PERUSHA

 

I met Perusha when I joined Bell Canada in Riyadh. About 100 British employees had been recruited to support the Canadian contingent already working there, and all arrived within days of each other. We were housed in accommodation blocks of 16 rooms per block. The blocks had a central corridor with 8 en-suite rooms on each side and 2 recreation rooms, one for games and reading the other for TV. Outside there was a swimming pool, gymnasium and large canteen. When we arrived we were allocated rooms but quickly swapped around so that similar age / colleagues / interests were generally in the same blocks.

 

Perusha was an Iranian with a UK passport aged about late 40’s. He was below average height and was very tubby, bald on top with a fringe of hair around the sides and a jolly face with a double chin. He also had the most highly polished shoes I had ever seen. His room was two doors away from mine.

 

Most employees were bused to work in the head office, with the exception of a few like myself who had vehicles provided because were required to travel around. Everyone took breakfast around 06.00 with the buses leaving at 06.30 and 06.45. I noticed Perusha because of the enormous amount of food on his breakfast tray, enough for about 5 people, however he ate the whole lot himself.

 

On the third day when I arrived back from work his room door was open and he was sitting lotus fashion on a mound of cushions, his highly polished shoes on a rack with many others. He had bowls of fruit and nuts around him. “Hi, Charles” he said “want a snack?” I declined saying I would go to the canteen later for dinner. As I was sitting with others in the canteen I noticed Perusha again filling his tray with soup and a double portion of everything that was on offer including desserts. “Just look at that glutton!” one of the guys observed.

 

When I visited Head Office about twice each week I had to pass Perusha’s desk and he always waylaid me for a chat, and whilst chatting would open his desk drawers and offer a “quick snack”. His drawers were always full of food – apples, oranges, chocolates, dates, nuts etc., and he was constantly munching. He also had a small fridge stocked with soft drinks. As I got to know him I discovered that he was a mathematician working on complex telecom design projects.

 

Back at the accommodation, within a couple of weeks his room had exploded with soft furnishings, shelves, bookcases full of books, artistic objects and the like – it really looked beautiful. As his door was always open everyone noted it, everyone else’s rooms being very basic. When people went past he always called out a friendly greeting.

Days later he incorporated a small kitchen and cooker, employed a Pakistani labourer as his after work cook, cleaner and general factotum. Everyone was intrigued. He would still eat in the canteen, but then have Indian, Pakistani and Iranian style foods cooked for him which he consumed just a couple of hours after eating in the canteen, in the interim nibbling fruit, nuts, candy, biscuits and much more.

 

One evening he again invited me for a snack, and having refused so many times I agreed and sat with him eating dates. On a shelf he had a Koran, a Buddhist figure, also a paper picture of Jesus. I commented on them knowing he was a Muslim, because he went to prayer at the appointed times. “Yes.” he said. “But who really knows which religion is right, or indeed if any of them are? I pray to them all in turn – what’s the harm?”

 

He told me something of his life. He used to own a small bespoke shoe manufacturing works in Tehran. When Ayatollah Khomeini returned from exile, life changed dramatically. The middle classes were persecuted, people were being executed on trumped up charges without proper trials, newspapers were closed and life became intolerable.

Having a British passport he sold whatever he could, losing most of his investments, and left for England, unfortunately leaving his sister and brother-in-law behind – they had no passports of any nationality. He wrote to them constantly but never received any reply and did not know what had become of them. He then worked for British Telecom for a while and then came to Riyadh with the rest of us. I remember wondering how he kept so jolly with such a background.

 

Whilst everyone was pleasant towards Perusha, although amused by his insatiable appetite, there was one young man – Keith, who came from Northumberland, who took a dislike to him. Keith, aged about 22, was a fitness fanatic who went to the gym after work each day, and unfortunately had a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Although Perusha would always speak pleasantly to Keith, the responses were always snide. Keith always referred to Perusha as “Fatso” and was very rude about his eating, physical appearance and more. Perusha never responded and remained pleasant. Some of us told Keith to “lay-off” with his antisocial behavior, but it only made things worse.

 

It was Christmas Eve and we were having a party in the recreation room, there was plenty of illegal wine. Everyone was having a good time telling jokes and laughing. When Perusha decided to join us, which he rarely did being a strict teetotaler, he brought a huge basket of “goodies”, all types of candy and chocolates and asked everyone to share. Keith immediately denounced Fatso and made unpleasant comments about us not wanting to become the fat, weak and useless person that Perusha was. The room went quiet with embarrassment.

 

“Keith, do you really think that I am weak?” he asked. “Of course” Keith answered.

“Let’s put it to the test then, do you know how to arm wrestle?”

A square was drawn on a games table and the contest began, Keith swaggering up to the table with a large grin, Perusha sitting quietly waiting. They clasped hands, elbows inside the square and at the count of three started. After 10 minutes there had been no movement but Keith was sweating profusely, Perusha however was as calm as a statue. After 20 minutes Keith was visibly shaking when Perusha slowly put him out of his misery - gently pushing Keith’s wrist over to win - resulting in cheers from the watchers.

“You go to the gym each day?” Keith sullenly nodded. Sitting down on the carpet Perusha grasped one of his ankles and lifting his leg put the ankle behind his neck. “Now you give it a try.” Keith tried and only succeeded in toppling over. Perusha then also put his other ankle behind his neck and balanced himself with one hand on the floor. More falling about from Keith.

Putting both palms flat on the floor Perusha now lifted himself up, ankles behind neck and bottom swinging between his arms, and walked round the floor on his hands. Then unwrapping himself he stood up, jumped and did a forward roll finishing by springing to his feet, to loud cheering and disbelief from us all. He bowed theatrically and leaving said “Merry Christmas everyone, please enjoy the goodies.”

 

No one knew at the time, but it turned out that Perusha had been a top amateur Iranian wrestler until he had fled to the UK.

 

Coming back from work a week or so later and passing Perusha’s room, as usual he called hello and offered a snack, I said no, but noticed that Keith was sitting lotus style in the room eating dates and chatting – a nice surprise.

Over the weeks everyone noticed Keith spending more time with Perusha, and also noticed a marked improvement in Keith’s general attitude and disposition.

 

Perusha in Bangkok

After our 8 months minimum contract term with Bell Canada, many of us resigned – mainly the younger and/or unmarried ones – the older and marrieds staying on for a full 2 years.

 

About 15 of us decided to fly to Bangkok and meet up for a week’s binge before going our separate ways. We all flew over a 3 day period, Perusha being the first to fly. I arrived 12 hours later around midnight and we met at the pre-arranged hotel lobby the next morning.

“Let’s have breakfast” were the first words after our greeting. “Not here, I know a lovely café.”

“But I thought you had never been to Bangkok before?” I said.

Two minutes later we entered a small café with about 16 seats. The elderly man behind the counter broke in to a huge smile and rushed forward. Shouting for his wife he threw his arm around Perusha’s shoulder and guided us to a table. His wife joined us and shook Perusha’s hand warmly.

“I came in here last evening and had wonderful food, they even stayed open late for me and I tried so many dishes.”

I now understood the rapturous greeting. I had a nice breakfast whilst watching dish after dish being negotiated with the owner and his wife, recommending this and that. There just seemed no end to the amount of food he could consume.

Then he wanted to go to a food market “the biggest you know” he explained to the taxi driver. We walked around for hours, hot and sweaty. Buying one of every edible item, he bit in to and tasted it. If liked it he bought more and put them in to his large shoulder bag. I nibbled a small piece of everything but struggled - my stomach being heavy and overburdened. He drank every weird concoction that street vendors were offering (providing it was non-alcoholic) and was laughing and bargaining with the stall holders, thoroughly enjoying himself. By mid-afternoon I gave up and went back to my hotel for a siesta.

 

That evening another six arrived from Riyadh and meeting up we all went to a bar. Whilst we were drinking beer and having a good time Perusha, whilst listening to our conversations and jokes, had commandeered a young waitress who was keeping him provided with a steady stream of juices and dishes from the extensive bar menu. On the table was an array of the food that we had bought in the markets which he was encouraging us all to try – he was enjoying himself so much.

 

On the third day the rest arrived and we all had a few days of riotous fun. I took the opportunity to ask Perusha how he had managed to change Keith - who was not in Bangkok, having flown straight back to the UK. He became serious. “Keith, although he pretended to be happy, was actually very unhappy. My exhibition at Christmas made him feel foolish, although that was not my intention. I asked him to join me after work for a snack and just talked to him quietly about life, its wonders, how to enjoy it, make friends and understand that all people are different. Even if you don’t particularly like someone – try to understand them, everyone has a right to happiness.

I did it very slowly in general conversation – no preaching, and slowly it seemed to take root. I will of course never see Keith again but hope that he has a happy and successful life.”

 

I asked Perusha what his future plans were and he said that with the money he had now saved he was going to make a concerted effort to find his sister and brother-in-law, and if he did find them, to try to get them out of Iran.

 

A few days later our group broke up and with the exception of John, who lived with his wife in Pattaya, I never saw or heard from any of them again – such is the life of the expat worker.