Other

Sign Language as second language

I am in a line at my bank. The Brazilian and the Italian teller are busy with the customers who crane their necks to grasp what the tellers are saying in their thick accents. The quickest of tellers—a short, stout young man who doesn’t have an accent—a real Canadian—with short dyed blond spikes, is not in today. There is a sign on his counter: CLOSED. I look at my watch. The Italian and the Brazilian take their time. Keep talking. I’ll have to grab something to eat on my rush to class. They don’t care. They just shoot bland smiles at the impatient customers like me. I see a hand waving at me from behind a desk at the other end of the counter. It belongs to a new teller—a young Chinese man who stands now behind the desk where new accounts are handled>>>

بوی بهار آورد باد

بهار، زمان نو شدن و زندگی از سر گرفتن طبیعت ، آغاز روئیدن و بیرون آمدن گل و گیاه از شکم خاک تیره و تار و رنگارنگ شدن باغ و بوستان پس از یک دورۀ سردی و بی رنگی ، همیشه یکی از مضامین مورد علاقۀ شاعران ایرانی بوده است. منتهی در هر دوره ای و در هر سبکی ، شاعران طبیعت را به صورتهای گو نه گون منطبق با شرایط زمان و مکان دیده، توصیف کرده اند. و از گرد آمدن همین گونه گونی هاست که سبکهای مختلف ادبی بوجود آمده است. سبکهای ادبی و شعری را در شعرو ادب پارسی انواعی است : خراسانی (ترکست انی) ، عراقی، هندی و شعر نو.>>>

Confessions of a Farsiholic

The first time I was fined for saying “Farsi” instead of “Persian” I didn’t fight the ticket because back then the action was all about French. French fries had become “Freedom” fries, ruining a flavorful shortcut to khoresh-e-gheimeh. Flag wavers claimed fried potatoes sliced lengthwise should never have been called French fries in the first place. There were “chips” to go with fried fish in England as early as 1864. Surely the US adopting fries in the 1930s, should have named this calorie bomb after her freedom-loving ally, and not after folks who would leave Iraqis in peace. The Francophile in me worried that the logic of Iran experts who said the term “Farsi” broke ties with prestigious Persia, could also apply to French culture>>>

Mirim o Mirim

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Frankly, I do give a damn

British Iranian Darius Danesh has been cast as Rhett Butler in Trevor Nunn’s musical production of Margaret Mitchell’s classic novel, Gone With The Wind, which opens at the New London Theatre 22 April 2008, following previews from 4 April – booking (*) to 27 Sep 2008. He joins Jill Paice (Scarlett O'Hara), Madeleine Worrall (Melanie), and Edward Baker-Duly (Ashley Wilkes). Danesh was born in Glasgow and educated at Glasgow Academy. He then went on to study English and Philosophy at Edinburgh University. His father, Dr. Booth Danesh, is Iranian and his mother, Dr. Avril Danesh, is Scottish. He has two younger brothers; all three were named after Persian Kings.>>>

Emissary of Love

There once was one; and then there were none. Under the blue dome of the evening sky, apart from the presence of God, there was absolutely no one…. Nestled between the Caspian Sea and the Alborz Mountains, in the city of wolves, lived a little boy with his grandfather. The little boy loved to hear stories and his grandfather had many to tell, and so they spent most of their days together. Years passed; the boy grew up and left home to live adventures of his own; chasing legends and dreaming of giants. Along his journey, he spent many nights under the blue dome of foreign skies, far from his city and far from anyone to guide him.>>>

Shaherezad in Santa Monica

This play is about the love relationship between Shahram, an Iranian poet living in exile, and Shaherezad, an Iranian activist who had been in prison for 11 years during both the Shah and Khomeini's regimes. They both had lost their partners, Ezzat and Hamid, in Tehran execution fields in the 1980's. In Act I, they meet in Santa Monica, California, and fall in love. But in Act II, difficulties arise and in Act III, Shahram has to accept the fact that Shaherezad has begun to date an American professor, Sean >>>

Language of Terror

It was only later, long after the events of 9/11, that I finally realised I was a terrorist. The realization did not come easily, or all at once. After all, I had not planted any bombs or hurt anyone (not even verbally). I had not visited secret training camps in Pakistan . I had not even done anything as rash as Samina Malik, who was convicted of Terrorism recently by a British court for writng Poetry about Jihad. (Poetry has always been a dangerous activity, as all tyrants know). No. It was something far more insidious. >>>

We all act all the time

When playwright Sepideh Khosrowjah was two years old her parents gave her a doll, which she immediately destroyed. “Toys were boring,” she says. I can understand why dolls would frustrate a future playwright; there’s nothing inside them. This weekend (March 8,9,14,15,16) Berkeley's Darvag performance company will begin staging Khosrowjah’s Farsi language play, “Dar Soogeh Kazem Ashtari,” (In Memory of Kazem Ashtari) and there is plenty inside the characters [rehearsal photos]. Besides humor, love, cunning, ambition, jealously, shame, and frustration, there is also a surprising secret. It was fun reading the play twice, the second time knowing the characters were hiding something from each other>>>

Lion, sword, and sun

I'll be the first to admit that my knowledge of Indian films has been limited to Bollywood dance sequences, and over the top acting. This past Saturday that impression was roundly set on it's ear, as I watched what may become my favorite film of the year. Jodhaa Akbar is the epic period piece depicting the Mughal (Turko-Persio-Mongol dynasty) ruler Akbar, who ruled as the Moslem emperor over largely Hindu India during roughly the same era after the Mongolian invasion of Persia. >>>