Diaspora

From Empire With Love

James Bond is arguably the mother of all ‎on-screen celebrations of white, European ‎masculinity. More than two billion people – ‎two fifths of the world's population – have ‎watched a 007 film. Only Tarzan or Indiana ‎Jones might rival his stature. For Your ‎Eyes Only: Ian Fleming And James Bond – the ‎exhibition currently running at London's ‎Imperial War Museum – sets out to outline ‎the relationship between the fictional ‎secret agent and the man who created him, ‎Ian Fleming.‎ Fleming (pictured) was born to a wealthy Scottish ‎banking family. He went to the elite school Eton and then the military training academy ‎Sandhurst. His father Valentine Fleming, an ‎aristocratic MP, was killed in 1917, ‎serving in the same unit as Winston ‎Churchill in World War I. Peter, Ian's ‎older brother, was handed the mantle of ‎family patriarch>>>

Please don’t nuke us!

By now I’m sure you’ve all seen Voices for Peace: Fifty Iranian-Americans Promoting Peace with Iran. Perhaps the idea behind it was decent enough. And maybe, at the end of the day, having it is better than not. And yet, as a fellow Iranian (ixnay the American), there were many things that made me uncomfortable. I do not think it is prudent at the moment to promote the idea of: “don’t attack Iran”. While many of us are extremely worried, publicly, we should promote the idea of direct, unconditional requests for talk with Iran. Lest we forget, she too remains a sovereign nation and has the right to decide when and if she wants to open her doors>>>

Making music, not war

On Saturday, June 28, when the fear of looming war against Iran was on the rise, here, in Prague, Iranian and Israeli musicians came together to perform in a warm and memorable concert in a prestigious and the oldest Czech world music festival, Respect, in a Woodstockesque flavor and atmosphere. Saeed Shanbehzadeh, a maestro of Ney-Anban (or as we call it in southern Iran: Ney-Anbooneh), after an hour of playing Bushehri ethnic music together with his 15 year old son Nagheeb, a very skilled drummer and percussionist, invited two Israeli percussionists participating in the festival to join them and let the people listen to an improvisation>>>

Yeh toop daram Khal-khali-yeh

Iranians in general are strong believers of the Conspiracy Theory. We thrive on political skepticism and for many years I had blamed that on the intellectuals, who pondered over taboo issues, read forbidden books and stirred suspicion. Much like the main character in My Uncle Napoleon, most of us blamed the British for our country’s problems and believed any misfortune befalling us was caused by outside powers. As I reflect on some old Persian nursery rhymes, hidden messages begins to surface, voices that have been there all along, except no one ever bothered to listen hard enough to hear them. Unlike the spider in Reverent Fulghum’s book, our rhymes fail to teach perseverance and one in particular seems to be aimed at taking away what little autonomy was left us>>>

A Canadian tale

It started on another blue summer day in Lake Cowichan. We were kayaking in the river. The water was warm and transparent. Dina stopped at a small sandy beach to go for a dip. I kept diving in as deep as I could, or at least as much as the pressure in my ears would allow. The sun was illuminating the depths in shafts of light simmering with clarity. I picked up two bottle caps from the bottom and Dina was laughing. "You're always finding things!". On the last dive I saw something sparkle. When I reached it I was almost out of breath but I could see that it was a watch. East European, was the thought that entered my mind when I was looking at it on the beach. >>>

Love knows no partition

Who would have thought? Marylou is in love! The queen of mean, the whistleblower of the year, the spy who hates me, she is in love. The woman, that people would re-route their path in the maze of the office cubicle isles just to avoid crossing her path, is in love. How do I know? Her teeth are whiter, her eyes are brighter, her cheeks are blusher, her lips are more vermilion, and her sagging breasts are perkier. Last week I figured out why there was so much change in her. She was talking to Joe, and I recognized her giggle over the partitions that separate my cubicle from the people who residing on the next isle. No one has ever heard her giggle before as long as anyone can remember. But, the giggle was unmistakably hers, a mimic of her voice, which sounds like a tree slamming into a house on a stormy night>>>

Boa

Well, let me tell you about myself, my name in BO and for some unpleasant reasons some call me BOA, mistaking me for a reptile, but I see that as an insult, so hopefully no one in this audience will fathom throwing this at me again, or there will be consequences, as there are penalties for defamation, and I am sure you agree with me that stigmatizing a person with snake-like identity is rather slanderous, no matter what the justification. I want to preempt the question that is on the mind of so many people about my special powers and what it means to use or it to live with it, knowing that it can be abusive or, at the least, engrossing or, perhaps a better word is, absorbing or even obsessive>>>

Rubberband Man

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نانیتا

نانیتا به صورت ژنتیک تبعیدی یا مهاجر است. درختی است که ریشه اش در اوکراین پا گرفته است. مادر بزرگها و پدربزرگهایش از هجوم سوسیالیزم شوروی به آلمان گریخته اند، پس خاکشان را عوض کرده اند و ساکن آلمان شده اند. پدر و مادرش در جوانی جنگ دوم جهانی را در آلمان دیده اند و پشت سر گذاشته اند. نانیتا در بیست سالگی عاشق یک فرانسوی (که می گویند بانکدار بوده یا کارمند بانک؟) شده و دنبالش از آلمان آمده به فرانسه یعنی و باز خاکش را عوض کرده است. چند سالی با هم زندگی کرده اند و نشده دیگر. عشق تمام شده و ته کشیده ولی فرانسه تمام نشده و خاکش شده، حالا اینجا وطن کرده و فقط کارمند ساده ای در موزه است. با از هم پاشیده شدن دولت اتحاد جماهیر شوروی و تبدیل شدنش به جمهوری های کوچک، ناگهان نانیتا صاحب ارثیه و ملک و قصر مادر بزرگها یا پدربزرگهایش در اوکراین شد. >>>

Labor of love

Earlier this month I got an email from Shahbanou Farah Pahlavi's webmaster & secretary inviting me to assist to an annual Paris ceremony in remembrance of her late daughter Princess Leila (March 27, 1970 - June 10, 2001) which was followed by a more relaxed reunion in a Hotel lounge and drawing room for all who were kind enough to attend the gathering at the Passy Cemetery nearby the Trocadero. The invitation was really an unexpected one for me even if I knew that she did read them since I saw some of them (in relation to our Royal History) linked to her official website. >>>

Islamic attack on democracy

The Islamic Republic of Iran has reached the highest level of illegitimacy. The Illegitimacy is now an evident characteristic of the regime and henceforth can hardly be denied by an increasing majority of people in and out of Iran. Therefore, the Islamic regime, especially its so-called reformist factions, needs activists in the West to prop up the claim of regime’s legitimacy. Among the various pro-regime cyber-media in the West, Iranian.com is one of the most read websites. Although, it has a secular character, because of its high popularity and openness to any idea cannot escape from the supporters of the IRI. IRI’s supporters and lobbyists and on this site are three main groups>>>