Stepping Away

Sunset from my balcony today, February 29, 2008.

It's Friday. This was a hard week for me, feeling under the weather and a little sad about some stuff that's going on in my life. I am glad to report that despite some tears I cried this week, there were also some pretty big smiles, caused by some good news from friends and family near and far. Some writing I did made me laugh, too. Consider the woman who spent several days since last Friday in her pajamas, with her shawl around her, and a small blanket on her lap for good measure, with messed up hair and her Kleenex box at hand, sitting at her computer typing and laughing, sometimes so hard she was slapping her knee! I wonder what my kids (and now Iden, too!) think about me! When they move around the house, these days they never know whether they will find me contemplative and serious-looking, crying my eyes out, or laughing to myself like a crazy woman! It has been that kind of week for me.

I was touched by the love and friendship of several people this week; my friends from all walks of life were extra attentive and kind to me, calling me, visiting me, and sending good vibrations my way. Looking as unglamorous as I did, this was also my week to receive calls and visits from my artist friends Rojan, who is a singer from Kurdistan, Vaaleh, who is a singer specializing in spiritual fusion music, and Hamed who is a composer, a singer, and a multi-instrumentalist. Hee Hee, though I didn't look the part for hanging out with local celebrities, I did think again for the millionth time how very fortunate I am for having such good friends! O.K. Enough showing off. I better get on with this post!

I want to tell you another story about my years of coming of age. It is a story about my first male best friend, Mehrdad. I will say it in a separate post soon. Tomorrow will be a good day for me, as I will take a trip to Sacramento with my sisters and niece to visit my younger sister. I am so ready for stepping away for a few hours, where I can put my routine activities aside and hang out with my family. Sacramento is about two hours' drive away from where I live, so it will be a long day trip for me, returning late tomorrow night. Wherever on this planet you live, I urge you to step away from your routine, and to do something a little different this weekend. See your loved ones and let them wrap you in their arms and their love, and do the same for them. Step out and recreate, re-configue, and re-format! Leave your desks, your computers, and your "corners" to step into your friends' and families' corners. Be a little different this weekend, unpredictable and ready to express your love and affection. I'm ready. Have a good weekend everybody and be good y'all.

Ending Winter

Farhad performs Koodakaneh live in Koln, one of his last concerts. This is one of my all-time favorite artists, songs, and performances. I'll come back later tonight to write my Friday post. Have a brilliant day everybody!

بوی گل محمدی که خشک شده لای کتاب....با اینا زمستونو سر می کنم، با اینا خستگی مو در می کنم....بوی باغچه، بوی حوض، عطر خوب نذری، شب جمعه پی فانوس توی کوچه گم شدن، توی جوی لاجوردی هوس یه آبتنی ، با اینا زمستونو سر می کنم، با اینا خستگی مو در می کنم

Confessions

Flowers of Iran by Shahireh Sharif.

My cousin Mahtab was two years older than me, so when I was 15, she was a voluptuous and daring 17-year-old, expert in the arts of makeup, hair styling, and fashion. She kept failing her classes, and seemed to have no worries about this. The only thing I, the scrawny, late-bloomer that I was, had to show for myself was a loud mouth full of words and smiles and a good pen. Mahtab and I who had grown up together with our other siblings, became partners in crime around this time of our lives. Well, sort of.

Mahtab had met a boy a couple of years older than herself on the street, when she had been looking for a coin to call home on a public phone. The two of them had started a secret courtship which lasted for several years. I used to run to my aunt's house to find a quiet, private corner where Mahtab and I would smoke cigarettes and she would tell me about her boyfriend, Bahman. She seemed so grown-up and worldly to me! The whole concept of a real boyfriend, a stranger, was so awesome to me! A year or so later, on one of my almost daily visits to Mahtab's house, I found her in bed, crying her big black eyes out, telling me that Bahman was leaving Tehran to go live in London, where he was to pursue his education. Mahtab was inconsolable, missing the love of her life already.

A few days after Bahman had left, she called me and asked me to go visit her immediately. I obliged. She showed me a blue aerogramme (do you remember those? A piece of long blue paper which would be folded and sealed to comprise both the letter and the envelope...I am so old!). It was a letter from Bahman. She begged me to read it. It was a love letter, written in a beautiful masculine handwriting, confessing undying love for Mahtab, asking her to write soon. I handed the letter back to Mahtab, asking her if she would like to use some nice writing paper I had with matching envelopes. She shook her head, crying. I asked her what was wrong and she showed me a hundred balls of crumpled paper--letters she had attempted to write to Bahman, hating every one of them because her writing skills were so poor, both in composition and in spelling. She begged me to write Bahman a letter from her. I told her I couldn't oblige, because a love letter was from the person who loved the other person, and I didn't love Bahman in the same way she did, so I couldn't write a love letter to him! She said she would tell me what to write, and all I had to do was to shape it up and make it sound beautiful. For good measure, she told me if I accepted to write her a letter, she would curl my awfully flat straight hair in curlers and style it for me. I pulled out a paper and started writing: "Bahman-e Aziz Tar Az Janam....."

Two years went by like this. I wrote Bahman two or three letters on Mahtab's behalf every week, where she would tell me: "Tell him I love him and I can't wait for him to come home and marry me," and I would write: "Bahman Jan, not a night goes by when I don't dream of you, and not a day when I don't see your handsome face in my mind, and not a second without dreaming of our union one day soon." With Mahtab's reciprocal help and my own eventual growth spurt, I had started to look pretty good, if I may say so myself! My hair was always nice and fluffy, my eyebrows had started to vanish and take shape, much to my mother's chagrin, and Mahtab was teaching me how to use makeup.

Eventually, Bahman came home and came to Mahtab's khastegari, and the lovers got married. I never forget their wedding day. After the formal ceremony, aghd, someone asked the bride and groom what had convinced them to choose each other for marriage. Mahtab said her "certainty of Bahman's love," and poor Bahman said: "all the love letters I received from Mahtab in London, which kept me sane and helped my resolve to come home and marry her." I had to leave the room and go die in a corner with laughter and shame!

This is how I learned to write about other people's feelings. Sorry, I wished I had a more honorable tale to tell, but the saving grace of this confession is that it's true and it was for a good cause--love... A very good cause indeed.

Getting Out!

Zamaneh has published the Farsi translation of the Afshin Mofid story. You can read Part I here, and Part II here.

Feeling somewhat better, I'm off to work this morning. I'm so tired of staying inside and feeling crummy! Hopefully I will last the day at work. After work I will go to visit my oldest sister who is visiting us in the area. I have missed her very much. Fourteen years older than me, she has always been more than just a sister to me. She has alternatively been my second mother, my teacher, my friend, and my confidant in life. It makes me smile to remember that she knew about my first love, and helped me cry my eyes out and talk about my second, and to this day, she listens and commiserates about all the messes I get myself into! Being the "black sheep" of my family, it has been a relief for me to be able to count on her continual support and understanding! So, if I feel better, I will be on my way to feel even better by visiting her! Now, that's something really good to look forward to today. I'll come back and write a proper post later this evening. Be good you all.

Awake

Children in Kurdistan's Kanda Soora village, February 24, 2008. Photo by Sharooz Sharifinasab, Fars News Agency.

I'm home with a dreadful cold. I stayed away from writing last night, simply because between the cold and the medication I had taken, I was sure I would sound delirious and stupid! This is the second day of work I'm missing, canceling long-standing appointments and meetings I really needed to attend. Though I seldom miss work days, my work life just has to wait until I am better again.

Despite the silly cold, my spirits are good (it's simply amazing what a fistful of drugs can accomplish!). In between the drug-induced naps, I am sitting here thinking about Nowrooz. About my huge spring cleaning project, khooneh takooni, about the cookies and sweets I will have to order, about my sabzeh, the wheat I will have to grow in my big blue plate, and about helping out a few of my single male friends with their haft-sin. My calendar has filled up with events and lectures and celebrations all through the month of March and at this moment it feels overwhelming to think about all that I will have to be doing, but I'm sure when the time rolls in, I'll be ready. Is it just me, or is there something really strange, almost genetically instilled, in all Iranians having to do with the last few weeks of winter? Around this time of the year, I feel an awakening, something almost physical, in the way I feel and think and move! I gear up for the season change, for the change of the year, and for all that is dear and important to me in starting a new day, now rooz. I get filled with memories of Nowrooz's past, my parents and my childhood, and am reminded of every traditional chore my mother used to do around this time of the year. I get excited imagining the fragrance of the hyacinths, sonbol, in my house, and the colorful tulip pots which soon will be lining my walkway. I feel so very alive around this time of the year. Alive and full of hope. Awake, alive, and hopeful, even with a miserable cold.

Go here to see times for Spring Solstice, tahvil-e-sal, in your part of the world. Courtesy of Bahram Maravandi.

Friendship Song

Mohammad Reza and Homayoun Shajarian perform Morgh-e-Sahar (Bird of Dawn) with Hossein Alizadeh and Kayhan Kalhor in their concert benefitting the Bam earthquate victims in Tehran.

So, this is the third time one of my friends has sent me this video clip, and today is the day that it gets posted in honor of friendship! Fariba, Farideh, and Daisy (on recommendation from her friend, Gity) have each separately shown sentiment for the song. As you recall, I wrote about Morgh-e-Sahar a while back, but posted another rendition of it by Hengameh Akhavan and Mohammad Reza Lotfi back then. Most Iranians have a love affair with this song. Since it was first performed by the first Iranian female vocalist Ghamarolmolook Vaziri, based on a score written by Maestro Morteza Neidavood some 85 years ago, many artists have performed it. It is a song people sing in family gatherings and when they are alone, to themselves! This is an ageless song which never tires me, and it appears that I'm not alone in that feeling, so here we go! Enjoy.

مرغ سحر ناله سر كن *** داغ مرا تازه تر كن

زآه شرر بار *** اين قفس رابرشكن و زير و زبر كن

بلبل پر بسته ز كنج قفس درآ *** نغمه آزادى نوع بشر سرا

وز نفسى عرصه اين خاك توده را *** پر شرر كن

Sunday With Friends

I had lunch with my friends today. Bayramali had made a fabulous Abgoosht for all of us, and we decided it wouldn't do to eat it at a table, hence the beautiful nostalgic Iranian spread, Sofreh on the floor! It was a wonderful day spent in the company of people I really love. My diet forgotten and nostalgia in full operation, I ate all I wanted and made fun of my friends' eating even more than me! We watched the Oscars together and were collectively bummed out that Satrapi's Persepolis didn't win. It was a day spent in Bayramali's impeccable pad, which felt like heaven to me for a few hours. A most memorable Sunday!

Photo by Vahid

Vartan Sahakian

Ostad Vartan Sahakian, a composer, and a piano master and teacher in Tehran.

My reader, Mohammad, who is a tour guide in Tehran, in one of his excursions in Shahrestanak, near Tehran.

Mohammad would like to introduce his friend, Vartan Sahakian to us. It is best if I just let you read what he has to say about his special friend:

"ِThank you for giving us this chance to communicate our thoughts with you and your readers on what friendship is and who represents to us a good example of a great friendship. I'm so much pleased to say that I have been honored and privileged to have Mr. Vartan Sahakian as the "closest friend" of mine. (My formal tone employed to describe him simply reflects the high regard and the kind of special respect I hold for him ). Herewith, I would like to express my appreciation for the very great person he is to, not only me, but to a whole lot of others who have the complete privilege of knowing him. He is a treasure, an angel of kindness, and a real friend.

I can't simply put all my sense of appreciation for him in this note. He is a great source of inspiration for me, he is a man who stands by you at all times, who “thinks of you when you think he may not be thinking of you”, who is always there to "listen" to you and “identify” with you , who shares so sincerely with you his experiences of life and work and puts his best foot into solving your biggest puzzles and problems of life. I can't simply thank him enough for all he has been to me. I hope I can prove at all times that I deserve his friendship. Dear Nazy, I would like to know if there is anyone among your readers in this blog who are from Tehran AND who have a “piano” AND play it AND who don't know Vartan Sahakian or haven't heard of his name? I'm sure EVERYBODY who has been his student at some point of their lives either in the past or present , would testify to my claim that he is a unique treasure."

Thank you Mohammad Jan, for speaking so honestly about your friend, who seems to be a really decent and wonderful man. I am sure many of my other readers who are active in music in Tehran will recognize him. I recognize him because of his good heart. He is my friend now, too. Thank you for being so generous in sharing a friend and a friendship which is obviously very important to you. Thank you.

P.S. I am a bit embarrassed here! After I created this post, I actually went to do my own research on Vartan Sahakian. What I found was amazing! He is a composer who has written scores for Bahram Baizaee's Sag Koshi (Killing Mad Dogs), and other movies. Here is an interview Radio Zamaneh did with him just recently. Many Iranian singers, such as Homayoun Shajarian, list their training with Mr. Sahakian as a credit to their background. In fact, my own musician friend who lives in the area, Hamed Nikpay, lists his training with Mr. Sahakian as a point of great honor for himself. Mr. Sahakian has also translated several music books into Farsi. My hat's off to this extraordinary Iranian.

Friendship Week

Banoo Molook Zarrabi sings and plays the Tombak with Anooshirvan Rohani in 1977. She was the first female singer/instrumentalist of Iran. In this video, she was already 70+ years old.

It's Friday. I end a hard but good week. I have heard from good friends, have delivered on several outstanding obligations, have made some decisions I was putting off for a while, and would like to think that I am just a tiny bit wiser than last week.

Today on my lunch break I went for a walk around the block to enjoy the sunshine which had spontaneously broken out of the morning rain, soon to be followed by another storm this weekend. There was a nice breeze which felt so good on my face. I was taking deep breaths of the fresh air, feeling so fortunate to be out in the open air. Right where there was a sea of sunshine and that nice breeze was coming from all directions on a street corner, I stopped and closed my eyes, willing the sun and the wind to caress me and to soothe out my small worries and small pains. It felt so good.

So, I have four young men in the house at this moment, sitting around, watching a basketball game. This is a Friday night and it is a rare occurrence to have them stay in, but I don't mind.

Daisy suggested today that we make this Friendship Week in my blogs. I rather like the idea! Of course in my life, everyday is friendship day and every week is friendship week. What would my life be without my friends? I hear from them on the phone across the seas, on Yahoo and MSN Messengers, in my blogs, in my four email accounts, and in person. Some of them call me several times a day! So, we will make this the Friendship Week. Please talk about what friendship means to you, who your friends are, and how you will celebrate them this week. If you wish, send me your friends' photos and I will feature them. If you want, write a longer post and I will feature it in my blogs. You can dedicate a song, a videoclip, a poem, or anything your heart desires to them here. I am around tonight and most of this weekend, so I hope to answer your kind comments more quickly, and answering my tens (and tens) of neglected emails. Be good you all, think good thoughts, say good words, and dream good dreams. Have a good weekend y'all.

Discovery Time

Just outside my house on a rainy day.

Before my older son started driving his own car, I used to drive my children around a lot. Those times I spent in the car with them were really good times for me. I could listen to music with them and talk with them, my poor "captive audience!" It seems more and more there is never a time when I drive anywhere with the two of them in my car, and I really miss their company and the resultant stories and lessons I used to learn in the car. I accepted eagerly to give my younger son a ride to college in the pouring rain this morning. The ride was really short, and my passenger being my younger son, the quiet one, I didn't have high hopes of a lively conversation first thing in the morning.

For some reason he asked me if any Iranians work at the Alborz Persian Restaurant in Berkeley. I said: "Yes, two young Iranians work there as waiters." He asked about the kitchen staff and the boss boys. I said I believe them all to be Hispanic. Just thinking about the friendly staff at my favorite hangout in Berkeley, I told him: "And those guys are so nice to me all the time......come to think of it, everyone is always very nice to me.....I think I am very lucky!" In his very quiet and slow way, he said: "Yes, me, too." Something really strange gripped me all of a sudden. My son thinks he is very lucky? Since when? I mean, has he always felt that way or is this something new? Why didn't I know that he feels lucky? Just to be sure I had heard right, I asked calmly: "Really? You feel you are lucky in life?" He replied: "Yes. I even have a four-leaf clover in my wallet." There was silence except for the windshield wipers' sliding across the windshield. My son feels he is lucky and he is superstitious, too? Why didn't I know that? I said: "Wow, a four-leaf clover! Where did you get that?" He said: "My Ammeh Nazy gave it to me in Tehran. Would you like to see it?" I said: "Yes, very much, show me tonight." I started driving the car again very slowly after he had left the car.

As mothers, we feel so knowing about our children's every aspect and characteristic. But past a certain age, there is so much, good or bad, about them which we may not know, leaving room for accidental discoveries about them. All through the day today, I was thinking about my younger son, The Traveler, with his dark unruly long hair always in his eyes, with his funny earrings in one ear and the young beard he refuses to shave and trim, and the too big, loose clothing he likes to sport. That guy thinks he is lucky in life and he carries a four-leaf clover. All day today, I felt strangely lucky to know that guy.

For Serendip

A saffron flower grows in the beautiful soil of Khorasan, Iran. Photo by Khashayar Dabestani, Iranian.com.

And so, she is back! My fabulous friend, Serendip, is back! Those of you who have been reading me longer, know that since April of last year, Serendip used to come and visit me frequently. Of course I love all my readers and I am always delighted to hear from any of them. Serendip, however, is unique in many ways. She was one of the very first visitors I ever had in my blogs, after my blogger friends in the area and Tameshk. She came and always left the most insightful comments for me. She is a highly-educated woman, a scientist, who has love and passion about poetry, music, spirituality, and politics, among other things. Every comment she ever left for me had a lesson of love and compassion in it. Serendip has a mostly political weblog. She keeps abreast of developing news and has her very distinct political views. Where she and I meet, however, there is little politics. We meet and greet each other in that beautiful vast land of humanity, where we talk about love, compassion, the arts, and anything beautiful. When Shobeir had first started visiting me, one day he wrote a comment for Serendip in which he said: "Your blogs are so serious and so cold (referring to the news pieces Serendip posts), but when I see you here, you are a poet, so warm!" Such has been our friendship, full of warmth and human poetry.

Serendip took a hiatus for a few months to be with her loving family. I am so delighted to see her back! Today I received my third message from her in one week, so I know she is back for sure, my refined, artistic, and articulate friend. It wouldn't have done to have welcomed her back in the comments section. I have missed her so much, I had to write her her very own post. Welcome back Serendip! Please stay this time. My older readers have asked after you, wondering what may have happened to keep you away from these parts. I explained to them that this was temporary. I'm glad you're back, my beautiful, unmet friend.

That Love Seems Easy At First

In Zanjan's Sahrain Wildlife Sancturay, a park ranger offers a suger cube (so Iranian!) to a squirrel, February 2008.

I started replying to your kind comments and got most of them done, but not all. I was tired and decided to stop and come back when I can do a good job of this, the best part of blogging in my opinion. It has been a crazy week for me, full of commitments and running around, feeling stressed for looming deadines. It looks like I am almost caught up with most of my commitments. I am exhausted and in need of some solid sleep. I will make another post later in the day.

My friend, Mina, of IranWrites, who is a very sensitive and articulate writer, has written a beautiful post about her pets, three dogs, which is really sweet to read. She has also generously dedicated that post to me. I feel honored. I have had many pets in my life, but I will never forget my sweet dog, Gorgi, and my beautiful cat, Oscar (his Iranian name is Asghar). When I moved to US two years ago, I had to leave my cat with a kind man in Karaj who has been taking care of him since. Animals bring joy and love to our lives, and become our families. I think Mina's description of her special relationship with her dogs is indicative of just how important animals can become in our lives. I found it touching that among the many political and literary reviews Mina writes, she wrote a very personal post about her pets. If you can find the time, go take a look and read her piece. The woman knows how to write! I thoroughly enjoyed reading about her dogs, bill clinton, Mercutio, and Ginger.