Khosrow va Shirin

Today is a very happy day for me. I am going to my Persian Poetry class in Berkeley. Our teacher, Professor Zari Taheri, who now lives and teaches in Japan, returns to her alma mater, Berkeley, where she taught Persian literature for many years after graduation. Each summer she returns to the San Francisco Bay Area to teach a poetry class. Last summer I attended her class, Shaeran-e-doreh-mashrooteh. Her classes only run for six weeks and they end abruptly, just as you are warming up to them! She is a delightful (and very beautiful) woman, an accomplished scholar, and is a joy to listen to and learn from. I am taking three of my friends with me to this class this summer, and I will meet up with my many wonderful friends with whom I have kept contact since the last class.

This smmer we will study Nezami Ganjavi's Khosrow va Shirin. I am so excited to be reading Nezami. He is the ultimate storyteller (no offense to those who love Ferdowsi more than Nezami--I love Nezami not so much for his "epic" portrayal of scenes, but for the romantic ways in which he describes the relationship between this man and woman.) There are parts of Khosrow va Shirin which are defined in extremely elaborate erotic details, while in others, feelings are expressed in unique and poignant ways. I think Khosrow va Shirin is the most romantic story ever told, again, not becaus of the love story itself, but because of the way Nezami tells it. For the next several weeks, each week I will tell you what I learned in class, if it is report-worthy.

The above miniature is from the Shah Tahmasb Khamseh Nezami, which is kept in the British Library in London. It shows the scene where Khosrow Parviz's portrait is shown to poor Shirin for the first time (by Shapoor), making her fall in love with this mysterious handsome stranger! Just writing these words makes me so impatient for the class! (Source Encyclopedia Britanica)

Simon & Garfunkel-Bridge Over Troubled Water

For all my friends, realist or optimist.

Promise of Life

This is a 17-month-old baby boy’s hand, as he gets ready to play with his mother in Tehran. Can you see the promise of new experiences and adventures of life in it? The hand belongs to Shaya, who is Mana’s son. Mana is a young Iranian woman who chronicles her thoughts and experiences in her blog. I found her through Mrs. Shin’s blog, another educated Iranian mother and a writer, about whom I have written before. I go visit young mothers’ blogs all the time, not so much for the nostalgia, but somehow to reassure myself that the new generation of Iranian mothers is doing all the right things in raising their children, as that country’s future rests in their collective hands. When Iranian mothers teach their children social responsibility, love and respect for the environment, interest in reading as a cornerstone for understanding and dialogue, proper communication skills to have those dialogues, and respect for human rights, Iran will become a better place. I believe the future of every nation rests in the hands, hearts, and souls of its women as nurturers of that nation as its mothers, sisters, daughters, wives and friends. From what I see in Mana, Shin, and their other friends in Tehran, and what I see in people like Nimeh Shab in the US, I’m glad to report that we are in good hands and on our way. Sitting here imagining that future makes me so happy all of a sudden.

My New Piece on Iranian.com

In 2001, while on a business trip, I was invited to the home of a family in Mashad as their new family member. They were a devout Moslem family, who lived in an old traditional house in the older part of Mashad, near Imam Reza’s shrine. ................... This is the beginning of my new piece on Iranian.com, entitled Mashad's Collage of Life. If you can't get to Iranian.com, please let me know and I will send the piece to you.

Through The Fog, Hills, and Tunnels

Those who live in this area know that summer months in Berkeley mean early morning and nightly fog enveloping the surrounding hills. This is a typical picture of how it looks every morning when I come into work these days. Directly facing you are Berkeley/Oakland Hills, through which a tunnel runs. My older son, the philospher, and I took the drive again this morning, listening to Bob Marley and chatting, after a long time. After much cajoling, he also read me a few lines of a story he has been writing. It sounded amazing to me. But he was stingy with it, saying it's not yet finished. Through the fog, hills and tunnels, and a peculiarly happy feeling this morning, I am in Berkeley. Photo by Philosopher

To Do List

Exhibit A

I was overwhelmed with my responsibilities today. When after spending a few hours in the kitchen and around the house I sat down to see how much of my " To Do List" I had accomplished (Exhibit A), I was really disappointed at myself! I had promised to read things I didn’t read, and my writing just sits there beckoning me. Right now, all I want to do is to sit here, and do nothing! I also can’t shut off my mind. As I was doing my chores, I was listening to the radio on my computer. One station was really hard to take, as in the middle of news about wars and atrocities and devastations all over the world, they kept playing this fast-beat dance music. One was so boring, as they had these long silences filled with classical music, which wasn’t conducive to doing chores. The last station I listened to was broadcasting a report about Amir Kabir University students in prison, and how their families suspect that they are being mistreated and extensively tortured to confess, to what, I’m not sure. As I stood at the kitchen counter, motionless while holding a rag, thinking about this, I thought how spoilt and shallow it is to complain about radio programming and other things when at this very moment in this world, there are families worried crazy about their extraordinarily gifted children, who worked so hard to get into a top university, only to be handled like criminals and spies, denied basic human rights and access to legal advice and their families. Some days are just hard days to be a human being for the shame you feel about events that are taking place in your lifetime and you can’t do anything to stop or change them.

Beauty and Birthday

This is a painting by a female Iranian architect, named Mina Vijeh. I don’t know her. I saw her paintings on Iranian.com yesterday. She says the following unassuming and profound things about herself and her work, after she had to have surgery and stopped working and started painting again: “I wanted sweeps of color and emotion as a release from the worldly gloom that dominated my consciousness. I wanted to see the beauty encompassing us.” Check out her work. I think she has succeeded in doing exactly what she wanted.

More relatives leave today, leaving just one who will also leave soon. Sigh.

Today is Bayramali’s birthday. He is a blogger who has a keen eye on music, films, and arts. He writes with humor and nostalgia, so reading him always changes my emotional state in a positive way. I am lucky to have met this interesting man over the past year. He is a warm and wonderful person, full hope and optimism. I wish Bayramali a very happy birthday and a wonderful new year in his life. (For those of you who wonder, no, this isn’t his real name.)

I am excited to report that Shahrokh Moshkin Ghalam, about whom I had written in June, will be coming to North America to perform in August and September. He will have performances in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Toronto, and Vancouver. I will write the details soon. Until I do, take a look at this. It is an 8 minute clip, so if you don’t have time, watch the second 4 minutes, and if you still have less time, don’t miss the last 2 minutes.

I continue to feel teary-eyed and reflective this week, but I am deeply happy for all the blessings I have. I go around full of smiles and love for those I see around me, yet my tears shine in my eyes and occasionally fall. I must look like a lunatic to those who don’t know me. Have a brilliant Saturday everybody, and as Mina Vijeh said, try and “see the beauty encompassing us.”

Is The Grass Greener On The Other Side?

This week in Tehran, Mohammad Kheirkhah, a talented young Iranian photographer, has a showing of several of his works, entitled "Iranian Woman" (Zane Irani). Look at this touching picture. Does it make you sad?

Life's Celebrations

Jason is the one sitting in the back. From an article in yesterday’s San Francisco Chronicle.

Since I showed up to a job interview in Berkeley’s top administrative office in 1987, I have had a friend who is one of the most interesting and remarkable people I have ever known. Nancy is a a very sharp and experienced analyst, with the uncanny ability to step back (at least 10 steps) to look at the same situation we are all experiencing, seeing new things and making suggestions nobody else could see! She is open-minded and generous, and a perfect friend to have. She has been a teacher and a mentor to me for the duration of our friendship in matters professional and personal. Nancy’s son, Jason, who is an accomplished architect in San Francisco, was featured in San Francisco Chronicle yesterday. As one of my readers reminded me this morning, I am obviously getting older, but how come I remember Jason in high school and the next thing I know he is a dedicated professional, showing up in the paper and getting married this October? On the upside (!), I am delighted to observe yet again, that life does go on, and only if we pay attention, each day will bring us hundreds of reasons to be happy and celebrative; especially when we love others enough to see their accomplishments, their celebrations, and their victories as our very own.

Scattered Thoughts on My 200th Post

1. By tomorrow morning, my family will start leaving. No more about that subject.
2. Projects at work are taking a good shape and it feels good to get some long-standing commitments off my desk. I will also be learning some new project management software, and I’m excited about that.
3. My Persian Poetry class starts in Berkeley tonight, but I will miss the first class. I am so excited about starting next week. I will tell you about it in more detail soon.
4. Does anyone know whether Akbar Ganji will have any lectures in Berkeley soon?
5. I have finally finished my sad short story. I cried and worked on it, and it is finally finished. You will see it soon (I leave you no choice, do I?).
6. I am such a fortunate woman! I have interviewed someone really fabulous, and this weekend I will start transcribing my notes and writing that piece. I hope I can do the extraordinary story of this man’s life justice in putting it into writing. You can help me by telling me whether you think I should put it into a “story format” which is my preferred style of writing, or this time I should keep it in the “interview format,” which is more formal and therefore more serious. Your opinion is so important to me.
7. I will resume going to the Kiarostami movies this weekend, after everyone has left and my weekends go back to their boring shape! Of course this weekend we are celebrating a very special blogger’s birthday, and we will probably have a little more fun that usual.
8. I am feeding my family our “goodbye dinner” tonight. We will have hamburgers and barbequed vegetables, as everyone is a little tired of all the serious food they have eaten over the past two weeks! I must run now to go prepare that dinner.

Her Son

This is a sad piece. My heart wrote it very early this morning. I dedicate it to Gol-e-Nargess.

Last night I couldn’t fall asleep, because of something I had learned yesterday. I was thinking of the fifth family I now directly know who lost a loved one in Iran-Iraq war. I was thinking about a mother, a sister, and a brother who have had to deal with their loss for years, seemingly never getting over it. I was also thinking about a story I had written, but which was too painful to go back and to re-visit, even if it was just to edit, proofread, and publish it on my blog. As tears ran down my face in the dark, landing on my pillow, I thought of that story again, feeling the obligation to finish it and to share it. I have no illusions about my readership, but for the few that do read my writings I think I will write the story soon. The stories of those who died in the war, whether people choose to call them heroes, martyrs, dead, lost, or missing, all sound the same on the surface. Digging deeper, however, there are distinct stories of each individual, who lived a unique life, touched others around him uniquely, and died a unique death, further touching and affecting the lives of those around him. Since their deaths, families and friends of dead soldiers have all had a life completely different from the lives they were living with their loved one. Their lives are now burdened with feelings of loss, bereavement, nostalgia, anger, and simple longing for the young man who never returned, the way his eyebrows raised in surprise or knotted in thought, the way a smile would dance on the corner of his mouth, the way his tall and lanky figure would fill the door frame, the way his practical jokes and foolery would delight his mother and sister, the way he would steal tah dig pieces from the plate on its way to the dinner table. So many of those families still have his bed just as he left it more than two decades ago, his clothes hanging in his closet, his soccer ball and his badminton racquets in a corner, his books and school notes neatly kept on a shelf. Those families are not waiting for their sons anymore. They are waiting for themselves to finally accept his absence from their lives, or to join him in heaven. There is a story to be told--quite naturally a sad one, just thinking about which stings my puffy and tired eyes this morning. I will tell it soon. Photo by Nader Davoodi, Iranian.com

My New Piece in Iranian.com

One is an artist by profession and heart. He sees, lives, and talks music. When he plays, you can stare, but instead, you want to close your eyes and quickly write memories of that music in your heart. When he sits and talks about life, all the corners of his talk are adorned with artistic simplicity. This is when you want to stare at him, but you know you shouldn’t. So you move on…

…………..

This is an excerpt of a piece I wrote, entitled A Family Reunion in Diaspora, which was published in Iranian.com this morning. You can read it here. If you are in Iran and can’t access Iranian.com, please let me know and I will send it to you.