A few days ago I got an email from one of these social networking sites telling me that “Vandad V” had a message for me. I opened the email and I was asked to click here and there to fill out forms in order to become a member of that particular network. But I didn’t find any message from Vandad.
Even though it appeared I had been spammed, I think I can still call him halalzadeh. In recent days I had been thinking of writing my next blog about our mutual childhood obsession with Shahrzad.
Vandad Vameghi and I were classmates in Abadan, from elementary up to first year of high school (late 1960’s to mid 1970’s). He was tall, strong and handsome, and I wasn’t. But I lived practically next door to Shahrzad in Braim, the exclusive part of town for the families of the oil company’s white collar employees. Vandad’s father was a teacher (later a history professor at Tehran University) and fortunately they lived far enough for me to “have” Shahrzad all to myself.
I remember I was around six or seven, sulking in a big round bamboo chair in our house. My older sisters, Suesan and Soraya, asked what was wrong with me.
“I love her,” I said.
“You love her?! Who?!”
“Shahrzad.”
That was it. My sisters teased me to no end. They should have slapped me silly instead. Love?! What did I know about love? Nothing, but I felt something powerful and it was all-consuming. I thought about Shahrzad night and day.
In elementary school, we had a driver who would take me, Shahrzad and a couple of other kids to school and back. When she got into the car I would not look at her. And I certainly would not talk to her. I froze in her presence. And it was the greatest feeling :o)
At school during recess, I would run around the yard, turn my fingers into binoculars and zoom onto Shahrzad and follow her every move. Total stalker.
I would go to birthday parties at her house and keep my distance. She would come to my birthday parties and I would not say a word to her. I could not look at her directly, only in the periphery of my vision.
My mother had bought beautiful peacock feathers and put them in a vase in the living room. I took (stole) one of them and walked to Shahrzad’s house. I gave it to her and said nothing. We sat across each other at their dining table to do homework. I did not say anything, I could not do anything. But I was there, with Shahrzad. It was the worst form of torture and it felt great.
Shahrzad on the other hand, had her eyes on Vandad. I was nowhere on her radar.
One day the driver had come to pick us up from school. Shahrzad was in the car and I was goofing around with a bunch of boys nearby. Vandad was there too and for some reason we got into a fight. I never fought anyone so I must have been in a jealous rage. Under normal circumstances, my ass would have been kicked easily. But after some pushing and shoving I took down my tall handsome rival — in full view of Shahrzad. I can honestly say it was one of the biggest achievements in my life.
It didn’t make any difference though. I couldn’t compete with Vandad. And we were still classmates — and friends.
Once he came over to our house to play. Of course Shahrzad was on our mind. We decided to go over to her house, unannounced, for no reason other than boyish curiosity. It was like today’s video games, only real: There were impossible hurdles (front gate), dragons (her parents) and hell fire (Abadan’s scorching sun). We could never get to the princess, or could we?
We found a hole in the shemshad fence around the house and sneaked in. We sped across the lawn and hid behind a wall by the kitchen. Scared to death. What if we were caught? Two nine-year-old boys with no excuse being there.
I knew Shahrzad’s room had a window that opened to the back yard, passed the shed where we played house one time. Vandad and I slowly walked towards her window. It was all so stupid and yet terribly exciting. We didn’t even know if Shahrzad was home, or in her room. And what if she was, then what?
We got to her window, bent over, to avoid being seen. We slowly raised our head. It was hard to see anything behind the screen. But there she was, the princess asleep in her bed.
***
I saw Vandad some 20 years later during my last trip to Tehran in 1995. He was so nice. He invited me to his house and we had dinner with his family.
Shahrzad is a good friend and we get together from time to time when I’m in Los Angeles.
