Arts and Literature

Heavy Norouz

I shed tears
Centuries old,
Tears of my ancestors.
All those women
Who cried,
Not so much for their
Loved ones,
but
For their own inability to move >>>

Joy of cooking

This year, by sheer luck, I came across something wonderful, an item that could make a great Nowruz present for young parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and anybody who is in touch with young Iranians. It is Najmieh Batmanglij’s new book, Happy Nowruz: Cooking With Children to Celebrate the Persian New Year. In the tradition of Batmanglij cookbooks, this book offers excellent presentations of beautiful pictures, historical background, nostalgic memories, and of course pretty robust and fool-proof recipes. It is filled with decorating and cooking ideas we can share and do with children, celebrating our traditions and creating new memories. I should say that though I enjoy cooking very much, I have never warmed up to the idea of baking, feeling like a miserable failure every time I have tried it! >>>

اين خران خرما نمى‏رينند خاطر جمع دار

شهريارا اين مديحت‏خوانى ِِ بيجا چرا
هتك حرمت‏كردن از خود اين چنين رسوا چرا
تو كه عمرى شعرهاى نغز و شيرين گفته‏اى‏
حاليا اين گفته‏هاى پوچ و بى‏معنىٰ‏ چرا
خودفروشى در جوانى باز هم حرفى وليك‏
تو كه يك پايت لب گور آمده حالا چرا
آبرو بردى ز شعر و شاعرى با ياوه‏هات‏
آبروريزى چنين بى‏درد و بى‏پروا چرا
>>>

The Spider Killings (9)

A crowd of civilians had gathered around the crime scene, vociferating their complaints to the police officers. Ramin could hear various angry and bitter voices. He did not have the strength to turn around to look at them for now. Leaning against the side of his Jeep, it was taking every ounce of his will not to double over and vomit. His officers thought he had just become queasy at the sight of the dead woman. Little did they know Ramin was still going through the symptoms of opium withdrawal. Even in the awful state he was, Ramin could not help but pay attention to the voices of the men. He was outraged at their cavalier attitude>>>

Mirim o Mirim

...>>>

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.>>>

How the sun came to be

Long, long ago, before time began, before you or I were in the world yet, before your parent’s, parent’s parents were born, in the deep forest Foofoo, in the heart of New Zealand, there was quarrel between the lion, the zebra, the kangaroo, the elephant, and all the other animals in the deep forest Foofoo. It was all about the sun, they didn’t have on. Mind you, they didn’t even know what it was, until the lion declared: “Why can’t I see my beautiful feathers, it’s no good having no light.”>>>

فرهنگ شخصی : ج

جهنم : محلی در آن دنیا خیلی گرم که آدم را شکنجه میدهند و بر گفته ادیان همه آدمهای گناهکار به آنجا میروند. مشکل این است که در این دنیا هم همچنین محلها وجود دارد ولی برای آدمهای بیگناه و اگر برگفته ادیان هر کس که میرقصد و آواز میخواند گناهکار است و به جهنم میروند . من ترجیح میدهم برم آنجا که همه آدمهای با حال هستند. جمهوری: حکومتی که در آن همه مردم حق و حقوق برابری دارند. معمولآ بهترین رژیم است ولی اگر به آن یک صفت اضافه کنند مثل جمهوری اسلامی منظور این است که همه با هم برابرند ولی مسلمانان برابر ترند و اینجاست که خراب میشود. >>>

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.>>>

The First Crime

No one has ever been sentenced to a sever punishment called education as young as I was. “I don’t know how to punish him anymore, I ran out of ideas, I’ve tried everything.” I heard my mother saying this with tears in her eyes to my father the night before my sentence was carried out. I was three years old then. The next morning I was trailing my father with a gloomy face to the Mactab (Those days in our town, house-wives who had some education thought neighboring children under school age for a small fee in their homes. The curriculum was learning alphabets and listening to the teacher reciting Koran)>>>

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 >>>

My hero in the dark

We lived in a small town in Mazandaran and my father was respected and well known. He was a busy man and I, as a little girl, craved to spend more time with him. My father took me every Thursday night to the only movie theater of the town. Our family had its own special reserved seats. Row nine, seats 10 to 14. Every time we drove down the main street, I looked for that place. The brown brick building with an orange fluorescent sign at its side. I would stare at the letters forming the word “Cinema.” I could find it from afar, could recognize its shape, and I envied anyone standing in the black line waiting to buy a ticket. I would gaze at the colorful posters of actors and picture their adventures in my daydreams>>>