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On June 7, 1979, at the tender age of nine, my mother and I landed in the bustling heart of Bombay, India, at the crack of dawn — 4:30 AM. We had departed shell-shocked Iran on one of the last flights after the tumultuous revolution, leaving my father behind, who remained steadfastly hopeful that he could restore our lives before we all ventured to the United States.

Little did I know that night, as we touched down in this vibrant land, I would spend the transformative years of my life — ages nine to seventeen — in the enchanting realm of Mahatma Gandhi.

My mother, Malik Taj Sardar, born and raised in the lively city of Pune, was of Iranian heritage. She had returned to Iran in the early 1960s and married my father. Greeting us at the airport was her cherished friend from Sophia College, the ever warm and welcoming Suritha Aunty, whose kindness enveloped us like a comforting embrace.

Reza with his cousins Farah, Suzanne, Simone, Laila, and Zayed Khan.

Suritha Aunty and her wonderful family — her husband, Uncle Ragu, and their delightful children, Rajiv and Seema — opened their hearts and home at Gilistan Apartments on Peddar Road, sheltering us for the first month and a half.

My mother and I were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, grappling with the trauma of our sudden transition from a life of comfort to the uncertainty of being refugees. Through those years, Suritha Aunty became like a second mother to me.

As it became evident that my father could not escape Iran, my mother and I moved to a cozy room in the charming Navroze Apartments on Warden Road. I was a hyperactive boy with an insatiable passion for football and a knack for making friends.

Whether it was at Gulistan Apartments or Navroze, I forged bonds that have lasted through the years. I quickly immersed myself in the vibrant games of cricket, ping-pong, marbles, and carrom, each new experience painting a splash of color onto the canvas of my childhood.

As the situation in Iran worsened, India embraced us, and the warmth of every person we met collectively provided the emotional support we desperately needed. I began to understand and appreciate the rich tapestry of Indian culture — the land where my mother was born and raised until she was eighteen.

With the American hostage crisis looming, it became clear we were stuck in India for the foreseeable future. For the first time in her life, my mother had to go to work, securing a job at a midday newspaper selling advertisements.

At Navroze Apartments, I met my lifelong friends Sunil and Pramila Phatarphekar, whose father, Mr. Phatarphekar, welcomed us into their home and nurtured my love for reading by granting me access to his impressive library.

Nirmal Aunty was a culinary wizard, treating me to some of the most delectable meals I had ever tasted, while Sunil and Pramila introduced me to the electrifying sounds of The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, and Prince.

The under 13 boys Bombay city champions 1981! Reza is third on the bottom row from the left, next to the trophy.

Soon after, my mother made one of the best decisions of my life — enrolling me in the prestigious St. Mary’s ISC in Byculla. I quickly became an integral part of the football team, and within a year, I helped the under 13 boys clinch the Bombay City Championship, scoring both goals in the final match to transform a one-nil deficit into a glorious victory.

Overnight, I became a school hero, basking in the admiration of my peers. At St. Mary’s, I also met the real Persians — the Parsis of Bombay, descendants of the original Zoroastrians who had escaped Persia centuries ago. Our school was a vibrant mosaic of boys from all denominations, where respect for each other’s religions and customs flourished.

Shout out to my favourites — Sushil Sukhwani, Yusuf Allana, Rahul Divan, Mihir Mehta, Manu Gulati, and Prashant Daga — are you ready for the Rezanator?

The football heroes

Though academics proved challenging for my exuberant spirit — I was held back a year — I was meant to graduate with the Class of ’86 instead of ’85. Luckily, my visa process for the U.S. came through in January, just a few months before the board exams, where I would have been the only student likely not to pass — much to the relief of the St. Mary’s school officials! Ha ha!

During this time, the Breach Candy Club boasted a unique membership policy; only those with foreign passports could enter. Thanks to our status, I spent weekends mingling with children from various corners of the world, forging friendships that enriched my experience. I can’t wait to relive those cherished weekends at the Breach Candy Club, where so many unforgettable memories were born.

My mother’s second cousins were Bollywood legends Sanjay and Feroz Khan, and on some weekends, she whisked me away to Juhu, where I would visit my cousins Farah, Suzanne, Simone, Laila, and Fardeen Khan.

My uncle Sanjay’s wife, Zarine Aunty, had a heart of gold, showering my mother and me with kindness during a turbulent time in our lives. Both she and Uncle Abbas (Sanjay Khan) welcomed us with great humility. Sadly, Zarine Aunty passed away a few months ago, and I longed to see her on this trip. May she rest in peace.

The boys at St. Mary’s would often tease me, saying I was living the dream life in India — whether it was at the Breach Candy Club with charming German girls or hanging out with my Bollywood cousins.

My mother also ensured I stayed connected with other Iranians who had lived for generations in Bombay; one of my close friends growing up was the formidable boxer Mehdi Shirazi, alongside his cousin Reza, an incredible swimmer. And of course, my dear friend Feroz Mujawar, who took me to the airport when I left India, tears streaming down my face, knowing I would be away for many years.

India in the early '80s was a vibrant tapestry of experiences. I still recall the classic Fiat and Ambassador cars and the simplicity of a time before cell phones, the internet, and social media wove themselves into our lives.

Waiting for the school bus every day, surrounded by poverty, helped me understand what life is all about and how hard it can be.

Yet, it was India that became the cornerstone of my identity. It left an indelible footprint in my heart that I will cherish forever. In those seven years, I learned invaluable lessons about humility, family respect, and cultural richness. Eventually, my father escaped Iran, embarking on a journey to America as a political asylum recipient. On January 8, 1986, I joined him, stepping into a new chapter of my life at seventeen.

I will return to Bombay — now Mumbai — for my 40th reunion at St. Mary’s School. A few of us boys from the old days have arranged an exhilarating football match with alumni from different classes to relive our glory days.

I eagerly anticipate reconnecting with family and friends I haven’t seen in over 40 years. This trip is a dream come true!

I am profoundly grateful to the people and culture of India for providing shelter and acceptance during some of the most pivotal years of my life. Thank you, India, for your majesty and mystery, for allowing me to flourish in your breathtaking beauty. I can’t wait to see you again!

As the wheels touch down in a city that will always be Bombay to me, I’ll be humming the Indian national anthem, filled with nostalgia and excitement.

About the author: Reza Garajedaghi is the Manager of Recruiting and Outreach at Thomas Jefferson School of Law in San Diego. His entire career in the US has been in college admissions, and he has worked for several schools such as UC Santa Barbara, Brooks Institute of Photography, New School of Architecture, Pacific College of Oriental and California Flight Academy.