12:00 Noon Today

The Heart

What has happened once again, that happened times before, How often must this happen, before it happens no more; How much can we handle, before we fall apart, What more can be done to prepare for a broken heart; A hardened heart can love no more, is this the way things end? I gave myself, my weakened heart, all to you my friend; And now there is an emptiness where once my heart did beat, Please take my heart with you, for me, it proved too much a feat....

This is a poem by my wonderful young friend, Shabnam Ghayour, who lives in London. I am honored she let me use it here. Shabnam is a successful events manager and a powerhouse in London's restaurant and entertainment scene. Can you tell she has a most wonderful heart, too?

Ms. Wisdom Hopes

I have a brilliant young artist friend who lives in Iran. He is married to a wonderful young woman, the daughter of famous artists herself, and the last time I saw the two of them in Tehran in March 2006, they were happily married and unbelievably in love. Over the past couple of months, my friend had been acting strange, calling me in the middle of the night, and leaving strange messages on my voice mail, saying: Hi! This is Hamid*. I need to talk to you. Please don’t call me; and hanging up. Or appearing as though he was online on Yahoo Messenger, but no matter how much I tried to get his attention, he wouldn’t reply. Recently, he has resurfaced, saying that he is having serious problems with his wife and they are seriously considering divorce. He has the familiar story of how they are so different, and that they don’t get along anymore, etc., saying that his wife is the one pushing for a divorce. I ask him whether they are still in the same apartment. He says yes. I ask him if they are talking to each other. He says no. Though it is quite obvious, I ask whether they are having sex, and he says not for the past 4 months.

When I first learned about this a month ago, I suggested to Hamid to go see a marriage counselor. With divorce at such a high rate in Iran, we actually have professionals specializing in marriage counseling (I don’t know how good or effective they are, but I know that they exist). He agreed to go. So, he calls me the day before Nowrooz and says that they went to see the marriage counselor and he was advised by the counselor that his wife cannot stand this marriage any more! He said that they are moving full speed towards the big D. My heart weeps for anyone who knows nothing about the reality of divorce and keeps saying the word. I say to him, Hamid Jan. You can always get a divorce, but you must first make sure that you have given this marriage your best shot. I say to him that making this important decision will bring him and his wife so much pain later that it is worth serious and deep contemplation at this time.

I ask him what his wife told the marriage counselor, what it is that made her not be able to stand this marriage anymore. He says that she told the counselor that he doesn’t pay any attention to her. I asked him if this was true. He says yes, I admit it and I’m sorry. Talking to him, though, he doesn’t sound sorry enough. I say to him, Hamid Jan. Please go get your wife some flowers, a gift, and go embrace her and tell her that you are sorry and that you want to save your marriage, that you both need another chance to work on making this right. He says I don’t believe in those kinds of material offerings. I point out to him that that’s probably one of the things that is construed as his lack of attention to his wife. I say to him that gifts don’t really matter, except that they are symbols and signs of the fact that we care about someone; that’s why they shouldn’t be expensive or lavish. I say to him that people really appreciate it when their partners show that they have been thinking about them. I begged of him to go do something nice and kind for his wife, asking her to give their marriage another chance. In the end, he said he will do it. We hung up. I didn’t get the feeling that he was entirely convinced that this is the right thing to do. I can only hope that he does give his marriage another shot, in whatever way he is comfortable doing.

I think, however, that divorce is a decision that cooks in people’s minds and hearts for a long time before it even surfaces and is discussed. In the time it takes for it to cook in people’s minds, however, it becomes almost irreversible and unstoppable. I wished I had been in Tehran as my young friends’ relationship was deteriorating, and maybe I could have helped them in the process. I am so sad for the two of them and for what is awaiting them. Judging from tens of similar separations I have witnessed in Iran, after a possible divorce Hamid would most likely quickly get into another relationship, and quite possibly another marriage. His beautiful young wife, however, will not have a very easy time doing the same. Economic perils and social pressures threaten her, and her spirit will suffer much in the hands of a society that doesn’t take too kindly to divorced women. I hope they work on their problems and stay together. It was so beautiful watching them in love. My heart aches with worry and hope.

*I have changed his name and some other attributes here.

Tehran Yesterday, Washed by the Rain.....

Here's a picture of "my beloved," beautiful ugly city, taken yesterday by Mr. Karim Arghandehpour, who is a famous and wonderful journalist, author, and scholar in Iran. Those of you who read Farsi can visit his blog at http://www.futurama.ir/ .

Packing Begins......

The last time I packed boxes and suitcases, I was crying. I was reflecting on my long journey through life, packing boxes and suitcases for the past 28 years. Moving out of my parents’ house, moving to America, moving to Iran, moving back to America, moving back to Iran, moving back to America, moving back to Iran, and finally moving back to America, packing, leaving, crying. When I arrived at my sister’s house last year, I was thinking how tired I was of moving, moving, and moving, and never really arriving to stay for good. I reflected that everything in life gets better with practice; that you get used to everything. The only thing you never get used to, the only thing that the more you do, the worse you get at it, and the less you want to try it again, is saying good-bye. Each time it gets harder, because by now you are familiar with the pain that awaits you, loneliness, homesickness (wherever that home was), missing your family, missing your friends, missing the places and people you left behind. Over the past year, I have missed Tehran so much. It was a hometown I got to know again--on a very intimate level this time. I miss the afternoons of Tehran. In winter I miss the trays of piping hot red beets (laboo) on street corners. In spring I miss the green baby almonds (chaghaleh), and the gorgeous sweet fresh white berries (toot sefid) which come around in June, displayed in huge, heaping trays everywhere. I miss seeing the hundreds of happy families going for an evening picnic in Park-e-Mellat, carrying their food, their carpet, and their badminton sets. I miss the smug-ridden town, offering the deafening sound of honking horns on a constant basis. I miss the grid-locked traffic, where each car you pass has a group of young men and women in it, playing different kinds of loud music, talking in an animated fashion, and laughing. I miss the smell of nazri food, a gorgeous bowl of beautifully decorated sholeh zard. I remember when we were children, people offered this food to us in real white bowls with red-rose (gol-e-sorkhi) pattern. My mother always had us deliver the bowls to their owners with a red rose from our garden in it. Ah, the smell of those velvet roses and their nearby Persian Jasmines still have me drunk with memories of a childhood which was nothing short of perfect. I miss all traditions that make Tehran my hometown. I miss the vendors who, as you got ready to pay for your purchase, offered whole-heartedly, “mehman bashid,” be my guest. I have the boxes and the wrapping material ready. I’m sitting here looking at them. This time when I move, I won’t cry. I am going to a beautiful new home, a home that will have room for all of us to be and do as we are accustomed. It has beautiful trees all-around, and you can see the green hills from its windows. It is a home for which I have waited for many years, maybe my whole life. My own home. I already know where around that home I will plant my pomegranate and fig trees, the ones that will bring prosperity to my Iranian home. I don’t cry this time. I now live in my old, new, hometown; a place of which I have many good memories, and freer and lighter than I have been in years, I have every intention of making many many new good memories here. I still miss my beautiful ugly Tehran, but I feel my city of childhood, love, and so many memories, has blessed me with good wishes for moving on, for building this new life. I pick up a piece of bubble wrap, and carefully wrap the first item. I am smiling.

Renaud

At Sushi-Ko's today. See: http://nazykaviani.blogspot.com/2007/03/over-flames.html

Shadmehr Rocks!

...my voice is still hoarse....

A Funny Memory

On a Saturday in 1983, when we were still students, I was sitting at the table paying my bills, listening to the Iranian program on television. I heard them advertise a new Iranian restaurant, located in the Town and Country Village in Palo Alto, letting us know that they have the “Best Chelo Kabab In The Area.” I called my sister and a few other friends, and they all agreed to go there for lunch. Starving students on a tight budget, we were going to splurge and eat the “Best Chelo Kabab In The Area.” All nine of us piled into a beat-up Chevrolet Impala station wagon, and started the long journey from Berkeley to Palo Alto. On the way, we were singing “Sepideh dam oomad o vaghte raftan...” on top of our lungs, laughing and feeling generally happy. ...... Read the rest of this story here: http://www.iranian.com/Kaviani/2007/March/Dough/index.html

Errol

This is my handsome friend, Errol Mauchlan. I worked for him when he was Assistant-Chancellor at Berkeley, and we have maintained our valuable friendship through the years. He is a Scotsman who has lived in the US for the past 50 years. He has one of the sharpest analytical minds I have ever known; he follows local, national and international politics closely, and is articulate, generous, and fun to talk to. I am so glad I get to see him and have lunch with him occasionally now. This is a picture of him at lunch today at Bucci’s in Emeryville (a very hip and famous restaurant). He usually smiles a beautiful smile, but I think this serious look (his look in meetings) is also rather interesting.

Iranian Time Zone (Add 1.5 Hours to Everything)

What is with Iranians and always being late to EVERYTHING? Forget about being "fashionably late," though even that phrase refers to undisciplined morons! Many of us seem to have no respect for time, neither ours nor others'. We show up late to dinner parties, appointments, and events. Iranian events always get started an hour or more later than the scheduled time to accommodate the latecomers, or maybe the organizers and performers (being Iranians themselves, too)! I think the procrastinating Iranians might be thinking about the earth's life of millions of years or that 3,000+ year Iranian history, comparing all other time references with them, thinking "what is 2 hours in the overall scheme of things?" I hate it when I have to wait for people, and I hate it more when I keep people waiting. Punctuality is a good trait. Even more than showing respect for others, it shows that we have respect for ourselves and for our time. I am really grouchy with a certain Iranian right now.

My Nowrooz Spread

Happy Farvardin!

So, it took me three days, but here is a picture of my Haft Sin. I couldn't get the whole table in the frame, so some of my items on the edge are missing! At this stage, I would settle for mediocrity!

I had my Nowrooz visitors at home last night and it was a very good time. Some of my Iranian Berkeley colleagues might come to visit me today and tomorrow, and I have had to clean my office for that, too! I have tulips and fragrant freesias on my desk and my cookie jar is replenished. I guess this might be one of the few times in the year when I appreciate being older than anyone else!

My children made out like bandits with their eidi's this year. I got $10 for prosperity's sake (dashti) from my older sister. It was a relief to remember that there are people older than me!

My insomnia has ebbed, and I am happy that I can sleep again. I had a "Ms. Wisdom Moment" the day before Nowrooz, but I didn't want to talk about sad things, so I kept it for another time.

I will have to buy new shirini for my Nowrooz table, as my guests finished all the cookies my friend, Monir Zand, had made! (the ones in the lower right side of the picture).

You Transformer of Hearts and Emotions.....

Well, so, this picture is a little corny, but it's the best I could do, given my limited state of technology. I'll do better next year, I hope.

I pray the following prayer for you and for all of Iran (Ya Moghallebolgholoob.........):

“Oh, you transformer of hearts and emotions, you master of day and the night, you provider of health and better times. Turn our lives into the possible best!” *

* From Zohreh Khazai Ghahremani's article in Iranian.com, Lilies Growing in a Dark Lagoon. tp://www.iranian.com/Ghahremani/2007/March/Norooz/index.html