all up to the universe.

XO from India (for now)
Tess and Hamid



A letter to the (very kind) Chief U.S. Consul, Chennai, India:

Hello Mr. XXX,
You rescued me with tissues and a Quaker granola bar (do they sell those somewhere in India?? I think not...you have some serious connections) just yesterday when I was having a particularly bad afternoon, and I just wanted to say 'Thanks!'
My husband sends his regards as well....

The girl I spoke with, XXXXXXX, although is likely a very lovely person in non-office life, was less than sweet considering my circumstances (not that I expected her to change her mind, necessarily, but she could have at least *smiled* at some point during our lengthy conversations) and so your friendly face and kind words were especially welcome.

We've decided to finish out my husband's visa to India, til the 23rd of May, at which time we will return to our own house in Iran (a gift from his parents).
From there we will be better able to manage the visa application in Ankara, Turkey, and may even take an apartment there if it seems a nice place to live for a few months.
I've not yet seen Turkey so at least it's another adventure to be had.
I am happy that at least we have the option and will be able to stay together (the whole reason we lived in India these two+ years to begin with).

In any case, I've emailed the Ankara Embassy with my info and hope to hear from them soon, but in the meantime wanted to say that I really appreciated your being so cool yesterday - I was feeling so sad and so falling-apart and just generally confused by the way the officer had spoken to me that I needed a solid reminder of how nice and friendly Americans can and will be.

Thanks again,
Have a great day - and know that in the email home to everyone and anyone who has been waiting for us for ages *you* were truly the highlight.

Best,
Tess
(Terrace I. Strand petitioner for husband Hamid Alipour, Case number: XXXXXXX)