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FICTION
01-Nov-2008 (8 comments)
Baradare Azizam, Two months of silence. I deserved that, after sending you that nasty email. All I can do now is to apologize and hope that you forgive me and please agree to write and call me again. I have had a lot of time to reflect on what you conveyed to me in your last email. I know that you have only the best of intentions towards me. I know I have to work on my marriage and make the best of it. Nassim is a good girl that would make any man happy and she would never have gotten angry like that if I had not provoked her. Dadash joon, I want you to know I tried everything I could to put distance between Kati and me, even though I disagreed with your opinion. I didn’t return her phone calls or emails>>>
STORY
30-Oct-2008 (9 comments)
It’s a dazzling summer morning. The breeze moves the shining waves of sun with care. Foreign birds fly in the sky with harmony. A masked man is trailing me through the orange trees of my childhood memories. The green leaves touch my face and juicy oranges drop over my head. The branches scratch my skin and the pain spreads its path through my veins. I run and I don’t look back. The heavy breathing of the faceless man overshadows the happiness of the wind, and the diffuseness of a fading moon enlightens my way. Like in a dream, in a blink of eye, I grow tall and strong, capable of pushing away branches and trunks and leaving their imposing path. Like the imaginary Deev of legends and tales, I crush trees under my toes, knowing I’d reach the birds, if I want to.>>>
FICTION
28-Oct-2008 (4 comments)
I am writing to you on one of the most important dates of American history, the day when this country celebrates its independence with fireworks, food, family and friends. There is a level of excitement in the air that reminds me of our own Norooz, where everyone in the street is so happy and giving each other these twinkling looks and bright smiles, on their way home to have a good time. But tonight, I am neither at a party nor am I hosting guests. I am sitting at home alone. Yes, Shahab is here too. He is in the living room watching T.V. and drinking his beloved Vodka. As I have said, I am alone. Forget tonight: We have never had any guests over. Shahab has not invited anyone or introduced me to any of his co-workers or friends (if he has any!). He is obsessed with people finding out “what goes on” in his private life.” Why? >>>
FICTION
27-Oct-2008 (9 comments)
Lily Flower had never worked in her life. She was the last member of Flower family, well-known in Hustonville, Tennessee. At ten, her parents called her their little genius. She could sing the most difficult tunes and play the most complex songs on piano. At sixteen she dreamed of being a famous actress. But her parents died in a car accident and she inherited their fortune at twenty-four. Once the time of her grieving was over, she sold everything, left her hometown and moved to New York. She lived in a luxury house at Soho for the first six years, but the day she realized nobody had ever recognized her talents - excepted for her parents- she moved to this apartment building. Santa Fe Apartments, 43210 Stone Ave. “No pet allowed”. The concierge told her on the first day she moved in. But she didn’t care. Young and hopeful, “I’m going to get married,” she had thought. “Who needs a pet?”>>>
FICTION
25-Oct-2008 (10 comments)
Khaleh Joon, I hope you haven’t been worried if your phone calls have remained unanswered for the past few days. Shahab and I were gone for a short vacation. I know this will come as a surprise to you after how low I have been feeling ever since our big fight. I was even more surprised than you must be at the way things turned out. About ten days ago, I came out of the shower to see the table set with candles and flower, the lights dimmed, some nice Persian music playing on the radio, and the smell of something yummy coming from the kitchen. I was in awe and did not know how to react. Shahab finally came out of the kitchen, came towards me and took my hand, which he kissed tenderly. He led me towards the table and pulled the chair out for me>>>
23-Oct-2008 (14 comments)
Payam jan, To say that I am disappointed in you is an understatement. However, it is the most accurate interpretation of what I am feeling right now. After reading your email, I was really angry. Fuming. The initial email I wrote you was full of that rage. I am glad I cancelled it and I waited til I cooled down before writing to you again. However, the hurt is still there. After being unfairly accused by my wife, it really stung for you to point your finger at me too. Yes, I know I am far from the perfect husband. I am the first one who will call myself a failure. I have told you so many times. It was you and Maman Joon who always kept insisting I was this wonderful person who just hadn’t explored his full potential yet. Baba usually would hide his face behind a newspaper during one of those motivational sessions. How right he was>>>
LIFE
23-Oct-2008 (3 comments)
I was kidnapped from the maternity ward of a hospital after birth. When this appalling incident happened, to avoid a scandal, the hospital authorities took the baby in the next crib whose parents were missing and gave him to my parents. I am someone else. Who I really am, I don’t know. I could have been a normal baby growing up in a normal family and turned into a normal adult but my life didn’t happen this way. Just to add a little more flavor to my life, my parents once admitted that I was conceived because of a defective condom. I learned this horrifying truth when I was a kid. Sometimes I hope the real me never finds out who he really is. Obviously, he has more skeletons to discover than I do>>>
FICTION
20-Oct-2008 (3 comments)
Salam Dadash jan, Chetori? I just received your email with all the photographs from Kian’s birthday. You guys all look so happy. Maman especially shone in her new dress. Did my favourite four year old enjoy his gift from Canada? I miss you all so much. I am waiting impatiently for the day when you will write me with the happy words “We are coming for a visit…” Here, on the Northern front, things have been getting a bit frosty and I am not just talking about the weather. Nassim and I had our first fight. Yes, it took almost five months for the blissful, newly-wedded merry-go-round to hit a little snag. It happened last week, when my dearest parents-in-law threw yet another mehmani at their home. You know how those evenings go. This time, though, a couple of things were different right from the start. >>>
STORY
18-Oct-2008 (5 comments)
There was a little sparrow that was stuck on their porch somehow, having fallen or gotten lost or something, and the boy of nine, whose name was Babak Ghanbari, walked up to it. Something was wrong when a bird did not fly away when he walked up to it, and he called to his father, who was inside reading the newspaper. When his father came outside, the bird flew up to the corner of the glass porch roof. It flew belaboredly, like it took all it had to get up there. The father saw that it was in bad shape. "There is nothing that we can do for it," he said, and he turned and went inside.>>>
FICTION
16-Oct-2008 (2 comments)
Salam Khaleh Joon, I hope this letter finds you and yours well. I wish I could say Shahab and I are doing fine here but this would be far from the truth. We recently got into a major fight and it was much, much worse than the last time, when he punched the wall. But before you get worried, I am okay. I mean, I am not hurt or anything. Not physically at least. As for my emotional state, that is another story. It all started when we were invited to Maryam’s house for a party. Remember the last time, I told you about bumping into Maryam, my old friend from Iran>>>
LIFE
15-Oct-2008 (9 comments)
نزدیکیهای صبح بود که رسیدیم شیراز، «ساک در دست و پتو زیر بغل». همگی رفتیم سراغ یکی از این هتلهای بی ستاره همان دور و بر دروازه اصفهان که لامپهای مهتابیش دم به دم باز و بسته میشد و اسفالت را رنگ میزد. هوا سوز داشت گرسنه هم بودیم و بیخوابی توی اتوبوس ایرانپیما هم رویش. دیروز عصر که از اهواز راه افتادیم تا خود بهبهان شرجی توی هوا موج میزد و حالا سرمای اول صبح شیراز ما را که پیراهن آستین کوتاه تنمان بود بد جوری غافلگیر کرده بود. من بودم، مهدی بود، عزیز، شهرام، منصور، پرویز و خیلی های دیگه که قیافه شان از یادم نرفته اما اسمشان چرا. همه بچه های خوزستان بودیم که حالا بعد از شیش ماه تعلیماتی توی پادگان زرهی اهواز، برای خدمت به شیراز آمده بودیم. با مهدی همان توی پادگان آشنا شدم. گاهی گپ و گفتی توی نهارخوری و بعضی وقتها هم سالن ورزش. اندامی ورزیده، صورتی آفتاب سوخته و نگاه گرمی داشت.>>>
FICTION
13-Oct-2008 (one comment)
Dear Khaleh Joon, I hope this letter finds you, Amir Khan and my dear cousins, all well. Forgive me if I always seem nervous and cut our telephone conversations short. I am so paranoid that Shahab is going to walk in on us or that he will somehow find out just by looking at me or by a slip of my tongue that I have been in contact with you. Also, when you pose me all your questions so fast, one after the other, I can’t gather my thoughts to answer them properly on the spot. It is as if Shahab is sitting in front of me, his eyes fixed on me, repeating the cardinal rule that he loves to repeat so much: >>>
LIFE
12-Oct-2008 (one comment)
I could have traveled all over, I could have read every book and heard every song, I could have made it my object of study, and none of it would have helped me love the America I wanted to love as much as one good American friend. I already wanted to know what everything was, so just to hear Jack say that he was hungry, I would think, 'There it is - America, contained in one American man's hunger.' All of a sudden, the America that was somebody's home came through to me through him. There was a love that an outsider had for America and there was a love that an insider had for it. I knew the first one through and through, because of watching and listening, and making the America that I wanted to love on my own.>>>
FICTION
10-Oct-2008 (2 comments)
Dear Brother, our telephone conversation a few days ago was so brief and repeatedly interrupted by this or that relative that I am not even sure I got to wish you a happy new year in the midst of all the chaos. Obviously, speaking to you long distance in front of an army of relatives is not exactly the best scenario for a meaningful conversation. That is why I relish these late hours in the night when I have the peace and quiet to gather my thoughts and write to you from my heart. Nightime has always been a respite for me from the cacophony of daily life. The same holds true of my new home. Or rather, the home that belongs to Nassim’s parents and where they have generously let us live>>>
FICTION
08-Oct-2008 (11 comments)
Khaleh Joon! Before anything else, I want you to know that I am well, and very sorry to have remained silent for so long after my departure from Iran. Before I give you my news, I would like to ask you to please not communicate anything I tell you in this or other letters to Papa Joon or Mahrokh Khanoom. Not that I would expect you to. You have always been a precious and loyal confidant to me. Indeed, you have been the closest thing to what I can call a real mother ever since I was a child. Khaleh joon, now again, you are the only I can confide my real thoughts to as a newly married woman in a strange land. How I wish I could elate you with the typical joys and happy anecdotes that must be the norm for most newlyweds! Instead, I am filled with anxiety and fear for my marriage and my new life here>>>
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