Each year near Noruz, as I get ready to send cards or clean my house, I can't help but think of that one Noruz in Iran while I was in college.
Mashhad University's college of literature was on a tree-lined street named KhyAbAn e AsrAr. Both sides of the street had beautiful and old AghaghiA trees.
One afternoon I was standing in the school courtyard with a few other friends enjoying Esfand's mid-afternoon sun when JavAd started a verse and before we knew what was going on, we were reciting these words:
AghAghihA….aghAghihA
mubarak bAd maghdamtAn
surude garmetAn…..najvAye shaditAn
aghAghihA………aghAghiha
mubarak bAd maghdamtAn
As we moved towards the AbdArkhune for a debsh cup of tea, we heard the sound of dohol and surna from the street. It was quite common to hear traveling musicians in the neighborhoods around new year.
We walked across the street, sat under an aghAghiA tree and lit a cigarette. Absorbed by the music, the heavenly smell of aghAghiA blossoms, and the closeness we all felt for each other, we lost track of time!
I do not remember how much time had passed when of one the musicians brought us back to reality by asking for a sum for his performance. We were more than happy to oblige and asked them to come back every day and play for us.
The next day as we sat in our philosophy class engrossed in a heated debate, we heard the sound of saz o dohol again! It was impossible to continue our class discussion. After a few minutes, our instructor canceled the class for the rest of day. In fact, we asked the musicians to come by every day at the same time, causing classes to be canceled until after Noruz!
I am pretty sure that those musicians still remember that bountiful Noruz well . I certainy do.
Author
xAle (pronounced khaa-leh, maternal aunt in Persian) is an old timer who grew up in Iran when words such as mirAb, mAyeh khamir, Ab-anbAr and hAvan were part of daily life. Through stories and remembrances of old days, she will be sharing with us part of our past.
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