My name is
Kevin Shah & I am a businessman ( that too a Guju one ) & in the
business of making "Chemical Processing Equipment" called "Mass
Transfer Products" like Fractionation Trays & Random or Structured
Packings made for Chemical Process plants like Petroleum Refineries &
Petrochemical plants. Still awake?
I am sure that by now you are happy with just a "Okay whatever" and hung-up on your interest in my profession.
Having read the problems that Sharukh Khan recently got into with the USA immigration's dept, because of his name, I thought of sharing the below piece with you.
My business calls for my traveling to places where there is a lot of petrol namely, The Middle East - places like Iran. BTW, No, I don't go to Saudi Arabia for obvious reasons - as a married gentleman that I am, I don't look at other women straight in the eyes, which I am "forced" to in an eye-for-eye Saudi. Further, it being a dry country, I do not get 'my petrol' there.
My business also requires me go to to the post Bushy-land USA. What world calls petrol, Americans being Americans, call it "gas". It's not a dry country, one does get one's petrol..... & also 'gas' there......esp. if consumed with Mexican food, which is now an American hijacked dish !
Post Sept 11th, my life, like that of Shakrukh Khan, has changed a bit as the super power is now scared of the little me. This is the kind of routine that I must go thru, each time I'm an uninvited guest of the John F Kennedy Airport immigrations dept.
For starts, I fit the mould formulated by their intelligence dept ' Look out for Al Qaeda operatives visiting mainland America, incognito - handsome, clean shaven male, middle eastern looking, mid aged & kinda sorta crazy lookin guy '; I am thus easily spotted by the FBI installed secret airport cameras & am selected as a suspect, even before reaching the lucky immigration window # 13.
And when I do........
Immigration Officer ( already informed thru microphone by FBI guys on The 'approaching suspect'; trying to act cool): Hello, welcome to America.
Me ( trying to act cooler, chewing a chewing gum, twisting my chin & in an American accent) : ThanX.
Officer : What brings you to America?
Me: Business.
Officer : What sorta business?
Me : We make Chemical Processing Equipment.
Officer : Who is 'we'.
Me : It's our family business.
Officer : You have family in the USA ?
Me : No.
Officer ( accusingly ) : YOU said it's our family business.
Me ( rolling my eyes ) : Family is in India, all of it.
Officer ( thinking we make chemical weapons ) : What sorta Chemicals does your family possess, I mean process.
Me ( trying to mildly ridicule him, rolling my eyes ) : Not Chemicals Sir, Chemical Processing Equipment.
Officer ( thinking Nuclear reactor ) : Equipment eh? Like a reactor or something ?
Me ( chewing the chewing gum harder, twisting chin harder, in American accent, raising my arms in air) : No, its something different.
Officer : Go ahead, I'm interested, tell me about it.
Me: It's called Mass Transfer Products.
Officer ( Thinking Weapons of Mass Destruction ) : Go ahead, I'm interested, tell me more about it.
Me: It's a bit technical.
Officer : Are you saying, I won't understand?
Me ( Raising my arms in air, twisting chin amricun istyle) : Okay...It's Mass Transfer Products like Fractionation Trays & random or structured Packings used in Chemical Process plants like Petroleum Refineries.
Officer ( not convinced, not wanting to be out done ): Why don't you elaborate, what these mass transfer whatevers do.
Me ( Raising my arms in air, with practice now twisting chin in perfect amricun istyle) : Okay... In a distillation tower of the refinery, some liquid condensate goes down and vapor goes up the tower and we make contacting devices that provide for an intimate contact between the counter flowing fluids having differential boiling points, so that some mass of one fluid gets absorbed or adsorbed into the other and we help bring about that desired transfer of mass between the fluids.
Officer ( not understanding & hanging up on this topic ) : Okay whatever.
Me: Okay
Officer :Lets talk of other things.
Me ( trying to easy the atmosphere with my lousy desi sense of humor ): Would you considering buying my products Sir?
Officer ( silent & not amused, wondering if I am the first terrorist in the world with a sense of humor ): Hmmmmm
Me ( sensing victory, pondering in my mind - maybe he got his Govt job in a American schedule tribe or OBC category? ) : Okay, anything else.
Officer : You can't run yet, tell me, why do you have a I-ran visa in your passport?
Me ( trying to not look cheeky, calling Iran as the world & Persians calls it ) : Oh, I went to ee-Ran.
Officer : I know that, why did you go to I-ran?
Me : Business.
Officer : What sorta business?
Me : We make Chemical Processing Equipment.
Officer : Who is WE ( realizing we have gone thru this, pause ) I mean, who is THEY.
Me : They ?
Officer : They, who buy from you in I-ran
Me: Govt companies.
Officer : Who do you meet there?
Me : Govt officials
Officer : Why must you meet Govt officials?
Me : Because they work in companies that are owned by Govt
Officer ( very suspicious, thinking I have got training there ) : You are Kevin Shah
Me ( trying to actually look cheeky ) : Think so, that's what the passport says !
Officer : Like the famous Shah of Iran
Me ( winking ) : I guess, though I could do with some more fame.
Officer : You got family in Iran
Me : Family is in India, all of it...( muttering under my breath - "remember, I already told you so you you #@8%+/ !") !
Officer : Your passport says, first name is Kevin, is that real?
Me ( trying to not look cheeky ): Yes it is, it's a real passport.
Officer ( sounding very annoyed, raising voice ): Your first name and your last name is that real?
Me ( enjoying, pretending to be a dumb ): Oh YES it is, I mean yes they are, both of them are real names, the first one and the last one. Passport also.
Officer : Have you changed your name, EVER?
Me ( trying to rhyme his last word with my first word ) : NEVER.
Officer : Have you changed your last name, EVER?
Me ( trying to rhyme his last word with my first word followed with Indian accent ) : NEVER. Last name is exactly as my parents gave me from first Only....you know what I mean No?
Officer ( looking me straight in the eye ): You got an Irish first name and an Islamist last name, kinda funny huh?
Me ( shrugging my shoulder & looking straight back ): kinda fact Sir.
Officer : If I may ask, you Christian or Muslim?
Me : Neither
Officer : Holy shit, you are from Indiyeah huh? So you wachyamuhcallit must be a Hindu?
Me : Holy cow, No.
Officer: NO? So you won't tell me what you are?
Me : It's a bit technical
Officer :Are you saying, I won't understand.
Me ( Raising my arms in air, twisting chin amricun istyle): Okay, I'm a Jain, which is not Hindu but kinda an offshoot of Hinduism.....you know.
Officer ( interrupting & pleased with his GK ): Aa-ha I know. Zen, now that's Japanese, see I do know something....
Me ( interrupting his joy ) : I'm Indian.
Officer ( sensing snafu) : You follow Zen?
Me : J A I N not Z E N.
Officer ( frustrated with me & self. Actually wanting to borrow that imagined under clothing strapped suicide bomb from me ): Here's your passport.
Me ( by now enjoying all this, as next connecting flight is still 4 hrs away ) : You don't want to know about Jain?
Officer: you're outa here.
Me ( remembering to demonstrate my manners, stretching my arm for a hand shake ): Nice meeting you Sir.
Officer ( looking away ) : NEXT IN LINE PLEASE !
So Sharukh, you are not the only one - my business & business travels too requires my attention for more than normal reasons. Next time US immigration dept bugs you, don't call that mantri-ji to bail you out, just work on real life acting to willingly get "kicked out".
Oh, abhi to picture baki hai !..... then being done with by the immigration fellow, I faced the Customs Food & Drug Control guy:
Officer ( on opening my bag ) : You got food, what's that?
Me ( new formula - shaking my head side to side pivoted on my stiff neck, in my nat-o-ral Guju accent ): This is Gujarati Khakhara, Thepla & Murabba.
Officer ( having enough experience with Indians, already upset ): WHAT THE F.. F.. food.. IS That?
Me ( remembering to demonstrate my mostest Indian manners, allowing him to trespass on my Guju hospitality ): Take-bhai take, taste some.
Officer ( looking away ) : NEXT IN LINE PLEASE !
As Rudyard Kipling did not, but could have ode-ed " Oh, Business is Business, and Writing is Writing, and never the two shall meet; Till Earth & Sky stand presently at Gods great Judgment seat !"
I am sure that by now you are happy with just a "Okay whatever" and hung-up on your interest in my profession.
Having read the problems that Sharukh Khan recently got into with the USA immigration's dept, because of his name, I thought of sharing the below piece with you.
My business calls for my traveling to places where there is a lot of petrol namely, The Middle East - places like Iran. BTW, No, I don't go to Saudi Arabia for obvious reasons - as a married gentleman that I am, I don't look at other women straight in the eyes, which I am "forced" to in an eye-for-eye Saudi. Further, it being a dry country, I do not get 'my petrol' there.
My business also requires me go to to the post Bushy-land USA. What world calls petrol, Americans being Americans, call it "gas". It's not a dry country, one does get one's petrol..... & also 'gas' there......esp. if consumed with Mexican food, which is now an American hijacked dish !
Post Sept 11th, my life, like that of Shakrukh Khan, has changed a bit as the super power is now scared of the little me. This is the kind of routine that I must go thru, each time I'm an uninvited guest of the John F Kennedy Airport immigrations dept.
For starts, I fit the mould formulated by their intelligence dept ' Look out for Al Qaeda operatives visiting mainland America, incognito - handsome, clean shaven male, middle eastern looking, mid aged & kinda sorta crazy lookin guy '; I am thus easily spotted by the FBI installed secret airport cameras & am selected as a suspect, even before reaching the lucky immigration window # 13.
And when I do........
Immigration Officer ( already informed thru microphone by FBI guys on The 'approaching suspect'; trying to act cool): Hello, welcome to America.
Me ( trying to act cooler, chewing a chewing gum, twisting my chin & in an American accent) : ThanX.
Officer : What brings you to America?
Me: Business.
Officer : What sorta business?
Me : We make Chemical Processing Equipment.
Officer : Who is 'we'.
Me : It's our family business.
Officer : You have family in the USA ?
Me : No.
Officer ( accusingly ) : YOU said it's our family business.
Me ( rolling my eyes ) : Family is in India, all of it.
Officer ( thinking we make chemical weapons ) : What sorta Chemicals does your family possess, I mean process.
Me ( trying to mildly ridicule him, rolling my eyes ) : Not Chemicals Sir, Chemical Processing Equipment.
Officer ( thinking Nuclear reactor ) : Equipment eh? Like a reactor or something ?
Me ( chewing the chewing gum harder, twisting chin harder, in American accent, raising my arms in air) : No, its something different.
Officer : Go ahead, I'm interested, tell me about it.
Me: It's called Mass Transfer Products.
Officer ( Thinking Weapons of Mass Destruction ) : Go ahead, I'm interested, tell me more about it.
Me: It's a bit technical.
Officer : Are you saying, I won't understand?
Me ( Raising my arms in air, twisting chin amricun istyle) : Okay...It's Mass Transfer Products like Fractionation Trays & random or structured Packings used in Chemical Process plants like Petroleum Refineries.
Officer ( not convinced, not wanting to be out done ): Why don't you elaborate, what these mass transfer whatevers do.
Me ( Raising my arms in air, with practice now twisting chin in perfect amricun istyle) : Okay... In a distillation tower of the refinery, some liquid condensate goes down and vapor goes up the tower and we make contacting devices that provide for an intimate contact between the counter flowing fluids having differential boiling points, so that some mass of one fluid gets absorbed or adsorbed into the other and we help bring about that desired transfer of mass between the fluids.
Officer ( not understanding & hanging up on this topic ) : Okay whatever.
Me: Okay
Officer :Lets talk of other things.
Me ( trying to easy the atmosphere with my lousy desi sense of humor ): Would you considering buying my products Sir?
Officer ( silent & not amused, wondering if I am the first terrorist in the world with a sense of humor ): Hmmmmm
Me ( sensing victory, pondering in my mind - maybe he got his Govt job in a American schedule tribe or OBC category? ) : Okay, anything else.
Officer : You can't run yet, tell me, why do you have a I-ran visa in your passport?
Me ( trying to not look cheeky, calling Iran as the world & Persians calls it ) : Oh, I went to ee-Ran.
Officer : I know that, why did you go to I-ran?
Me : Business.
Officer : What sorta business?
Me : We make Chemical Processing Equipment.
Officer : Who is WE ( realizing we have gone thru this, pause ) I mean, who is THEY.
Me : They ?
Officer : They, who buy from you in I-ran
Me: Govt companies.
Officer : Who do you meet there?
Me : Govt officials
Officer : Why must you meet Govt officials?
Me : Because they work in companies that are owned by Govt
Officer ( very suspicious, thinking I have got training there ) : You are Kevin Shah
Me ( trying to actually look cheeky ) : Think so, that's what the passport says !
Officer : Like the famous Shah of Iran
Me ( winking ) : I guess, though I could do with some more fame.
Officer : You got family in Iran
Me : Family is in India, all of it...( muttering under my breath - "remember, I already told you so you you #@8%+/ !") !
Officer : Your passport says, first name is Kevin, is that real?
Me ( trying to not look cheeky ): Yes it is, it's a real passport.
Officer ( sounding very annoyed, raising voice ): Your first name and your last name is that real?
Me ( enjoying, pretending to be a dumb ): Oh YES it is, I mean yes they are, both of them are real names, the first one and the last one. Passport also.
Officer : Have you changed your name, EVER?
Me ( trying to rhyme his last word with my first word ) : NEVER.
Officer : Have you changed your last name, EVER?
Me ( trying to rhyme his last word with my first word followed with Indian accent ) : NEVER. Last name is exactly as my parents gave me from first Only....you know what I mean No?
Officer ( looking me straight in the eye ): You got an Irish first name and an Islamist last name, kinda funny huh?
Me ( shrugging my shoulder & looking straight back ): kinda fact Sir.
Officer : If I may ask, you Christian or Muslim?
Me : Neither
Officer : Holy shit, you are from Indiyeah huh? So you wachyamuhcallit must be a Hindu?
Me : Holy cow, No.
Officer: NO? So you won't tell me what you are?
Me : It's a bit technical
Officer :Are you saying, I won't understand.
Me ( Raising my arms in air, twisting chin amricun istyle): Okay, I'm a Jain, which is not Hindu but kinda an offshoot of Hinduism.....you know.
Officer ( interrupting & pleased with his GK ): Aa-ha I know. Zen, now that's Japanese, see I do know something....
Me ( interrupting his joy ) : I'm Indian.
Officer ( sensing snafu) : You follow Zen?
Me : J A I N not Z E N.
Officer ( frustrated with me & self. Actually wanting to borrow that imagined under clothing strapped suicide bomb from me ): Here's your passport.
Me ( by now enjoying all this, as next connecting flight is still 4 hrs away ) : You don't want to know about Jain?
Officer: you're outa here.
Me ( remembering to demonstrate my manners, stretching my arm for a hand shake ): Nice meeting you Sir.
Officer ( looking away ) : NEXT IN LINE PLEASE !
So Sharukh, you are not the only one - my business & business travels too requires my attention for more than normal reasons. Next time US immigration dept bugs you, don't call that mantri-ji to bail you out, just work on real life acting to willingly get "kicked out".
Oh, abhi to picture baki hai !..... then being done with by the immigration fellow, I faced the Customs Food & Drug Control guy:
Officer ( on opening my bag ) : You got food, what's that?
Me ( new formula - shaking my head side to side pivoted on my stiff neck, in my nat-o-ral Guju accent ): This is Gujarati Khakhara, Thepla & Murabba.
Officer ( having enough experience with Indians, already upset ): WHAT THE F.. F.. food.. IS That?
Me ( remembering to demonstrate my mostest Indian manners, allowing him to trespass on my Guju hospitality ): Take-bhai take, taste some.
Officer ( looking away ) : NEXT IN LINE PLEASE !
As Rudyard Kipling did not, but could have ode-ed " Oh, Business is Business, and Writing is Writing, and never the two shall meet; Till Earth & Sky stand presently at Gods great Judgment seat !"
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