International Peace Day

September 21st, a day of ceasefire, a day of non-violence, a day of inter-cultural cooperation...

See here.

Iranians on Internet Seminar Agenda

I put the agenda in my blog on Iranian.com. You can see it here. If you live in these parts, it would be a pleasure to see you there. I'm so looking forward to seeing my friends and soon-to-be-friends this Saturday. I am also excited to be seeing my artist friends, Hamed Nikpay, Heather Rastovac, and Arash Sobhani of Kiosk ! Though I have a lot of stress associated with the event, I am really excited, too. It will be fabulous, I hope. Mehran, Leva, Jahanshah, and Mehdi have done a lot of work planning this event. Come if you can.

Autumn's Surprise Arrival

Autumn is upon us in the San Francisco Bay Area. An Autumn child myself, I have always looked forward to the time of year in September (Shahrivar), when all of a sudden nighttime and early mornings turn cooler, promising the upcoming change of seasons. Quite indeliberately, I tune into the leaves on the trees, checking them for color and texture changes around this time of the year. No sight in nature is more beautiful to me than the way tree leaves change colors and turn into fiery reds, deep yellows, and bright oranges in the middle of evergreens. Foliage is the most profound change in nature for me. This year, however, Autumn has crept up behind me and has surprised me. I feel as though I'm not ready for it. I wish the cold, nippy air of Berkeley away, wishing for the warmer air to linger a bit longer. I think I was robbed of Summer this year, busy with all that comprises my complicated life these days. Well, enough moaning. It is here and it will stay in the Bay Area for about two months when we are delivered into this area's windy and cold Winter. In a few days, I will decorate my house with my Fall decorations, gearing up for the new season, for My Season. (Photo credit here.)

Shahrokh Moshkin Ghalam's Dance Performance

On Sunday, September 9th we went to see Shahrokh Moshkin Ghalam's Dance Variations on Persian Themes in Los Gatos. It was an amazing performance by him and two other female dancers, Karine Gonzalez and Sahar Dehghan. They performed several solo and duo pieces, choreographed by Moshkin Ghalam to Iranian classical, folkloric, and fusion music. Do you remember the long video clip I had put in my earlier posts about him? That was the first piece they performed, entitled "Sohrab and Gordafarid." Throughout the program, Iranian poetry and music accompanied the dance pieces. Poems by Nima Youshij, Forough Farrokhzad, Vahshi Bafghi, and Fereidoon Moshiri were included, performed by Ahmad Shamloo (narrated), Shajarian, Zande Vakil, Sousan Deyhim, and Parvin. Before I knew that a Spanish dancer, Karine Gonzalez, was the lead female dancer of Nikissa Dance Company, I had observed that what little I had seen of their work had a profound flamenco influence. Combining flamenco moves and steps into his dances may have somewhat distanced them from their Iranian roots, but has added much excitement and electric energy to them. One piece of dance Moshkin Ghalam did himself around Hossein Alizadeh's Faryad, sung by Mohammad Reza Shajarian, was particularly moving and brought tears to my eyes. Moshkin Ghalam brings athletic energy to his dances, which are delivered with artistic and poetic ease and beauty. I found the performance, the costumes, the music, and the poetry beautiful and quite memorable. I will leave you a treat. Watch this video clip of Moshkin Ghalam talk about his passion in life: Iranian Dance, which was produce by bebin.tv. I love what he says about Iranian dance, its roots, its lost years, and some artists' efforts to find it again and to revive it. Though I was delighted to know that Moshkin Ghalam's dance company would answer questions at the end of their program, I was a bit disappointed by that segment of the program. I think Moshkin Ghalam must have been tired of answering repetitive and what he may have thought as "silly" questions on his tour, and I could sense an impatience which appeared as arogrance in the way he received questions. Well, to cut him some slack, he is a dancer and an actor, and a good one at that, so I won't score him on his Q/A abilities too harshly! The video from bebin.tv does a better job of representing his points of view than the Q/A we sat through. Backstage he was warm and kind and I took some pictures of him and the other dancers. It was a fabulous night.

I Am From

"The Street Lined With Trees"

Vali-e-Asr Avenue, Tehran

I finally have permission from my older son to post pieces of a poem he wrote for his English 222 class. Take a look: .......... I am from a living, moss covered bridge, Forsaken near the Caspian Sea, A kingdom to be ruled by a child, the dip below cut by a slow stream, sparks of light over the water, the sun golden on the swollen green, teeming with life and wonder. I am from white sand silver by moonlight, Sharp, moving borders with the black water littered with diamonds, The gods surely play in the star strewn bodies above, The feel of the breeze and the sound of the surf carrying me away, endlessly. I am from kabob sandwiches, made by an old man on a street lined with trees, the leathery skin of the man’s face red from the flames, mahogany hands dancing above them, Putting hot meat to bread, cilantro and a hot, hot special sauce, every other night for years, fifty cents buy a full belly. I am from the alley of Daneshkooy, narrow and L shaped, Buildings unique, each scorning its peers, A weeping willow breathing in the back, Wise, wily cats roam the dumpsters, A life of the stones and slings of children making each a grizzled veteran. The asphalt a battleground, where hide and seek, soccer and seven stones are waged, Where lines are drawn and crossed, It is no stranger to the salty blood of split eyebrows and loosened teeth. .............

Bloggers' Game

My friend Mana has invited me to participate in the Bloggers’ Game, Vatan Chist?, or what is the meaning of “homeland” to you. My country, my “homeland” is where I feel I belong. It is where I have memories. It is where I understand the language. It is where I have fallen in love. It is where my parents were born and buried. It is where my friends were born and buried. It is where I love every rock, every leaf, and every drop of the water running through its rivers and seas. It is where when things aren’t going well, I make it my business to complain and then try hard to fix things. It is where it matters what happens next. It is where I would bend over to pick up trash from its sidewalks. It is where I obey the laws. It is where I pay taxes. It is where I vote, hoping to make a difference. It is where I worry if it goes to war. It is where I wait for its soldiers to return. It is where I care about its environment. It is where I care about its education. It is where I love seeing its babies, children, and young people. It is where I care how its old people are doing. It is where I would listen to its music. It is where I would watch its dances. It is where I read its books. It is where I would respect its spiritual beliefs. It is where I miss its streets if I am away. It is where I miss its people when I am not there. It is where I hope I am missed if I’m not there. It is where I walk down a street, passing kitchen windows, and am able to associate every single smell to a dish and a taste I know. It is where I understand, appreciate, and love the people around me, and hope that they would do the same for me. Now I would like to invite the following people to the game: Ala Hazrat Haj Agha, Alef Shin, Baloot, Bayramali, Ehsan, FarNice, Jeerjeerak, Neda, Nimeh Shab, Serendip, Sheni, Shobeir, Siah, Tameshk. Please leave me your post link in this post if you accept my invitation and play the game.

Not All Balls Are Round

I went to see my family this morning. Having lived in these parts for over 30 years, my family members are by now avid American football lovers. I don't really understand the game, nor do I have any inclination to learn it after close to 30 years! I only like to observe the joy my family seem to experience with the sport. They watch the game and I watch them, that's how this goes! There was a San Francisco 49'ers game on this morning. There was also a soccer game on in Tehran, which was being broadcast at the same time. Of course I like and understand soccer a lot better, except I only like to watch the National Team games. This morning's game was between Persepolis and Rah Ahan, and while I could understand why some people in my family were wearing red, it was hard to understand why the ones who usually wear blue were also in there making noises! In order not to miss any of the action, two television sets had been set up in my sister's living room and each showed a game which would intermittently receive attention from the small crowd! I sat there and watched for about two hours, as I filled my eyes, my head, and my heart with my family's presence and energy, keeping quiet mostly, letting their sounds and noises envelop me. I was reminded yet again that my family has belonged to two worlds for a long time and the simple exercise of watching a football game on a Sunday morning when you love and care about both worlds, could receive a slightly different approach, though noisy and boisterous just the same! I will share a secret with you (and please don't tell anyone), but if I absolutely had to choose, I would probably choose the Red Team. Something about them feels so down-to-earth and appealing to me, though their football has been atrocious recently! I hope you will still come to see me knowing that secret!

Alessandra Dances To Sting's Bach

It's Friday, and I am so looking forward to the weekend, when I will finally get a chance to rest a little after keeping a very crazy schedule for a couple of weeks. This weekend I will attend a dinner party in honor of Dr. Zari Taheri, and will go to visit my sisters whom I have grossly neglected for a few weeks. I found this video clip in Nikhang Kowsar's blog a few days ago. It is such a beautiful clip. It is long (under 6 miutes), and the first 2.5 minutes are merely visual, but of incredible value. It shows a famous ballerina, Alessandra Ferri, getting ready to dance. Then Sting joins her and plays the "Prelude" from "Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major" by Johann Sebastian Bach on his guitar, to which the amazing ballerina dances. It is awesome. Watch her arches, that dance, and the expression on that beautiful face. It is truly mesmerizing to watch.

I wish you all a wonderful weekend, full of music, dance, laughter, and sleep! It's Ramadan, so to those of you who fast, ghabool basheh. Regardless of whether you are fasting or not, you can still confess your love to those you love! Do it! Some things in life never get boring. This is one of them. Be good y'all.

Maz Jobrani, The Iranian Comedian

Maz Jobrani signs his DVD for me.

This post is for one of my readers, Pardis, who has had a long week, full of bad news and depressing events.

My friend, Dr. Jaleh Pirnazar, who is a lecturer of Farsi literature at University of California at Berkeley, took me to see the Iranian comedian, Maz Jobrani in San Francisco's Punchline Comedy Club earlier this month. Maziar Jobrani had been her student in Berkeley, and had invited her to come see his performance. I was honored to be asked along. Maz Jobrani is a fantastic comedian. A very funny man, full of life and an interesting perspective on American life and politics. I believe his efforts in trying to promote understanding and to present Iranians as they are, completely different from the violent and angry portrayal we tend to receive in the media these days, are remarkable. Take a look at this video clip and you will see for yourself. I know that many people can't go to Youtube from Iran. You can watch a funny clip of one of his acts on his website, which I hope is still accessible. Once you get to his websit, click on the picture of the nose in the middle! You will see him on the Jay Leno show, promoting his show, "Axis of Evil." I hope it will bring a smile to your face.

Another "Normal" Day in Berkeley

This has been a busy week. Work has been intense, and I have finally pulled my act together to make numerous lists, crossing off things that I am determined to complete. On the personal front, since Sunday I have met a dancer, a pottery artist, and an author, all very interesting Iranians. Each of them has a story I would like to share with you when I have a chance, or as my faithful reader, Alef Shin has recommended to me, when I have emptied my cup some, and I can pour more into it! Tonight, however, I would like to show this picture of a young woman I saw in downtown Berkeley yesterday afternoon, taking a walk with her pet parrot. I suppose anywhere else in the world, what I did, which was to stop, get over my surprise, pull out my camera and snap a picture, would have been a normal affair. In Berkeley, however, no one ever stops to care! There are so many "different-looking-and-acting" people you see as you walk down the street, you will never be able to arrive your appointments on time! There was something so fun and carefree about a young woman who takes a walk to ATM with her parrot, I couldn't resist it. I am telling you: I love living near this crazy patch of the earth, my beloved, different, unpredictable, and unparalleled Berkeley. In Berkeley, anything goes. Even me.

The Story of Khosrow and Shirin (VI)

Let me tell you one of the most beautiful love stories ever written in Persian Literature. It will be summarized. If you would like to read more or in Farsi, let me know and we will figure out a way to make sure you get to see this gem of an Iranian tale. Remember this story. Tell it to your children. They will always remember that they heard about love from you first. Celebrate love Persian style. (Part I here. Part II here. Part III here. Part IV here. Part V here.)

Single again and in love with Shirin, Khosrow went to Shirin's castle to see her. Shirin let Khosrow into the courtyard of her castle, but would not let him to come into her living quarters. She told him that she wouldn't let a drunk man into her home, and that if Khosrow was truly interested in her, he would have to respect her as a Princess and a woman of integrity and sound values. She told him she had waited for him all these years and was not interested in anything but a respectable union with a man she loved. After their quarrel, Khosrow returned to his palace, feeling sad and rejected. Shapour consoled Khosrow, telling him that Shirin truly loved him as he loved Shirin and they were meant to be together. Khosrow finally proposed marriage to Shirin, treating her with the respect she had commanded from the first day. A wedding ceremony, worthy of a King and a Princess became underway and the lovers finally married and began their life together. Shirin was a true Queen to Khosrow, helping him become a better King, kind and forgiving to his people.

Khosrow had a son, Shirouyeh, from his marriage to the Roman Princess, Maryam. Shirouyeh was an unruly and mean spirit who had been in love with Shirin since he was 10 years old. As soon as he came of age, he imprisoned his father, Khosrow, and crowned himself the King. Khosrow was in prison and the only thing keeping his sanity was Shirin and her company. Shirouyeh finally murdered his father, Khosrow, in his sleep while his wife, Shirin was asleep. When she woke up and saw Khosrow dead, Shirin was devastated. Shirouyeh sent a messenger to Shirin, telling her that she was allowed to mourn Khosrow for one week and after that she would have to marry him. Shirin prepared Khosrow's body for his funeral. She then put on makeup, dressed herself in lavish clothing, dressed her hair, and put on beautiful jewelry, following her husband's coffin. It appeared to all watching that Shirin wasn't terribly sad at her husband's passing. They took Khosrow's body to a mausoleum. Once there she asked everyone to leave her alone with Khosrow. She undid Khosrow's shroud and kissed his chest where the knife had made a wound. She put a knife to her chest and pushing herself against the knife and Khosrow's body, she cut herself, held Khosrow, kissed his lips, and put her head on his shoulder and died.

زهی شیرین و شیرین مردن او...............زهی جان دادن و جان بردن او چنین واجب کند در عشق مردن...............به جانان جان چنین باید سپردن

"The End"

September 11, 2001-September 11, 2007

I asked the young Russian woman who was my translator whether they were saying anything about Ahmad Shah Massoud’s health after the explosion. She listened and said: “Some say he is still alive. Americans say he is dead.” In the afternoon, as we were driving back into the city, I asked her again if there was any news about Ahmad Shah Massoud. She listened and said: “No news about Shah Massoud. But they say an airplane ran into the World Trade Center in New York.” I didn’t believe her. She had made some mistakes with her English earlier that week, and I was sure she didn’t know what she was talking about. She was quiet and I kept quiet, too. The news broadcast continued on the car radio. Several minutes later she said: “Looks like another airplane hit the other World Trade Center Tower.” By this time I was sure she not only had poor English, that she was also really stupid, as she had no idea how big and tall those towers were and how airplanes worked. I had a hard time keeping a straight face, thinking that I will be cracking jokes about this woman’s translation skills for years to come. When I got out of the car and walked into the lobby of my hotel, I saw many people huddled around the TV set in the lobby. From their expressions, their collective silence, and their body language, I could tell something ominous had happened. I ran to the elevator and went to my room where I saw it on TV. Later that evening we went for a walk near Kremlin and Red Square. Though everyone seemed aware that summer was over, the night air didn’t feel terribly cold. We sat there in silence, watching others walk by us also in silence. Many people had ashen faces and several people were crying. We had ashen faces and we were crying, too. We knew many people had died, but the numbers were not known to us at the time. I just knew that early in the morning of a weekday, someone who had bought a cappuccino at Starbucks downstairs and was sipping it, quite possibly looking across the pictures of his wife and kids on his desk, or pictures of her daughter’s graduation and her son’s Little League pose, saw the horrible sight of an airplane approaching his or her window. The world changed on September 11, 2001, forever. The lives of those in World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and those in those airplanes were just some of the beginning numbers on a growing scroll of human lives lost in the fires of ignorance, greed, and blind hate since then. Today I continue to cry for the victims of September 11, 2001 through September 11, 2007. As the world continues to burn in blazing fires of mistrust and hate, I remember the morning of September 11, 2001 in Moscow as quite possibly the last day I woke up to my world as I knew it. (This piece was published in Iranian.com today, under the title: "The end of the world." Here's the link.)