Friday, August 24, 2007

Beyt..

Dar e meykhaaneh bebastand, khodaayaa mapasand
Ke dar e khaaneye tazvir o riyaa bogshaayand...

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Stuff

I just learned something new about myself. I like going through old records and discovering things. Strange for someone who is not particularly a fan of reading history books. I think the nosiness I have combined with "Johnny Dollar" genes from my grandma work to my advantage.
I found a document I was looking for in a Newsweek magazine, year 1955!!
This brings me to my second idea. Ok, I'm absolutely blown away by the diligence and motivation of people who manage libraries and collect records. I mean, they are UNBELIEVABLE! If you just feel like knowing what people in the British Parliament were talking about on a specific date, boom, it's there. Someone has organized it such that it's easy to use. Oh, and I love control F too. What would we have done without it? (I guess what I did for finding this document, checking page by page through 52 issues of a magazine..Can you believe my good luck? It was in the 4th issue out of the 55!)
You could drown your days into learning nuances of making bibliographies and working with their softwares. It's literally a world of information, and you'd be surprised to know how much people actually care about the seemingly unimportant issues of formatting and font and such...

Umm, George Orwell is a great writer by the way. He is not exactly sentimental, but his account of poverty makes me shiver. I have never heard such a believable story of poverty as he gives in his book "Down and About in Paris and London". Every time I'm throwing away food, I think of Boris. Colorful character, he is, That Boris.

Consulted Hafiz, as usual, when I was disappointed in myself for not being ideal.
this came out:
Chon maslahat andishi door ast ze darvishi
ham sineh por az aatash, ham dideh por aab ola

Monday, August 20, 2007

Smooth Criminal

You know when you hear a pop song that you don't like much, but then there is a catchy line in it? You know how it feels when someone else with a sense of humor similar to yours all of a sudden sings that same exact line at EXACTLY the right (appropriate) moment?

Aha,that's what happened to me, just recently....

You've been hit by
You've been struck by
A smoooooooooooooooooth criminal...

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Afraa Takhte

Everywhere was green.
Underneath our car, an unpaved road.
Tall trees on both sides of the road, and smell of the village, as we drove up the circles, up the mountain. Anticipation in my heart for the number of honks needed to inform those already "up" there how many of us were going. That was our contract. No phones to inform them, you know.
In the green land rover, underneath our feet, big bulks of ice we had bought from the local store. In our hands, bottles of "Canada Dry" or cones of ice cream.
Day dreams, non-stop, about the horses I'd ride, walks I'd take, little mud statues I'd make, books I'd read lying down under the sky, warm underneath heavy comforters when it was windy outside. Long nights of "Mosha'ere" or "Ranjesh o Tahseen". That was something. They'd sit someone down and criticize them for their bad behavior so far and praise them for what they had done right. You didn't have the right to defend yourself right then; had to go think by yourself before you're allowed to say anything.
Where was I? Oh, the drive. In my small world, which of course didn't seem small at the time, it was crucial in whose car we drove up; who came along?
Those were exciting times, plans for working my way into my favorite car with my favorite passengers. That "sigh" of relief after I succeeded!
And Readings of "Arash e Kamangir" in the car. JOY.
This is Alborz mountain, the mountain the poem is about. Looked around myself. Was it really Alborz? Did it really matter? It was a bog forest. Looking around, I was amazed by the grandeur of it all.
Last night, I was in my bed, very early, reading that poem to myself. Loudly, I read the entire poem to an imaginary audience. Surprisingly, I broke into tears, yet again, while reading it. Then, I put it down, and decided to think instead about the green road and all the anticipation it brought about...

Marzhaye molk,
hamcho sar haddaat e daamangostar e andisheh,
bi saamaan
Borjhaaye shahr,
hamchoo baaroohaaye del,
beshkasteh o viraan
doshmanaan bogzashteh az sar haddo az baaroo.....

Friday, August 10, 2007

Africa

I don't want to say much.
Instead, I want to post what a dear friend of mine wrote to me from Africa. I have asked for her permission, and she gracefully allowed me to post her writing on my blog. She has a beautiful way of explaining her experience traveling as a woman(quite a pretty woman, I must say) in Africa:

"...Traveling Africa is difficult for a woman, especially for a white woman – you get so much attention (including marriage proposals on the bus station), that even despite animosity for guided tours, I am considering signing up for a couple – to blend more with human surroundings – in this case, other tourists ;)

Some of my truly African experiences include: a visit to a crocodile farm, waking up at 4:30 either because of chanting in the nearby mosque or a sermon with loudspeakers from a neighboring church (it is not too bad –the sunrises are breathtaking), and, of course, a ride in a matola (open pick-up truck, infinitely extendable – they are never considered full – if another person wants to jump in, passengers just get more tightly squeezed inside).

Erica (another girl working on this project) and I mounted one in sincere hope that we can handle 10 kilometers ride. Big expectations!
First, after circling the city in search of passengers for a while in vain, the driver stopped to wait for them. Waiting was more fruitful – in just about forty minutes enough people jumped in for us to get up – one occupies much less space standing. Another half an hour – I have never had such a tight physical contact with strangers – we are literally squeezed into each other. And then a true test of compressibility of human body comes – a
woman with a basket of tomatoes! The driver opens the back door – placed horizontally, it provides additional space – enough to regroup and accommodate the tomatoes for safe transportation. We literally fled the vehicle at its first stop..."


That's it for today...and as for poem of the day:

Malool az hamrahaan budan tarigh e kaarvaani nist
Bekesh doshvaarie manzel, be yaad e ahd e aasaani..
....

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

for Amoo Shari

Khonok aan ghomaar baazi ke bebaakht har che boodash
benamaand heechash ella havas e ghomaar e digar
...

Ey aanke ghamgenio sezaavaari...
I read to myself, trying to sound like you when you'd sing this for me. I clearly remember the day you taught me this poem.I don't think you do.
You had me recite it over and over again, in the green land rover you drove. I was sad and worried about maman gorgani. I thought she may never recover. And she did; and she lived for much much longer.
The poem, I thought was unfair, as I still do. But I just wanted to seek comfort in you and in some absolute wisdom as, again, I still do today.
And you know, there may be a bug in my system in general, but I never liked the "Chonaan namaand o chonin niz ham nakhaahad maand" remedy. It never comforted me. I need more stability, you know?

I'm having hard days. What is this amoo shari? How come my logic doesn't help?

It's now that I miss ,even more, the lovely feeling of sitting with you and Fariba joon, eating pomegranate until we can't breathe any longer...
You know, having family like you makes me feel like things will be ok again, some day.
I mean, there is always del o jegar and good poems and interesting advise with some sense of humor waiting on the other side of the line, right?

ey aanke ke ghamgeni o sezaavaari
vandar nahaan sereshk hami baari
raft aanke raaft amaad aank aamad
bud aanche bud, khireh che gham daari?
sho taa ghiaamat aayad zaari kon,
key rafte raa be zaari baaz aari?
aazaar bish zin gardoon bini
gar to be har bahaane biaazaari
Hamvaar kard khaahi gitee ra?
giteest, key pazirad havmaari??
...
gooyee gomaashtast balaayee oo
bar har ke to del baroo bogmaari...

Monday, August 6, 2007

Now

1. Attended a very interesting panel discussion at the Business school in Stanford. It was about politics and energy and oil. Very good conversations moderated by the chief editor(online)and business column writer of the Wall Street journal. Balanced panel, smart audience, interesting discussions.

2. In the personal realm, things are tough. Can't seem to talk(here) or even clearly think about them. Lots of mood swings, endless anxiety attacks that thankfully do not last too long. Last night, I woke up at 3 am because my whole body was itching. I literally was scratching myself in sleep, and that woke me up. Turned on the light and realized my hands are entirely red and irritated. Like an itch attack, or some sort of a breakout! It was crazy. I couldn't sleep for a bit and was thinking of putting gloves on so I won't scratch myself to death! Anyhow, I forced myself to sleep, and in the morning, everything was all right. The redness, the breakout, everything was gone. I guess my body is just extremely connected (and sensitive) to my emotions. The first time when I went back to Iran, I was so extremely happy and excited, that my cheeks burned; they literally burned, as in 1st degree burning. You know how when you are excited your cheeks become hot? well, mine became so hot that they burned. I had red marks on my cheeks for a week or so, a sign on my absolute excitement about being back home.

3. There are good moments too; when I have ambition; when I am relaxed and hopeful. They have just become few and far between. Thankfully, I have not COMPLETELY lost my attention span and am still able to read; JOY of these days.

4. Watched a movie by Kiarostami that I liked. Except, it was set in a place just like "afra takhteh" and I cried through half of the movie because I just would give ANYTHING to go back there again, and what if I can't? Plus, I was just sad that day anyway.

5. I keep telling myself "bar oo taazim o bonyadash barandazim, bonyadash barandazim...barandazim, barandazim..." . Let's hope I will.

6. I think I still like to become a journalist

7. (I'm talking to myself here) You know what, it's fine if you think I ghor too much or look for things to be depressed about. I am aware of it and try not to do this, but it's not helpful to think of people who may read this and think, oh, yeah, there she goes again. I don't like censoring myself, and I do that QUITE a lot here. For fear of unfair judgment or being passive aggressive.

7. I'm going to cherish all those little moments when I'm happy and keep them for use when I feel like this. I'm too sensitive, and it is hard. I mean, it gets unbearable at times, but I also feel even the simple joys of life in an exaggerated way. Thinking about that helps.

8. Sa'diaa hobb e vatan garche hadisit sahih
natavaan mord be sakhti ke man injaa zaadam

natavaan?

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Judgments

I came across this article yesterday. It's not mind blowing in anyway, nor does it present a brand new idea. But it's a clear, to-the-point article about an interesting topic.
http://paulgraham.com/judgement.html