Archive - Nov 21, 2010 - Article

The Blue Flower of Forgetfulness

The way I remember it, when we returned from our studies, the nation had not been ready for us. And when the revolution happened, we were not ready for it. We were industrialists, entrepreneurs, doctors and architects, statisticians, adjustors, and comptrollers. We were idealists who had clothed a nation with Barak clothes and Bella shoes, washed a nation with Darugar soap and a nation’s laundry with Snow and with Sea detergents. We had never been politicians, that particular avenue had been closed to us>>>

The word came to me

In the beginning was the word and the word came to me and resided. Only prophets and poets can usually pride themselves on such stories. Initially they were just words, lovely combinations of letters that sounded good in my mind before I weighed them in the balance on my tongue. After some time I tied the words together, making finely-tuned phrases that rang out. What they were meant to express was of secondary significance>>>

نقره‌هایم را طلا کردم

یادگرفتم یواش یواش انگلیسی حرف بزنم. دیدم لغت جدید یادم نمی ماند، یاد گرفتم چطوری با همان لغت‌هایی که بلدم سر و ته ماجرا را هم بیاورم. نمی توانستم خیلی توضیح بدهم یاد گرفتم مختصر و مفید حرف بزنم. آنقدر ماجرا را می چلاندم تا در غالب یک مثال یا جمله یا حتی یک عبارت بگنجانم>>>