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Flowing from his bones

On Saturday, September 26th, I wandered into San Francisco’s gorgeous Palace of Fine Arts ten minutes late like any good Iranian. This was one time I regret coming even one minute late. Before my butt hit the red velour seat, my jaw fell down as I finally heard something I’ve been hunting for for years: the Iranian Jeff Buckley and his motley band of strings and drums that spanned the Old and New worlds with creativity, melancholy, and good ‘ol Iranian silliness. At intermission, while Fared was flocked by newfound fans to sign his CD>>>

Good New - Bad News

First the Good News: We – The Iranian Immigrants of all ages - just made a great showing in New York, of representing our much oppressed countrymen inside Iran. I was there for both days and certainly saw enough to know the majority of Iranians will build on their cumulative showing and will do even better in the future. I am certain of that – especially now that I see so many of our youth, breaking the old taboos and getting involved in politics relating to Iran.>>>

Akmed Strikes Back

I was getting on a flight to start my vacation. When I approached my seat, a nice Texan lady in the seat next to mine started eyeing me with a bit of suspicion. "What's wrong with you?... Your hair is all... dark and ethnic. Your eyes are so... not blue... so demonic. You look so... unlike us. Oh my god! I'm scared." Before I could react she began screaming frantically: "Marshal! Air marshal!" A mean-looking large man and a tiny one trying to look mean by chewing a toothpick jumped out of their seats, pulled out their Tasers, approached and assumed shooting postures. "Don't move, scumbag," yelled the large one>>>

Starstruck

Since they were children in Iran, the sisters Shirin and Nasrin Asgari dreamt of becoming opera singers. They spent their playtime pretending be Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. Later they made friends with Kamelia Dara, who had also been training to sing since early childhood, and practiced together. Yet hard work and ambition could only take the aspiring artists so far. They quickly realized they needed better training than they could find in Iran. Opera is rooted in Europe; you can’t perfect it in Tehran any more than you can perfect the Persian radif of music in Vienna. So the three came to Austria on tourist visas, hoping they could pass the auditions to be admitted as students>>>

خسته شدم از درد

با یک شکست تجاری آغاز شد. دنبالش برگشت به خونه‌ای که مستأجرا دربو داغونش کرده بودن و انگار دیگه عشق ازش کوچ کرده بود. یک ماه نشده بود که خبر دلخراش مرگ تنها عمویم را دریافت کردم. عمویی که برام خیلی‌ عزیز بود...خیلی‌. چهار ماه نشد که خبر خون ریزی مغزی مادرم از ایران اومد و رفتن اون به کما. مادر جراحی شد و همه چی‌ تقریبا خوب پیش رفت. چهار ماه بد خبر تصادف شدید عزیز دیگری، دختر خواهرم...صورت زیبا و معصومش خورد شده بود...اونم به خیر گذشت، اگه بشه اسمشو گذاشت خیر!>>>

Those hands belong to the world

Try mentioning your Iranian background in a circle of cultured American friends. Instead of the usual questions about politics they may ask, “Do you know of Lily Afshar?” This is because Afshar is one of the world’s leading classical guitarists, with remarkable innovations furthering the influence of the instrument. In fact, someone once asked Afshar herself where she was from. That “someone” was Maestro Andres Segovia, the terrifyingly eminent virtuoso authority on the classical guitar. A group of 12 young guitarists had been selected out of hundreds of international competitors vying for the honor of playing in front of the guitar legend, hoping for an approving nod>>>

Scented candle

It had been many years since I had seen my Uncle Homayoun, with the difference that this time Auntie Shahin was gone. Tragically, his wife of 50+ years had died in a car crash. So when I opened the door to greet him, he simply fell into my arms and wept. This was a different man – someone who was far quicker to show his vulnerabilities, but even stronger than before because he didn’t waste time controlling impressions. Spending time with Dai Homayoun was nothing short of a pilgrimage for me. So many stories to share, so many new ways to look at everything>>>

Beyond the Old and the New

Sadeq Hedayat was born on 17 February 1903 and died on 9 April 1951. He was descended from Rezaqoli Khan Hedayat, a notable 19^th century poet, historian, and historian of Persian literature, and author of Majm‘ al-Fosaha, Riyaz al-‘Arefin and Rawza al-Safa-e Naseri. Many members of his extended family were important state officials, political leaders and army generals, both in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, including Mokhber al-Dawleh, Nayyer al-Molk I (Hedayat’s grand-father), Sani‘ al-Dawleh, and Mokhber al-Saltaneh, who was prime minister between 1928 and 1933>>>

Jen

My ominous association with ghosts goes back to my early childhood years. Aunt Sedighe my father’s youngest sister lived in Shoushtar, one of the oldest cities in the world, dating back to Achaemenian dynasty (400 BC). Shoushtar used to be the winter capital of Sassanian dynasty and it was built by the Karoun River. The river was channeled to form a trench around the city. A subterranean system called ghanats connected the river to the private reservoirs of houses and buildings, supplied water during times of war when the main gates were closed. The ruins of these ghanats still exist and one was connected to Aunt Sedighe’s house where my cousins and I explored if we dared to>>>