Music Players, Ashayer Festival, Lorestan, November 2007.In a quiet middle-class suburb of Tehran in 1975, three friends attended a co-ed middle school. Amir, Maryam, and Morteza were 13. Inseparable at school and after school, the three friends were known as “The Three Musketeers,” creating havoc at school, playing games and sports together, and hanging out in nearby shops and eateries. Maryam was a beautiful tomboy, with long auburn hair and freckles, Amir a lanky, blue-eyed terror, and Morteza was the dark and mysterious bookworm whose attraction to the other two nobody understood. Seventh grade passed quickly with minor reprimands from school authorities and parents and more laughter than the group would experience in the years to come. In the sleepy unaware state the whole nation seemed to exist, life was full of joy and happiness for the unruly group. Summer of 1976 passed in a blur and the three friends united again in Eighth grade. A few months into the school year, on the eve of
Yalda, the Winter Solstice, near the water fountain (
abkhori) at school, Amir confessed his love for Maryam. Maryam, ever the playful soul, laughed and replied, "
basheh," (O.K.)! In the coming weeks, Amir’s moments of adolescent love and excitement, however, took a backseat to his concerns over his mother’s health. She had been diagnosed with cancer. During the 1977 school year, Amir’s mother passed away, leaving the 15-year old boy bereft and quiet. His two friends tried endlessly to console him, to no avail.
The following year saw the three friends’ separation. Maryam was sent to an all-girls’ high school, Amir was sent to attend high school in the US, and Morteza was enrolled in a boarding school in the UK. Just like that, the three were separated to fend for themselves in a world devoid of the easy camaraderie and friendship they had found so essential to their happiness. Though Morteza and Amir stayed in touch, Maryam lost contact with the two friends. Maryam’s parents took her and her older sister on a trip to US in the summer of 1978, and as they watched demonstrations on Tehran streets on American television, left her to attend high school there. A Revolution happed in Iran.
(To be continued.)
Music Players, Ashayer Festival, Lorestan, November 2007.
24 comments:
سلام نازی جان
چه داستان جالبی. و چه زیبا می نویسید. مشتاق مطالعه ی ادامه داستان هستم.
What did happen then?
begoo dige...
سلام نازی خانم.
یک قصه بیش نیست غم عشق وین عجب
کز هر زبان که می شنوم نا مکرر است
عشق های نوجوانی غالبا ناکام می مانند.زجری ازین دست کشیده ام که مپرس.اول بگو ببینم کل داستان را یکجا داری و می خواهی ذره ذره بنویسی یا اینکه نه،هر بار اندکی می نویسی؟نمیدانم چرا یاد داستان آرزوهای بزرگ چارلز دیکنز افتادم.اگر در هر قسمت کمی تخیلت را جولان می دادی و برخی رویداد ها را با جزییات می نوشتی حاصل کار یک رمان می شد.همه نمی توانند اما من فکر می کنم تو می توانی.می گی نه امتحان کن.
من اصلا طاقت ندارم منتظر ادامه بمونم
...
نازي عزيز ، امروز که اومدم اينجا، به اين فکر مي کردم که چقدر بزرگي ، چقدر ذهنت ابعاد وسيع و متنوعي داره
و چقدر از اينکه مي شناسمت ، احساس خوبي دارم
و اينکه خيلي دلم براي صداي شاد و پرانرژي ات تنگ شده
دلم مي خواد يه عالمه بوسه هاي برفي بفرستم برات
سلام شبانه من به تو نازی عزیزم!
منتظرمممممممممممم
It's not fair to tease us...
I need to read the entire story or else I'll go to sleep unsatisfied!
waiting for part 2...!
I think i want to read a love story.....i want to hear the song...A special song.....I just want to imagine that love is true....Love is real....is it?
There is a paradox....Imagine and real....
But sometimes all of us need a love story....to write , to read or to have.....
Now
I am waiting for the rest of the story Nazy jan
common Nazzy. Finish the story already. I cannot wait :-(
..................waitingggggggg
marzieh
I think this is that love story that you promise to say to us...
that love Story that you can' come to iran cause of it !
Salam Bar Shirin and welcome to my blog. Thank you for taking the time to leave a comment. I will post another part of the story soon. I had to learn the hard way that a) I cannot have really long posts, because it bores my readers, and b) When I break a long post into several pieces, I have to pace posting them, otherwise the multiple related posts make my blog boring. Plus, it is a "Yalda" story, and Yalda won't be here until next Friday! Bear with me. I will tell the story, I promise! Come again Shirin Jan.
Leva Jan, Chetori azizam? Be patient. I will tell you!
Salam Masoud Jan:
Thank you for your supportive words. I do have the whole story (it is a true story), but I am writing the story in sections. Once the story is completed and posted here, I will consolidate it, embellish it, and publish it on Iranian.com. That's if those in the story will let me publish it there.
As I explained to Shirin above, telling a story in a blog has to be done in the summary fashion, otherwise readers get bored. Blogspot doesn't let me "tuck" portions of the story in other parts of the blog, and a long story becomes visually tedious. I would like to write a book someday, which will be comprised of short stories. A novel doesn't seem like something I will be able to pull off at this time.
My brother who is a very well-read man has encouraged me to write a book. He said the best books are never by the best writers, but are by people who have a story to tell. In his brotherly love for me, he thinks I have a lot of stories to tell! Someday I will tell them to a larger audience in a book, I hope. Until then, I am grateful for my readers' kind support here. This means the world to me. Shad bash Masoud Jan.
Salam Nedaye Azizam:
Your kind words embarrass me! You are too kind to me. You can't get ahead of the story, because it will spoil it! I promise to tell the rest soon.
Is it snowing there? I am so familiar with snowy Tehran days and I miss them endlessly. One snowy day I had an important 10:00 a.m. meeting and I called a taxi (agance) at 8:00 a.m. It never arrived! I spent the day all dressed up to go out and looking at the snow from my window. I miss it tonight. Be happy and have a good day in Tehran azizam.
Marzieh Jan: Soon! I promise.
Salam Bar Nima:
I'm so glad to see you here again. I finally found the time to do some "blog housekeeping" today and added the link to your delightful blog. I love Gilan. I adopted Gilan as one of my homes when I fell in love with it 10 years ago. I am a "Rashti-e-Eftekhari" now. Be good Nima Jan.
Assal Joonam: Please read my explanations about pacing the piece in my replies to other readers. Have sweet dreams and read the next piece this weekend. Be good azizam.
Niloofar Jan:
The tricky thing about love is that it is so addictive! Once you have experienced that feeling, all your life you will look for it, and you won't rest until you find the love that past its exciting and exhilirating days, can also give you peace and constant joy. For most of us who have had heartbreaks, the search goes on. You are young and wonderful and one of these days, you will be struck by the thunder of love, I am sure. I can't wait to hear your stories and read your poetry then. I added your link to my humble blog today. Be good soulful Niloo.
Dear Ehsan:
I laughed reading your comment! You are so sheitoon! I know you wrote that comment "tongue in cheek!" You have to bear with me, though as side by side of the more serious posts, occasionally I have to write the more "lovey-dovey" thigs my fingers itch to write, getting those feelings out of my system. Take care Ehsan Jan and my best to beautiful Maryam.
wOw
من جدا لذت بردم مرسی
منتظر بقیش هستم ....
چه داستان زیبا
ایران آن سالها چه جای عجیب بود
ندانستیم که بعد از آن توفان خواهد آمد
آری و چه توفانی
Thank you Farshad Jan! I will tell the rest soon. Be happy azizam.
Mina Jan:
Indeed it was! We were unsuspecting babes who had to grow up fast. I recently wrote a piece about that on Iranian.com. I don't know if you saw it. Our generation not only suffered immensely, it is now being blamed by the next generation for what they consider our "mistakes." I only hope that the new Iranian generation finds its way forward and that when it is all said and done, they can take care of themselves, their children, and Iran. Take care azizam.
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