Archive - Mar 24, 2010 - Article

Showcasing India for the World

The taxi ride to my hotel gave me my first look at the dense crowds that Mumbai is famous for. The sky was very dark. The city feared a storm so ferocious that, according to my driver, offices were ordered closed for the next day. A little note on my pillow in the hotel had this from Shakespeare: “A little sleep, per chance a dream.” The view from my window the next morning was like a dream. Several stories below me was the famous Gateway to India >>>

Rituals of Resistance

The Islamic Republic’s deepening fear of the people since mid-2009 is a plausible explanation for its animosity towards the joys of Chahārshanbe-Sūri. But if the first nowrooz since the election has provoked this stringent campaign, the suspicion of puritan Islamists towards any public expression of human pleasure has been evident since the foundation of the regime in 1979. Any occasion of festivity and spontaneous life - informal gatherings at street-corners, concerts and sporting contests, student parties and even bustling shopping-malls - is regarded by Islamist zealots with profound disdain>>>

امپراتور عریان می‌شود

احمدی‌نژاد تنها با استظهار به حمایت خامنه‌ای توانست بر صندلی ریاست جمهوری اسلامی ایران تکیه بزند، و مردم رأی دهنده نیز به درستی شناختند که چه کسی مسئول پایمال کردن رأی آنان بوده است. اکنون نیز که احمدی‌نژاد در برابر بحران عظیم اقتصادی ایران مستأصل شده است و از پس مخالفت مجلسیان نیز نمی‌تواند برآید تنها ولی فقیه است که می‌تواند به کمکش آید و او را از مخمصه نجات دهد>>>

Generation V

In my late 30s I feel very old or old-fashioned at best. I remember my mom’s words when I was a teenager and she was giving me grown-up advice. Once she asked me if I knew why crows lived 300 years? I replied with a half-open mouth and popped-up eyes, “they live 300 years?” She said, “yes, and it’s because no-one has ever seen them mating in public." My mom’s mystical approach to sexuality not only stayed with me but it evolved as I did>>>

Loose screw

I lit the cigarette and watched the full moon descending over the city. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mohsen and his last love. That woman. There was something haunting in her voice, and that’s why I was tempted to believe her, a woman who claimed to be loved by the only man who had ever loved me. However every time she called, I just stood there like a fool, unable to say a word or to deny her story. And even if it was all true, why did she need to call me?>>>

A Soldier

Not a sacred warrior,
Nor with a bayonet blessed by God.
Not even a human being,
Just a simple peasant, a surrogate,
A sacrificial lamb, a frightened child,
Chosen by the rich to be an instrument of war>>>

بیستون

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>>>