Arash Zeini

The New York Times features an essay by Azadeh on literary life in Iran. Below read the first paragraph and the rest on “Seeking Signs of Literary Life in Iran“.

When I moved to Iran in 2000 to work as a journalist, I aspired to belong to a literary circle not unlike that of the engaged women of Azar Nafisi’s “Reading Lolita in Tehran,” who found relief from their authoritarian society in the imaginative world of novels. That bookstores did not exist as such — there were only bookstore/stationery stores, or bookstore/toy stores — was the first sign my plan might not work. I initially mistook Tehran’s most popular bookstore, with its windows full of weathered copper pots and other bric-a-brac, for an antique shop. Inside, the floor space dedicated to books was roughly a quarter of that taken up by kilims, cactuses and Lego sets. “I’m embarrassed to call myself a bookseller,” one store owner told me recently, gazing at the wall of Hello Kitty accessories that dominated his shop. In the hour we spent talking, customers came in to buy watch batteries, a condolence card, wrapping paper and a compass. Not a single person bought a book.

As the IRIN site reports:

According to Ahmed, about 500 Kurdish Muslim youths have converted to Christianity since 2006 throughout Kurdistan. It is not known how many, if any, have converted to Zoroastrianism, once a dominant religion in much of Iran. The faith has now dwindled to very few followers.

The reasons seem to be:

Muslim residents of Sulaimaniyah say the conversions were motivated by economic gain, as many of the youths in the area are unemployed.

The Sunni extremists respond:

We are hunting those who have converted to Christianity or Zoroastrianism as we consider them renegades and God’s punishment must be implemented by killing them,

And so the Kurds respond:

We are not afraid of them; in fact, they are welcome if they want to kill us. We will be happy to be martyrs when we sacrifice ourselves for our religion.

This smells like a lot of trouble!

Mohsen Namjoo (محسن نامجو) is in the air and everywhere. Friends keep asking me if I have heard his music and whether I have any of it hand. This guy, it seems, has taken Iran with his music overnight. Yesterday, I finally got my hands on 20 of his songs, which I guess is my unit of measure for his music. Since his CDs did not receive publishing clearance from the government, the music is available underground. And as it is with these mp3 files, often they are not tagged, and no one can tell if the songs belong to separate albums or not. Judging based on style, I have received two albums worth of files. Which albums, I don’t know, which songs, I don’t know either. His music is quite interesting. His unique talent is not in inventing new or interesting melodies, and the arrangements that I have heard so far are not very special either. The way he mixes music and styles is the secret to what I have heard. The unexpected encounter of Iranian tahrir (تحریر) in the midst of a classical blues tune is what makes his music so fresh. Listening to one of his songs, I could even predict the next melody because that song was a faithful performance of a classic blues song. But the inclusion of Iranian elements and the irreverent way he plays with Hafiz (حافظ) poems transforms a simple blues song to a rich, funny and new experience. The humour and playfullness of his music is another characteristic which makes it stand out. In a country obsessed with dullness and seriousness, this is a refreshing wind.

Few days ago, a friend received her first Zoroastrian spam mail. I found it interesting, so here it goes:

From: Dr. Agathangelos Eutropius II <eutropiusii@yahoo.es>
Date: Tue, 15 May 2007 22:51:09 -0500 (CDT)
Subject: Zorastrianism Greetings

Direccion: calle Brazil 10, 28025 Madrid
Date: 15th 05 2007
Our Ref: ZG/1007MA

Zorastrianism Greetings,

The Mithras Association with guidiance of Mit(h)ra, has this day the 15th 05 2007 has granted you the sum of US$ 830,000:00 only as a tribute for the Spinoff of Zorastrianism celebration (Celebration of Light). After series of secret deliberations by the Abrahadabra Forums, eight (8) people were selected from around the globe to be benefactors of the Spinoff of Zorastrianism celebration free light aid.

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I was right. Yesterday never dies in some places. History repeats itself and ideas go through endless cycles of rebirth. In an interview Parviz Meshkatian (پرویز مشکاتیان) mentions the 1980s, the once glorious name of the Alborz mountains, a sign and the poem below:

امروز نه آغاز و نه انجام جهان است
ای بس غم و شادی که پس پرده نهان است
تو رهرو دیرینه‌ی سر منزل عشقی
بنگر که ز خون تو به هر گام نشان است
از روی تو دل کندنم آموخت زمانه
این دیده از آن روست که خونابه فشان است
دردا و دریغا که در این بازی خونین
بازیچه‌ی ایام دل آدمیان است
خون می‌چکد از دیده در این کنج صبوری
این صبر که من می‌کنم افشردن جان است
ای کوه تو فریاد من امروز شنیدی
دردی است در این سینه که همزاد جهان است

Nothing has changed except the year. We are in 2007, but the rules of 1980s still apply.

In his article, Arab history spat highlights Sunni-Shi’ite rift, Andrew Hammond takes a look at the historic tensions between Sunni and Shi’ite Islam. It is quite interesting to see how the problems progress and stay alive throughout history and evolve into today’s tensions. I agree with him that history never really dies, at least not in the Middle East. And lovely to see how, all of the sudden, Zoroastrianism pops up in the middle of the discussion:

The Permanent Committee for Religious Research and Opinion — an official body of state-appointed clerics headed by Grand Mufti Abdulaziz Al al-Sheikh — slammed the Fatimids as depraved atheists who faked their descent from the Prophet.

“(Fatimid rulers) were infidel, godless, depraved atheists who renounced Islam and believed in Zoroastrianism,” said a religious edict of April 8, citing Sunni historians.

Interesting article, don’t miss it.

International Herald Tribune has an interesting follow-up on the vulture issue in Mumbai. “Meanwhile: Lose the vultures, and lose the soul” recounts the story of Dhun Baria and the photographs of her deceased mother that were published in August 2006 in connection with the diminishing numbers of the vultures in Mumbai that are essential to the Parsi community of the city.

I know I am late. But I just finished watching 300. I was not sure if I wanted to see it, but I thought it would be good to check out a movie that has received so much attention. I did not watch it as an Iranian, but as an old movie enthusiast who has had professional contact with the industry. The movie left me speechless. Not because of its complexity, but because it is so bad that I don’t know where to begin. It is bad beyond words. I once knew a Tar player, whom I declared the greatest Iranian artist. His art was to make anyone despise humans within five minutes of meeting. (I pray that martians never meet him first on earth). This movie does the same. A beautiful and valuable concept, such as freedom, is smashed within minutes. You leave the theatre with the promise that you will never again like the idea of freedom. In this regard, 300 is a great movie. It reaches a goal within minutes. How many artists can claim this about their art?

Avaye Shayda’s web site is live since May 10, 2007. I think it looks good and since it is rich in content it will be an exciting place for Iranian music on the Internet. It is not finished yet and the current state is a work in progress.

Patogh or patoq is a word that you hear very often in Iran. It means joint or hangout and young people use it to refer to their place of gathering. If you search for it on the Internet, you will find a lot of blogs, websites and communities called پاتوق. I recently found out that the word patogh has its roots in the tradition of lutis (لوتی). Each luti used to have a hangout in his neighbourhood where he would meet his friends. This hangout was called patogh. This is where the modern day usage originates. But the lutis borrowed the term from the dervishes, who used to gather people around them and sing or talk to them. These dervish used to put a long stick into the ground and hang a piece of felt on the top of the stick. The stick and the felt together were called togh or توق. The arena of each dervish was determined by the length of the shadow thrown by the togh, which served as the radius of the circle. The dervish used to work at the togh or پای توق, which in time turned to today’s پاتوق.

Source: Afshari, M. (2005). Ayin-e javanmardi [Chivalry]. Tehran: Cultural Research Bureau.

PS: لوتی is etymologically the correct form and is derived from لوت, meaning naked. My usage here is not a typo.