Age 6: 1968 – 69

My parents receive Life magazine in the mail. In one edition there is an article entitled ‘One Week’s Dead’. I count eleven pages of small photos of American soldiers killed in a war that is happening somewhere. I had never realised that so many Americans are black; I thought it was just a few. On American television programmes, we just see the occasional black person here and there.

Several editions of Life show photos of men going to the moon. I stare at them, enthralled. The pictures are amazing. They show the men at every stage of the journey: preparing, blasting off in a huge rocket, landing on the moon, coming back, splashing into the sea. These men are all white, unlike the ones killed in the war.

Age 9: 1971 – 72

… Also I discover a series of novels about an American boy called Danny Dunn. He knows a scientist (Professor Bullfinch) who is always inventing things, resulting in Danny Dunn and his friends having amazing adventures: time travel, space travel, being shrunk to the size of ants, travelling to the bottom of the sea, being trapped inside a fully automated house. (In one book, Danny Dunn and the Automatic House, a visitor mentions that he doesn’t drink tea, because ‘it’s full of tannin – the stuff they use to tan leather. You can imagine what it does to the stomach.’ I give up drinking tea immediately, switching to coffee as a healthier alternative.) America does seem like a good and exciting place; they have all the best inventions and adventures.

A new girl joins Hotham School, in a class adjacent to mine; she’s called Beth Schwartz and she’s from America. This is very exciting; I’ve never met a real American before! Her father is a famous musician and he is working in London for a while. Beth reads out one of her essays at our weekly Friday Concert; it’s about her move to England. I love her accent – it’s so exotic. In the essay she explains at great length that the ‘first floor’ of her new house is called the ‘ground floor’ here in England, the ‘second floor’ is called the ‘first floor’, and so on. (Fortunately, there are only three floors in her house, so this laborious clarification does not go on for too long.)

One June evening, I am going for a bicycle ride around my neighbourhood, when I pass Beth Schwartz, who is standing outside her rented house. She recognises me and waves, so I stop and we talk. We have a great conversation! She is such fun to chat with, and it’s exciting to be conversing with an American (and a girl). I sit there on my stationary bike and she just hangs around with me.

An amazing thing happens. We have a connection. Beth says that she likes reading, I mention Danny Dunn books, and she says that she loves them. I don’t believe it! I list the different Danny Dunn books I’ve read, and she says she’s read them all. Then she mentions one that I haven’t read: Danny Dunn and the Homework Machine. No, I’m sure I’ve never even heard of that one.

Eventually I set off on my bike again, but I feel a great exhilaration, a new excitement in my life. Beth Schwartz is my girlfriend! My girlfriend is Beth Schwartz! (At least, I think she is.)

Age 11: 1973 – 74

My mother’s brothers live in Canada, and this summer we get to visit them in Toronto (the first of many such visits). For the first time ever, we fly somewhere that isn’t Pakistan. Toronto is sunny, hot, exciting; everything seems very modern and larger than life. Even the sky seems bluer and deeper. Isn’t Canada just like America? A visit to that fabled country still remains elusive.

Age 14: 1976 – 77

Our Easter holiday is a dream come true. We fly to Toronto to visit my mother’s brothers, and from there we fly to Florida, to visit Disney World. This is unbelievable. I don’t know anyone in school who has actually been to America, let alone to Disney World. (Peldman would never be able to guess what I did in the Easter holidays.)

We pass through US Immigration and Customs at Toronto airport, before boarding the flight. The two US Immigration officers behind the counter are very friendly to begin with, but when my father tells them that we are going to visit Disney World, they become unimaginably jovial; they exude a bright aura of genuine joyful welcome. They ask my father what he’s taking with him; he answers, ‘Just my pyjamas,’ and they all laugh.

America is as exciting as I always imagined it would be. We fly into Tampa (we couldn’t get standby tickets to Orlando), and we are supposed to be taking a taxi to the Greyhound bus station but, on the way, my father manages an uncharacteristically good deal with the taxi driver to take us all the way to Orlando for thirty dollars. We hunt around for a motel and check in to the Red Carpet Inn. The receptionist is breathtakingly beautiful, like American women on television, and I love the sound of her voice. Although it is sweltering outside, the room seems freezing; everywhere here is air conditioned! Disney World is incredibly good fun and everyone in America is so nice and friendly. With everything being so big, bright, colourful and efficient, with delicious food everywhere (of the kind that is always a special takeaway treat at home), and everyone exuding cheerful friendliness, all of America seems to be like Disney World.

Age 15: 1977 – 78

The eighth of September is a horrible day in Iran, a country I’ve never thought about before. Hundreds of protesters (mostly students) in Tehran are killed by tanks and helicopter gunships. What were they protesting about? We learn all about this in a television documentary. Apparently the Shah of Iran runs a brutal regime and steals the oil wealth for himself and a small wealthy elite. He has a secret police force that arrests and tortures people who oppose him. He has been in power since 1953, when the American CIA (in Operation Ajax) overthrew the democratically elected president and installed the Shah as the supreme ruler.

This is confusing and makes it hard for me to figure out who is good and who is bad. The role of America in this is very disturbing, since America is one of the forces of good in the world. They probably didn’t know anything about the torture.

Age 20: 1982 – 83

There is an Exchange Programme to America which takes place in the third year. About twenty students from Stirling University swap places with students at American universities for one year. Selection for the programme is by an application form and interview process.

Janice and I attend a seminar about this Exchange Programme and we both become quite excited about the possibility of going. I think that it will be great fun; it is also an exclusive, prestigious experience. For sure, Janice and I will end up at the same place, Ben will be left behind (he is in the year above us and doesn’t qualify for the programme) and Janice will finally fall into a relationship with me, in sunny California! It can’t get any better. I spend all night working on the application form, the day before it’s due in. I am smugly satisfied to be called to an interview, which is scheduled for 8 p.m. one evening.

I present myself as the ideal ambassador for Stirling University; I choose to wear a suit and tie. This may be a mistake; the Selection Board is dressed quite casually. They ask me questions about why I want to go: I say that it will be a ‘good experience’. The scruffy student representative on the board, who went on the programme the previous year, asks me if I believe in Evolution or Creationism? I launch into a long discourse on how I believe that God created Man by means of Evolution (which is what I believe is hinted at in the Qur’an).

Age 21: 1983 – 84

Bill Goldman and I reflect on the academic year which is now drawing to a close, his time on exchange from the University of Illinois. He tells me that, during the year, he went to bed with three different girls on campus. I am stunned; how did this happen? Well, each time the girl met him somewhere, he chatted with her, she seemed to like him, invited him back to her room for coffee and then, instead of putting the kettle on, she proceeded to rip his clothes off.

‘What about … you know … protection?’

‘Oh, that was never a problem. I always carry a rubber in my wallet. Don’t you?’

I am taken aback by all of this. It seems that, just as I find American girls to be exotic, British girls find American men to be exotic. Bill has seen more action in two semesters than I could ever dream of; bastard! It’s true what they say about the trouble with Americans on campus; they are overpaid, oversexed and over here.

Age 37: 1999 – 2000

General Electric is organising my relocation from the United States to London, for my new European position. London will be the best location for my interactions between the US, Europe and India. I’ve loved living in America, and I’m sorry to be leaving, but I consider that this will be merely a long-distance relationship, not a divorce. America will always be a part of my life now.