6/28/2007
A True Story-Part 4
On a Friday in May, I went to Radio Zamaneh’s website , as I frequently do. There was an interview with a scholar about women in Iranian history, a topic which I would normally devour upon spotting! I couldn’t believe it! There she was in the photograph, being interviewed as an expert on Islamic history and gender equality! My childhood idol, the one who inspired me to love dance to this day, the one I would imitate in my bedroom mirror, trying to walk just like her, was standing behind a podium in the blurred photograph, looking poised and confident still, bespectacled and a little older, but beautiful just the same, and totally recognizable for me.
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5 comments:
Good Lord, What is her name? LOL
Serendip, you'll have to wait just one more post! I'll tell you her name then! By the way, I wanted to send you something to read, and I wasn't smart enough to figure out your email address from your blog! Is it even there? Be good Serendip.
Here is my email: deletion10p13@inbox.com
P.S: You're one of the smartest women I know. Don't ever forget that.
Isn't it funny how we always end up crossing paths with people who were very significant in our pasts (and most of the time, these people didn't even dream of their own significance in our eyes)?
Yes, Assal Jan. In interior design school in Tehran many (many) moons ago, I had a teacher, a wonderful Harvard-educated Jewish man. He taught me to look at paintings and art and search for the light and its source. He taught me that the more subtle that source is, the more significant the work of that artist is. Years passed. When I attended a memorial service for a dear Jewish friend in Los Angeles, I ran into my teacher, who was now older, and looked sorrowful for turns his life had taken. As I walked up to him and told him the significance he had had in my life, the pure joy his teachings had brought me all my life, and how honored I was to have a chance to see him again and to thank him, he started crying and smiling at the same time. This being a memorial service, no one took notice of the man and woman talking, smiling, and crying in a corner. We knew, though, the significance of this chance repeat meeting, of a student acknowledging a teacher in the most unusual place and time. Be good Assal Jan.
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