As Is

Pistachio Harvest in Khorasan's Torbat Heydarieh

I really like the way days become shorter on this side of the year, giving way to longer evenings and nights. Evenings and nights are my patch of time in which to think, to do things, and to feel peaceful. My days at work are now filled with meetings and assignments. I never know where the day goes, and before I know it, it's time to head home. This evening my younger son and I went driving. He seems to be a natural, cautious and attentive. I think he will be ready to take the test soon. Dinner served, dishes washed, and everybody winding down, it feels good to know that the night will be long, where I can think and write.

I am working on a long overdue piece on a fabulous Iranian artist, lost to most of us for years. He was born to a family of artists, and was raised to grow and be one of the most famous talents of his time in America. His is a story which will mesmerize you, I'm sure. I just hope that I can write it well to do his remarkable story justice.

As I sit here, getting ready to start writing, a thought hangs warmly on my mind. Too often, we look for happiness in things other than the ones we have, places other than the ones we have visited, and people we have never met. It is interesting to have new experiences. It is exciting to acquire new things. However, it is infinitely rewarding to occasionally stop and look at our achievements as represented in the life we have. I believe happiness is here and now, wherever we are, with whatever we have, and around whomever we already know. It feels good sometimes to stop and appreciate all for which we tried hard on days gone by. Tonight I am loving my life as is.

Freed At Last

Ali Farahbakhsh, the Iranian journalist who was in prison for close to a year was just released, according to his sister, Helaleh's post in her blog. I never knew him before his imprisonment. He writes about economy, which most people don't follow with interest, and which also made his arrest and imprisonment so bizarre. I was very sad for a young journalist who was unfairly accused and treated to a long jail term. I wrote something about it in April. His freedom is very good news, indeed. I am glad he goes home to his toddler and wife and to his aging parents. I met his worried sister at the Internet gathering last month. She must be so happy for his freedom, and I am happy, too.

Ms. Wisdom Fails

Looking out the window at work today.

My older son has been experiencing office politics lately. The whole story of rivalry, gossip, and potential backstabbing is finding its way into his so far inexperienced work life. He calls to "consult" with me. I listen, ask some questions, and give him my opinion. In his funny and sarcastic way, he says: "Thanks for the fortune cookie, Mom," and we hang up. Though he appears to have learned his fundamental lessons about honesty and integrity, he appears unwilling to learn about self preservation and conflict management. I can't convince him to walk up to someone and discuss his feelings openly, seeking a mutually satisfying solution. Part of me thinks that this is because he is young and as yet inexperienced. Part of me, though, thinks that he is having a "typical male" approach to his predicament, staying uncompromising and bullish when he feels he hasn't done anything wrong, and that there really couldn't be a better way for bringing harmony to his environment. As I sit at my desk and feel inadequate in helping him, I also feel for both my sons today. They are men who are trying to find their way through life with a woman as their only present consultant, confidant, and teacher. I suppose telling him "to try and work it out with your coworker before escalating it to your manager," might sound like a fortune cookie piece of advice. Sigh.

Happy Mehregan

Today is Mehregan Day, 16th day of the month of Mehr, celebrating the emergence of Mitra, the sun. "On Mehregan Day, angels came to the aid of Kaveh, the ironsmith, Fereidoon was crowned, and Zahhak was imprisoned in Damavand Mountain, freeing people of his tyranny..." Abu Reihan Birooni

فریدون چو شد بر جهان کامکار............ ندانست جز خویشتن شهریار

به رســم کیان تاج و تخت مهی.............. بیاراست با کاخ شاهنشهی

به روز خجسته ســر مهر ماه................به سر بر نهاد آن کیانی کلاه

زمانه بی اندوه گشـت از بدی................ گرفتند هر کــس ره بـخردی

دل از داوری­هـا بپرداخـتـنـد ..................به آیین، یکی، جشن نو ساختند

نـشـسـتـنـد فرزانگان، شادکام.................گـرفتند هـر یک ز ياقوت، جام

می روشن و چهره ی شاه نـَو............... جهان نو ز داد از سر ِماه نـَو

بـفـرمـود تا آتش افـروخـتـنـد................. همه عنبر و زعفران سوختند

پـرسـتـیـدن مهرگان دیـن اوسـت.............. تن آسانی و خوردن آیین اوست

کنون یادگارست از و ماه مهر................ به کوش و به رنج ایچ منمای چهر

شاهنامه­ی فردوسی

Source: Aryaboom

Abadan On My Mind

Photo by Amir Parstabar.

Our weather has turned cool. My feet are cold all the time now, and I have to wear socks, my least favorite item of clothing! I made my Sunday morning cup of tea, and sit here watching the steam making a pretty dance escaping the cup. I took care of chores yesterday. It was a solitary day for me, where by accident or by choice, I didn't get to talk to too many people.

Quite by accident I ran into a blog in Iran, and when I read its latest post, I felt good. The post is really a letter to Mayor of Abadan, asking him why Abadan has not been fixed and repaired in all the years since the war. It is an intelligent and responsible piece of writing, filled with love for Iran, without hate for anyone. I would like to think it would be the type of thing I would write if I were smart and brave enough. Alas, living outside Iran, many people believe that I don't have the right to write such a letter, even if I had the intelligence and courage! Well, I'm glad someone who lives inside Iran and went to visit Abadan recently wrote it. As many of you know by now, I am not from Gilan, Mazandaran, Khorasan, Boushehr, Abadan, Shiraz, Isfahan, Baluchistan, Azerbaijan, or most of the other cities and villages I write about. I am from Iran. I belong to all of Iran, and all of it belongs to me, regardless of what anyone might say to the contrary.

I continue my solitary weekend today, taking care of more things and doing some work for Peyk, clearing my plate. I hope you are having a peaceful day, too.

Friday Thoughts

I bring another week to an end, a week full of mixed feelings, longings, good news and bad. As of this week, we will have a new "driver in training" in our household. My younger son passed his written test this week and a new round of anxiety-filled driving lessons will start with him! To his credit, he seems to be a lot more cautious than his older brother who in three months, has had a major accident and several fender benders! We shall see. Looks like I might be able to take a trip to go see my friends at the end of this month. A Decemer wedding is being planned in my family and I'm getting excited about that. This month I also hope to be able to see a blogger friend who might be coming to our parts. Work has been exciting, too, with a huge new project on the horizon, which will keep me engaged for about two years. I'm really enthusiastic about that.

This week I went to listen to a retired British diplomat in Berkeley's Graduate School of Public Policy. Berkeley's GSPP is very reputable and students attending this school will be delivered to jobs in politics and public service. Her name is Honorable Shirley Williams and a Liberal Democrat, she has served as Member of Parliament, a cabinet member, a member of the House of Lords, and most recently as an advisor to Gordon Brown on NPT. She shared her experiences in British politics as a woman, and her reflections on what is happening in the world these days. All of her talk was very interesting, but the most profound thing she said was that the world is at a turning point and the next eight years will be pivotal years in determining the shape and state of our world for this century.

I leave you wih a short clip of a sweet Mazandarani folk song. I hope you have a good weekend, full of relaxation, love, and hope. Go for walks in the nature, look at the leaves and for each beautifully shaped and colored leaf, think of a reason to thank God, if you believe. If you don't, just remember the universal order into which we are born, and marvel at its complexity. Be super good to those who matter most to you, hug them, celebrate them, and confess your love for them. Be good ya'll.

The Lights in Taleghan Nights

A cottage in the village of Gouran, Taleghan. More Taleghan photos by Fatameh Farajmandi here.

It's Friday in Tehran. I remember my Friday excursions into villages near Tehran. At this time of the year, Taleghan must be gorgeous, with walnut and fruit trees slowly shedding their leaves which have already turned into hundreds of beautiful colors. Harvest time has come and gone in those parts by now, my Taleghani friend tells me. He says walnuts and fruits and honey have already been shipped to their destinations. Now Taleghan rests and gears up for the snowy winter ahead. He says Taleghanis love to keep lights on in their homes, and on special occasions, such as Nowrooz, they keep the lights on all night. The air must have turned cool, urging locals to heat up their homes. I remember the prestine and cool sheets and blanket (lahaf) I was given in which to sleep one cold night when I was a guest of a Taleghani family. It was so welcoming to know that they had expected guests in their house, and that I was the lucky one! Their simple breakfast the next day was so delicious, I remember it still. Life goes on. For now, mine goes on some of the time with my memories. Thankfully, the rest of the time I am making new memories. No complaints.

مستان سلامت می کنند

رو آن ربابی را بگو مستان سلامت می کنند

وان مرغ آبی را بگو مستان سلامت می کنند

وان میر ساقی را بگو مستان سلامت می کنند

وان عمر باقی را بگو مستان سلامت می کنند

وان میر غوغا را بگو مستان سلامت می کنند

وان شور و سودا را بگو مستان سلامت می کنند

ای مه ز رخسارت خجل، مستان سلامت می کنند

وی راحت و آرام دل، مستان سلامت می کنند

ای جان جان، ای جان جان، مستان سلامت می کنند

اینجا یکی با خویش نیست، مستان سلامت می کنند

یک مست اینجا بیش نیست، مستان سلامت می کنند

ای آرزوی آرزو، مستان سلامت می کنند

آن پرده را بردار زو، مستان سلامت می کنند

(برای هشتصدمین سالگرد تولد مولانا)

Berkeleyans Protest the War & Iran Attack Plans

The protestors posed for me! Click on photos for a more detailed view.

My boss and I were walking on Shattuck Avenue in downtown Berkeley this afternoon when we saw this group of protestors getting ready to protest the Iraq war, as well as plans to attack Iran. They were representatives of an organization named CODEPINK, initiated by American women. They were standing outside US Marine Corps' recruitment office in Berkeley, protesting recruitment efforts going on at colleges and particularly at Berkeley. They had a sign which encouraged drivers passing by to honk their horns in support of their protest. It was very noisy. Visit this organization's website, and learn more about them.

SMS

I'd like to make a confession. Starting when I was 14, and lasting until I was 20, I used to hate school, classes, courses, teachers, and grades. I never studied, and defied every expectation by my parents to take my education seriously. Books, friends, and parties were my sole preoccupation. I attempted a college education three times, dropping out or ending prematurely, before I attended college seriously to earn a degree. I never get over how lucky I was to have been able to have second and third and fourth chances at an education, knowing now all too well that not everyone can be so lucky. In raising my children, I have tried so hard not to be a hypocrite. How can I tell them to study hard when I was so defiant of an education at their age? I want them to love going to college, because until I started loving college, no pressure, no intimidation, and no competition ever worked for me. So, I support and I encourage, but never push them. They need to figure it out by themselves.

I was engrossed in a project at work today, feeling, as I do frequently these days, pressured for time, feeling a bit overwhelmed when I heard the little beep on my cellular phone, announcing a new message. I checked the message. It was from my younger son who started college this year. It said simply: "I got an A for my essay." I never thought such a thing was possible, but at that moment and for the information that the one line message conveyed, I felt happier and more accomplished than I had ever felt for any good grade I ever received during my own education. I think the reason is that after a very turbulant start, I believe he is on his way.

Accidental Emigrants?

We all know about famous and successful Iranians in our midst. CEO’s and VP’s of big corporations, successful doctors, artists, high-ranking government employees, writers, and gifted scientists, there is always some Iranian somewhere doing something noteworthy for us to feel proud. As a community, however, we tend to lack a common forum and voice. We gather around events and people, but never around issues.

We are, for the most part, law abiding, tax-paying citizens who are assets to our communities, but we tend to shy away from American politics, be apathetic to political developments, and disinterested in local elections. Why is that? Is it because over the past three decades each of us has been catapulted into this new land initially as a “temporary measure,” which turned into a serious, unplanned, and permanent reality? Is it because we see ourselves as “accidental emigrants,” not sure what to do now that we have stayed and have gone on to have children, businesses, and careers here?

Whatever the reasons, the view from the outside in is that we are a fragmented community, unattached and unmotivated to form lobbies to change laws and conditions in our favor. We live in the US now, respecting and loving our new country, abiding by its laws. But we also love and care for Iran and what happens to it and to its people.

Whatever we each think about the Iranian regime, we certainly wish no harm to people of Iran. Then why are we silent when we hear the war drums played non-stop on American media, depicting Iranians as cockroaches, talking about plans to simultaneously hit 10,000 targets in Iran, or speculating casually about striking Iranian nuclear facilities without any reference to the fact that those plants are now located in densely populated areas of Iran, striking each of which will be tantamount to a human catastrophe?

We can and should do more to bring attention to ourselves as a peaceful and peace loving community with intelligence, integrity, and heart. We must find ways to get together and show our strength as a viable, educated, and dedicated populace. Staying silent and indifferent, we will never be heard, recognized, or respected in our proper and deserved position. Accidental emigrants or a community dedicated to a life of integrity in the US, while ensuring a proper and humane approach to a country and a nation we left behind, but will never stop loving—the choice is ours and never as crucial as now.

This piece was published in Iranian.com today. I also have a blog post there today, reporting on the internet event. Some of you may know that a Robert Gates aide was quoted yesterday to have said: "I hate all Iranians." My post title there is "I love all Iranians."

I Will Salute The Sun Again

I will salute the sun again The brook flowing within me The clouds which were my deep reflections The painful growth of aspens in the grove That passed through dry seasons with me I will salute the flocks of ravens Which brought me Sweet smells of nocturnal fields I will salute my mother who lives in the mirror And who was the shape of my old age And the earth whose womb my thirst for revival Had filled with green seedlings I will come, I will come, I will come With my tresses: strewing smells of the earth With my eyes: extreme experiences of darkness With the shrubs which I have picked from behind the wall I will come, I will come, I will come And Threshold will overflow with love I will salute again those who love The girl who is still standing there At the threshold brimming with love (Be aftab salami dobareh khaham dad) By Forough Farrokhzad, Translation by Ismail Salami, Photo by Volitans