An American Experience

It was a call to my brother, doing Ph.D. at George Washington, which made my mind to spend Easter vacations with him and family in Annandale, North Virginia outside Washington D.C., across the Potomac. Within no time I had bought a discounted return ticket for Washington D.C. from the students union travel office in the Steve Biko building of University of Manchester. My union card at UMIST, next-door, entitled me to facilities at both the universities. The ticket however, could not be altered, thus later denying me the opportunity to see the Big apple on the way back.

The stern lady at the visa counter in the U.S. embassy, being unconvinced that I would not be seduced by lady America to spend the rest of my life, in her ample bosom, was a tough nut to crack. It was, what I rate as the best performance of my life, as a speaker, in which I drew from all of my knowledge of the American history, thought, and way of life, which probably broke the glass. Just when I was beginning to think that perhaps I would never be able to see the country which I had read so much about in the bound volumes of Reader’s Digest my father had collected so lovingly over the years, from the old book shops of Karachi, she finally relented, and with a gracious amused smile stretched out her hand for the passport.

The flight was uneventful except for the choice of menu, which I was unused to; having always flown the flag carrier. The arrival at Washington D.C. airport was a pleasant experience compared to grueling treatment I had received at London airport. It was surprising to see how efficiently and sensibly the immigration dealt with me, asking only a few questions about the purpose, length, and the address of my stay. At the customs, it was only the dignified and no nonsense demeanour of the negro official which stopped me from repeating what Benjamin Franklin had said when asked if he had anything to declare at the customs, “nothing but my genius”, the gentleman did not seem to be the sort to appreciate such wisecracks.

The forty days I spent at Annandale, were mainly dedicated to seeing the sights in and around Washington D.C., and to reading in the Library of Congress, a dream come true; and to browsing through books at the library of George Washington University. I had never experienced such a huge amount of books and literature at my disposal. I went berserk, trying to rediscover all the books I had read at some time or the other in my life. I did not restrict myself just to technical books I was supposed to study to prepare my Ph.D. proposal and transfer report I had to submit on my return to Manchester. I just read all the books I could lay my hands on. It was a little surprising to find that one could not borrow books from the library of congress, that privilege was only limited to the higher beings who make the American laws, good or bad, one could never be too sure about.

The sights that I remember most were those of drive over the Shanandoah valley which reminded me so much about my Islamabad. The other was the surrealistic experience at Lourney caverns. I had read about these kinds of labyrinths, in stories like the one by Mark Twain, where Huckleberry Finn and his well known buddy Tom Sawyer meet a gang of robbers, besides in other undergrad books, but it was the first time that I had been inside one. The entrance was a simple doorway in a hut, but once inside the caverns I was really impressed to see how the caverns had been lighted up to accentuate its wonderful features like the shimmering pool of crystal clear water, and a huge pillar, formed by millions of years of calcium carbonate depositing from water dripping down the ceiling of a chamber,. The lights were also used very effectively to produce shadows and an eerie atmosphere. I am sure that there must be scores of such caverns in our subcontinent, but undeveloped and unexploited, no body hears about them.

My visit to Baltimore and its aquarium was also unforgettable. The city with some eccentric structural appendages to some buildings seemed to be trying to attract tourists, which I noticed most western cities I have visited appeared to be endeavoring to all the time. Some cities like London are presented in a fashion to extract the last penny of the tourists. The visit to the Baltimore aquarium was an out of the world experience. I had never experienced the sight of whole whales and sharks put into multi-floored glass aquariums. The collection of exotic fishes and marine life was amazing. I never knew before that some fishes could conveniently change their sex many times during their lifetime. It even had a hot house complete with a tropical forest with green lizards. The visit to the Washington zoo was a delight, and of the many snaps that I took there, one was that of a giant orangutan suddenly appearing in a glass cage, terrifying my two year old nephew to tears. The cuddly Panda presented by the Chinese government to President Nixon during his maiden visit to China, sitting pompously, sedately chewing bamboo shoots, was a charming sight.

Soon my vacations were finished and I was on my way back to Manchester. Within days I was working day and night at the Department of Mechanical Engineering, trying to finish my Finite element code, and thoughts of U.S.A. all but forgotten. It is only now after nineteen years that I am able to remember that time, trying to placate my daughter Shiza, as she types, these words, telling her not to be cross, promising her to take everyone to all the places I have been to. I know I could have seen much more had I prolonged my stay in the U.S., but at that point of time, I had a job to finish coming back to Manchester, and I never feel sorry for missing the things others talk about. I am a person who savours the moment one is living in, and never feels sorry about things one could have had, or was denied.

Life has been one long tough struggle since that visit, and sometimes I wonder if the aneurisms in my brain will ever allow me to fulfill my promise to take my family to the places, I have been to, Tehran, Abadan, Isfahan, Shiraz, London, Manchester, to mention some. I can only leave them some memories by writing about them, and there really is so much to write about, not only about my experiences, but impressions about people with such diverse shades of political opinions and mind-sets, from the radical, revolutionary zeal of post-revolution Iranians to the political apathy of the mature British public, whose only active expressions of any political awareness, was that of going to the polls, and the genuine affection for the royal family, which they used to dote upon.