The sound of my friends' laughter. The warmth of my grandmother's touch; the smell of her scarf. The sour taste of Masht Hassan's lavashaks. Playing

“Get up. You're leaving,” the girlfriend said to the guy. “Help me,” the guy said, trembling. “I said get up before I humiliate you in

The purpose of this writing is not to present you with yet another flabby history lesson about Persia, something which I trust you all to

As I flip through Iranian satellite TV channels I can't help stop and watch the Ashura processions offered by the Islamic Republic. A big room