Supernatural

Painting by Parviz Kalantari, who is a master Iranian painter, and who has also written sweet and funny books. I met him during a display of his works in Tehran three years ago. A memorable artist and an interesting man, that Parviz-e-Kalantari.

Have you ever had friends and family who say they can do extraordinary things? Do you believe them? I had a co-worker in Tehran who meditated and said that he was a Flying Sidhi. I have a close relative who believes she has healing powers, always attempting to heal people around her of their pains and ailments by using some healing techniques. A high school friend and a distant relative of mine are now famous fortunetellers who have a large following. I believe and accept all of them. Though I might never want to learn about what they do, I never feel the urge to question or examine their claims, either. I just accept them as they say.

I remember when I went on a work training trip with the "Flying Sidhi," (they are supposed to be able to "levitate," or rise and suspend in the air during their yoga meditation), another co-worker accompanying us kept arguing with this guy, trying to prove that he was lying. Several times I had to follow this other guy into the backyard of the place we were staying and haul him back inside when he tried to watch the other guy through the window, so that he might prove that the guy was lying! I wouldn't let him tease and insult the other guy, all the time telling him to be respectful. To this day, if anyone tells me a "miracle" happened to him or her, or some supernatural event took place in his or her life, I tend to believe and respect him, never doubting or ridiculing my friend, and honestly never wanting to challenge the notion. Is that normal? Not having any curiosity about the accuracy of a claim someone I know makes? Is it gullible? I thought I would ask.

Before I go, though, I should tell you of a memory. A friend of mine who was very close to me, an artist, suffered a massive heart attack in Tehran a few years ago. My friend was a darvish and often told me about his "encounters" with spirits. I always believed him, though others around us were skeptical. The day he was taken to the hospital, I learned the news and rushed to his side in CCU. He was lucid and recognized me, telling me: "Chera zahmat keshidin?" The nurses were preparing him to hook him up to CCU instruments, so his wife and I left the room. His wife went to get his medicine. Several minutes later I heard him talking. I went in and found him alone. I asked him: "Reza Jan, are you talking to me? Do you need anything?" He said: "Na Nazy Khanoom, I was talking to the others. They are talking to me." My friend died that night, so I never got to ask him who they were and what they were talking about. But I believed him as I always did.

Nostalgia

Do you remember this? It is a dance clip from the Indian movie, Sholay. Though I don't care much about Indian movies, I remember this one fondly, because of what life felt like around watching it in Iran in early 1980's. This clip is for Leva. I thought you might also appreciate the nostalgia.

Gratitude

I call this unnamed picture "Woman with Flowers." From Iranian.com, Photo by Horizon, a very gifted photographer in Tehran.

Someone has to remind me occasionally that life on the internet is not real. Or is it? Are the people we meet on the internet real? Are our relationships with those people behind the blogs limited to a few paragraphs the blogger writes and a few mindless or mindful comments we and others leave there? Do we ever get to meet the essence of the individuals behind the blogs and the comments? I'd like to think that we do. Though we might not be able to see the whole person, or all of that person, the parts that we do see and touch are real.

A sarcastic individual might tell me: "Get a life, lady!," but I would like to confess that I have laughed uncontrollably at some blogger's jokes, I have cried inconsolably at another blogger's woes, I have worried deeply about another blogger's dilemma, and I have spent a whole day thinking about some philosophical post I read somewhere. I get upset when a blogger who feels the blues turns off his or her comments, leaving me without a way to talk to him or her, to leave a greeting or to try to soothe the pain and to bring reminders of happier days, just like I would appreciate if someone did it for me. I am delighted when I read an intelligent comment by a reader, or see that the meaning of my post has found a home in his or her heart. I miss my readers and wonder why they haven't come back. My more experienced blogger friends tell me that one of these days I will grow tired of replying to every single comment, and that I, too, will only reply when a reply is warranted. Today I doubt that very much. Never in my life have I disregarded the greetings, Salam, of an indiviual. When someone talks to me, I answer. So, O.K., suppose that someday I get so many comments, I won't have time to deal with all of them on an individual basis! Until such day, I write to hear from people, and when I do, I reply.

More important than my daily posts, I love the dialogues that take place inside my comments section, where my readers show me their beautiful hearts and brilliant minds. I wrote my post last night, with a mind burdened with thought and a heart full of hope. I write this post tonight to thank all of you for commenting on yesterday's post, but specially Alef Shin, who surprisingly wrote in his perfect English (as opposed to his usual perfect Farsi), telling me that he has seen the love of motion inside my soul. I am grateful for that observation, mostly because until I read that comment, though I was quite aware of it, I had not been able to verbalize that love thoroughly myself. My heart is touched today by the knowledge that I am read and understood, and that is as real as it gets for me. Thank you to all.

Gift

Mina Momeni, Photography Collection at Elahe Gallery, Tehran, December 2007.

هدیه

من از نهایت شب حرف میزنم

من از نهایت تاریکی

و از نهایت شب حرف میزنم

اگر به خانه’ من آمدی برای من ای مهربان چراغ بیار

و یک دریچه که از آن

به ازدحام کوچه’ خوشبخت بنگرم

فروغ فرخزاد

Gift

I speak out of the deep of Night

Out of the deep of darkness I speak

And out of the deep of night

Should you come to my house, O Kind Soul,

Bring me a lamp and a window

Through which I may view the crowd

of the happy alley

Forough Farrokhzad, Another Birth, Translated by Ismail Salami

Storms on Two Sides of The Earth

Storms building over San Francisco Bay, January 5, 2008. (I know this is not one of my best pictures, as I stopped the car in a precarious spot on El Cerrito Hills and snapped the picture in pouring rain, but if you click on it, you can see Golden Gate Bridge more clearly.)

Can you believe how much snow has fallen on Tehran? I read that all international flights into and out of Tehran have been cancelled and that the whole city is shut down. I hope all my friends in Tehran are staying warm and comfortable, enjoying the view from a window! I spent the day working not on what was on my list, but on the ad hoc list which just emerged as the morning progressed. I tried not to stress over it and go with the flow. As a result, I have a mixed bag of accomplishments and failures for the day (very typical, wouldn't you say?). My important writing piece received no progress today, but I'm glad to report that my house is clean and tidy, some of my emails have been answered, my plants have been watered, and my kids will have home-made food to eat for a couple of days. As you can see, at least some of my priorities are in proper order! I'm now going to see the movie, Charlie Wilson's War. If it's noteworthy, I'll be happy to report back. Happy Sunday Evening.

Perplexity (Heirani)

Exhibit A, my dinner tonight.

My sons and their friends went to San Francisco to celebrate their Saturday night. Instead of worrying about them as I am inclined to do, I decided to get busy doing my own things! I had a beautiful simple dinner, Exhibit A, and got busy working on a large project I have been trying to finish. So, I don't know what is happening to me here! For some reason I am in my story-telling mood again, remembering so many memories and wanting to share them! You poor things, will have to put up with me. So, here's the story I remembered today.

I said last night that Kaykhosrow Pournazeri's Shams Ensemble (Tanboor Navazan-e Shams) is one of my favorite music groups in Iran. I remember seeing them for the first time in the Bay Area in 1991/1992, when they were touring with Shahram Nazeri. It was an awesome concert, and I remember how much I enjoyed the performance. The local Iranian television station aired several of the songs from the concert and I videotaped them, listening to them frequently. We moved to Iran in 1992, and since my arrival, I was looking for that album. I used to go into music shops and ask for “Shahram Nazeri's new album with Kaykhosrow Pournazeri,” and they kept giving me Motreb-e-Mahtab-roo, which I also loved and owned, but which wasn't what I was looking for. This was most puzzling to me, but I wouldn’t give up, either. I would watch the videotapes of the songs at home and go looking for that album once every few months.

In 1998, one day I was shopping at the nearby Super Jordan which happened to have a music section. I knew the young chaps who worked there, and we would have “musical chats” often. On this day, I asked Mehdi, the guy behind the counter, whether he could help me. I said: “Agha Mehdi, Shahram Nazeri and Tanbournavazan-e-Shams did an album together a few years ago. One of their songs goes something like this…” and I started whispering the song: “dar talabe zohreh rokhe mahroo…” for him. He listened and after a few minutes he said: “I think I have it!” I stopped whispering and just as I started asking him excitedly to show me the album, I heard some people behind me clapping and complementing me on my singing! Can you believe it?! I had not been whispering, I guess! It was rather humiliating, but the best part of the day was that Mehdi brought out the album “Heirani” (Perplexity) to me and I quickly paid for it and left to listen to it at home, but also to escape the people who most likely thought I was crazy! As to what had happened to the album for all those years, I heard that because the Shams Ensemble had women singing rather prominently in the background of that album, it couldn’t pass Ministry of Guidance’s requirements for publication. With the more relaxed conditions of post-Khatami era, it became possible to release that album. So, I finally got my album, but not before I did an involuntary concert in tribute for it! I leave you with another Shams Ensemble clip tonight. It's awesome. Have a good evening you all.

Keeping Warm

Shams Ensemble performance celebrating the Year of Rumi in Saadabad, Autumn 2007.

It's Friday. We had a major rainstorm in our area today. It was really interesting driving to work with almost zero visibility in rain and fog and awful winds. The storm is passed now and we are left with intermittent rain. No storm ever lasts. It comes and if you are strong enough to stay grounded and not get blown away, it leaves and hopefully you have learned a few things in the process. It feels silly now to remember how nervous I was this morning in my little car, seeing very little and feeling that strong wind working hard to lift me and my car away!

I leave you with a short video clip of one of my favorite music groups, the Shams Ensemble, directed by Kaykhosrow Pourazeri. You can also see an interesting multimedia presentation about them and this concert here.

I wish you all a very happy weekend, full of rest and relaxation near those who matter the most to you. I hope people in Northern Iran receive warmth and relief, too. I saw a picture of a family under a korsi* in Sari (Mazandran Province), which was really sweet. I have vague memories of korsi when I was a young child. It isn't so much what functional purpose a korsi serves, but the fact that in order to use it, a whole family sits in the same room and in close vicinity to each other, feet under the korsi, covered in a huge blanket, therefore talking and eating together. That is the image I carry of a korsi and the warmth I feel when remembering it from my childhood. A family can still come together, sit together for several hours, eat together, and chat (asemoon-o-rismoon). That's what I hope for all of you on this weekend. If you don't have your family around you, get you friends together in an impromptu gathering. Celebrate the warmth of loving hearts next to one another. Celebrate the calm after the storm. Celebrate life. Share a blanket with your kids. Don't forget to smile a lot and exercise those facial muscles. Don't forget that you matter a lot to many. Be good y'all.

*Before heaters and central heating became prevalent in Iran, people used to use a korsi as the main heating device in Iranian homes. It is a low square wooden table with short legs, under which a pit of embers or an electric heater is placed, and over which a large hand-made blanket is spread, around which members of a family sit to keep warm in cold winter nights.

The Day I Lied, Told The Truth, and Lied

Environmental Arts Festival, Hormoz Island, Persian Gulf, December 2007

On a snowy day several years ago, I went to Guidance Court (dadgah-e ershad) in Tehran. Several weeks earlier, my father's apartment complex had been raided by the police, who had broken the satellite dish and had confiscated his receiver, serving him a notice to attend the court. I had gone in his place, except that if I said I had come in his place, they would have demanded for him to attend himself, so I showed up and declared that I was the owner of the confiscated illegal device.

I had to wait with a group with other "suspects," all of whom were middle-aged men and women, engineers, teachers, and businessmen, one a university professor, calmly sitting there talking about politics and traffic. My turn was up. I went in. The judge, a young clergy, read my deposition and asked me what I had to say for myself. I asked him if he wanted me to repeat what was in my deposition, or if he wanted the truth. He said writing lies in my deposition could cost me a prison term, but that he wanted to know the truth. I told him that this dish and receiver was in use by my father, who was in his 80's, immobile in a bed, and alone. I told him it was one of his few outlets into the world outside, and he used it to watch the news. I told the judge that I did know it was against the law to own satellite dishes and receivers, but if the spirit of the law was to keep the society from learning bad things (bad amoozi), I doubted that at 83 years of age and paralyzed, my father was going to learn any new bad things through the medium, and if he did, that he would have a chance to try those bad things or teach them to others. I was found guilty, and the judge ordered me to pay 50,000 toomans in fines.

As I left the court, everyone outside wanted to know how much fine I had to pay, as some convicted individuals had had to pay as much as 500,000 toomans that day. I said 50,000. They all wanted to know what I had said to have resulted in the lowest fine. I told them I doubted what I had done (telling the truth) would work for them. After paying the fine and completing the paperwork, I called my father to say that he was off the hook ("Baba jan, tabrik migam, shoma tabraeh shodid."). He was so happy and asked me if I had managed to get his receiver back. I said they couldn't find his, because there were so many confiscated units there, but that I had managed to get permission for him to own one. I went and bought him a better receiver that afternoon and had it installed that night. This one he used happily for two years until he died.

The Snowman

Farshad's snowman in Tehran, January 2, 2007. The note says: "For World Peace In 2008.

Also, look at these gorgeous pictures of snow in Tehran on Fars News Agency.

My morning started opening an email from Farshad in Tehran, holding pictures of this snowman in his backyard. Thanks to Farshad, it was a good start to a day which took me back to work after several days. My sons and I spent a bit of time together this evening. My older son read his new poem to me, which was delightful, but as you may know, as a mother I am not supposed to make a big deal of how good his poetry has become, because it makes him shy and uncomfortable and next time he writes something, he won't share it with me so easily. So, I made only some small supportive noises, though I was filled with pride. That also was a perfect end to this day. I leave you with a Wallace Stevens poem, entitled appropriately, The Snowman. Wallace Stevens was a Pulitzer winner American poet who died over 50 years ago. Listen to this short piece on NPR by Commentator Jay Keyser who says Stevens wrote the best short poem in the English language, and his reasons for this.

The Snowman

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Snow in Tehran

I should have gone to bed a long time ago, but Halat also sent me this video clip which she took of snow on Tehran's Mirdamad Boulevard, as she and her father were driving to work this morning. I thought I would share it with you. It was fun to see my beautiful Tehran again. Well, it's beautiful to me. Thank you Halat Jan. Goodnight.

Warm Thoughts on A Winter Night

A Tehran street vendor's tray of piping hot red beets (laboo), January 1, 2007. Photo by Halat.

On my request, my wonderful reader, Halat, who is a blogger and an artist in Tehran has taken this photograph for me. Isn't it just beautiful? I cannot think about Tehran winters without remembering the look, the aroma, and the taste of laboo on street corners. Simply gorgeous! Thank you very much to Halat who is unique and is not at all Yeki mese hameh!

So, this was the last day of my winter break. I must return to work tomorrow and start on a few of those wishes and resolutions I shared with you yesterday. I will again have less time to spend on blogging, and you'll be somewhat rid of me, though not entirely! It has been a very exciting and relaxing couple of weeks, spent with family and friends both online and in real life, proving how the line in between the two lives becomes invisible at times. I took part in many gatherings and a wedding as you know. Warm memories of these days will be with me for the cold months ahead. I'm not sure I'm ready to go back (postham bad joori baad khordeh!), but I must try. Thank you all for being such good and generous readers, keeping me company through this holiday season with Yalda, Christmas, and New Year celebrations. Be good y'all.

New Year's Prayers

New Year's Mass, St. Joseph's Church, Tehran, January 1, 2008. Photo by Mohsen Sajjadi; see Mehr News for more pictures.

I went looking for a picture appropriate to the occasion of New Year's Day for my post. Among the many many pictures I saw today, I found this image of a New Year's Mass held by Armenian Christians in Tehran most touching. There is something about group prayers that is very appealing to me. Even when people don't believe in God or religions and engage in group meditation instead, something about all those people concentrating together is interesting to me. Anyhow, I'd like to think that those people in the picture were praying for world peace at that moment. We need it now more than any other time. Whatever the occasion, whoever the congregation, and whatever the religion and medium, everyone should be thinking about and hoping for peace and doing something about it, too.