I was at my Ammeh Parvin's house the other day and I saw a pile of newspaper clipping on her dining table, including a copy of an article about my grandfather Abdolreza Javid in Abadan's oil company newsletter "Akhbar Hafteh". There was no date on it but my guess is that it was published before 1953. I learned so many little things about him which I was not previously aware of. Note: He was the head of the regional oil company personnel department and therefore the writer was extra kind. Also, the author says that he traveled abroad to study but does not say where. It was India :o) >>> Read here
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The writer
by Jahanshah Javid on Wed Dec 02, 2009 09:52 AM PSTI'm pretty sure this piece was written when the British still controlled the Iranian oil industry. I read it a few times and every time it makes me laugh for its glowing review. It's a love letter, really. It's unusually personal for its time and I wouldn't be surprised if it was written by Abdolreza himself :o)
A close family friend who worked in his office told me he was really strict, to put it mildly. So he was not all milk and honey.
Quite a man, bababozorg
by Ari Siletz on Wed Dec 02, 2009 09:30 AM PSTJJ be like your Baba Bozorg and Vote:
by Midwesty on Wed Dec 02, 2009 08:04 AM PSTWhat your baba bozorg would do?
//iranian.com/main/blog/midwesty/lets-cast-another-type-vote
Also Ali and Nazy Jan...I called you up Mola jan on the other thread.
Regards,
Agree with Ali
by Sargord Pirouz on Wed Dec 02, 2009 04:14 AM PSTMy baba bazorg is still alive at 101. How the world has changed since he was a young horseman on the plateau.
دوست
Nazy KavianiWed Dec 02, 2009 12:09 AM PST
یادش جاودان و راهش جاوید.
بزرگ بود
و از اهالي امروز بود
و با تمام افق هاي باز نسبت داشت
و لحن آب و زمين را چه خوب مي فهميد.
صداش
به شكل حزن پريشان واقعيت بود.
و پلك هاش
مسير نبض عناصر را
به ما نشان داد.
و دست هاش
هواي صاف سخاوت را
ورق زد
و مهرباني را
به سمت ما كوچاند.
به شكل خلوت خود بود
و عاشقانه ترين انحناي وقت خودش را
براي آينه تفسير كرد.
و او به شيوه باران پر از طراوت تكرار بود.
و او به سبك درخت
ميان عافيت نور منتشر مي شد.
هميشه كودكي باد را صدا مي كرد.
هميشه رشته صحبت را
به چفت آب گره مي زد.
براي ما، يك شب
سجود سبز محبت را
چنان صريح ادا كرد
كه ما به عاطفه سطح خاك دست كشيديم
و مثل لهجه يك سطل آب تازه شديم.
و ابرها ديديم
كه با چقدر سبد
براي چيدن يك خوشه بشارت رفت.
ولي نشد
كه روبروي وضوح كبوتران بنشيند
و رفت تا لب هيچ
و پشت حوصله نورها دراز كشيد
و هيچ فكر نكرد
كه ما ميان پريشاني تلفظ درها
براي خوردن يك سيب
چقدر تنها مانديم.
سهراب سپهري
Yeap...
by Ali P. on Tue Dec 01, 2009 08:17 PM PSTGeorge: What is this? Did you ever get the feeling like you've had a haircut but you didn't have one? I'm all itchy back here.
Jerry: Ahh.
George: What?
Jerry: What is this? What are we doing? What in god's name, are we doing?
George: What?
Jerry: OUR LIVES!! What kind of lives are these? We're like children. We're not men.
George: No, we're not. We're not men.
Your baba bozorg, and my baba bozorg, and all our baba bozorgs,... now they were men.
We're not men!
Oh they don't make them like that anymore...God bless'em all!
He was "somebody!"
by Mola Nasredeen on Tue Dec 01, 2009 08:09 PM PSTEnjoyed reading the description of people and places in newspaper clippings. Especially this description of Javid: "....he was Matalak goo and Matalak sheno".
Priceless!