Diaspora

Oh no, not another Persian rug shop

Some years ago, well before I began traveling regularly to Iran, I started to understand the disconnect between the way Iran was portrayed in the American news media and what I suspected the reality would be like. When I first went to Iran in 2001 it didn't take long to realize I was right, but it has taken all the years since to understand what was wrong and lacking from so much of that coverage, and still holes remain. Now the coverage always strikes me as simply one-dimensional representations; caricatures of a perceived reality>>>

Sir; are you Iranian too?

It was more than 35 years ago when I entered the United States for the first time, a non-stop flight from Tehran to New York City by Iran Air. I carried a big orange suitcase in my right hand full of stuff including half a dozen hand-made shorts packed into the suitcase by my mother, as if I was going to a shortless country, an English-Persian dictionary in my left hand, $2100 in my pocket, and a burning desire to succeed in my heart. Tehran and a couple of other Iranian cities were the only places I had traveled to before coming to the United States. I was acting like a nincompoop, bewildered and baffled. Any observer can surmise from my behavior that I was not a regular tourist. I felt like a functionary who was dispatched to an unknown territory for a really important mission>>>

The age factor

If a man tells his wife of 20 years that she should be aware that at any moment he can go back to Iran and marry a 25 year old; should the woman be offended/ threatened/ mad/ sad? I find myself to be obsessed with the issue, simply because lately, my husband has been saying that to me repeatedly. As you may guess, we are not in our honeymoon anymore, and we are not in our old age either. He is a very educated man; a prominent figure in our community and I am an educated and a professional woman. Yes, things are not going so well between us lately and we have had arguments>>>

More than a cause

I was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder and my doctors told me that my only chance of survival is if I have a bone marrow transplant. The doctors were telling me that the only way that I could live is if somebody else would give me some of their bone marrow!... I made a promise to myself that when I am better and able to live a normal life, I will dedicate my life to educating people of the significance of donating marrow and how truly important such a gift is to patients in need. The only reason that I am alive today is because my brother was able to overcome his intense fear of hospitals and needles and donate the marrow that now keeps me living.>>>

My War with the Americans

This begins with a personal story. For eight years now, I have been at war with a few lunatic Americans currently residing in Colorado, California, New Mexico and Kansas, who have been responsible for several years of harassment, slander, libel, stalking, interference with employment and other felonies. These individuals have all received legal warnings and orders per their ongoing activities but as my lawyers have claimed, when dealing with people who are mentally ill, deluded and incapable of understanding what the law means, you can expect them to continue their illegal activities until they land in jail or have every penny they have taken away from them>>>

روان ملی ما

در کشورهای مردم سالار همه مردم قانونا برابرند و در ابراز اندیشه‌ها و احساسات خود آزاد. به همین دلیل در این سرزمینها«ملت» مفهومی‌ست که از هاله‌ی آرمانی درآمده و واقعیتی اجتماعی به خود گرفته است. اما در کشور ما ملت هنوز یک مفهوم آرمانی‌ست، زیرا یک گروه خاص(در گذشته سلطنت طلبان و امروزه ولایت فقیه گرایان) بر شهروندان ایرانی حکومت می‌کنند. تا هنگامی که ما ایرانیان نتوانسته‌ایم در پیشگاه قانون برابر باشیم و آزادانه نمایندگان خود را برای نهادهای تصمیم گیرنده انتخاب کنیم، هنوز ملتی«در خود» هستیم و نه «برای خود». چرا که اجازه نداریم آزادانه در تعیین سرنوشت خود تصمیم بگیریم و مجبوریم فرمانبردار گروهی خاص باشیم. >>>

We, Who Have No Country…

"Istanbul" has always been associated in my mind with two themes: the city which was the destination of thousands of Persians fleeing the 8-year War, and the city which is the residence of Samin Baghcheban, the famous Persian immigrant composer. In the spring of 2006, when all of a sudden I had the chance to visit Istanbul, what preoccupied my mind more than anything else was: Is it possible that Samin Baghchehban will accept a visit from me? … I could not wait to arrive in Istanbul. I called him before my departure, and without any introduction, I said, "Mr. Baghcheban, I am coming to Istanbul. I would be very happy if I could see you!">>>

Diet & Stardom

...>>>

Are you Persian?

Are you Persian? Asked the lady bank teller with dyed blond hair and otherwise very Iranian complexion. I answered “Baale Khanoom, Haletoon Khoobeh?”. Other times I have been asked “Are you Iranian?” It kind of dawned on me that as Iranians living in America, we might be facing an ‘identity’ crisis. Are we Persians, Iranians, Iranian Americans, Persian Americans, or Americans? I have seen all variations used many times. With our beloved homeland country Iran being in the news so often and almost always negatively, perhaps we want to somehow disassociate our selves from anything Iranian thus referring to ourselves as Persians or Persian Americans>>>

The Obliterator

A while ago, the Hilarious Hillary “ate sugar” and threatened to obliterate Iran, the land that has given so much to the world. These contributions along with other images began to haunt my distressed head in seemingly endless spurts. I remembered the day when my friend Ali was driving me around in New York City and I had stopped him in front of the biggest post office in the world to proudly photograph the words of Cyrus the Great that adorns the building: “Neither snow, nor rain, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”>>>