بقا

روزهایی بود که با بودن گذشت، آن روزها را خوب یادم هست. وقتی‌ بشت به پشت هم دادیم و برای بودن و بقا جنگیدیم، درست مثل کربنهای عالی اجدادمان که اولین دیوارهٔ سلولی را بنا کردند تا از تهاجم سیل امان یابند. آن روزها معنی زندگی‌ در بقا خلاصه میشد.

و ما باقی‌ ماندیم، و گریختیم، و به سوی خوشبختی‌ که نمیدانستیم پرواز کردیم. همان پرواز آشنای ایران ایر بود از مهراباد.
امروز سالها از آن روزها می‌گذرد و ما که باقی‌ ماندیم شاهد خیلی‌ چیزها شدیم. اوائل فکر میکردیم که ما ماندیم و آنها که پشت سر گذاشتیم مردند. بعدها کمکم درگیر نبردی شدیم که بقایمان به ما هدیه کرد و ما دوباره جنگیدیم و جنگیدیم.

امروز دیگه نمیدانم کداممان زنده ایم. من که بقا یافتم و یا تو که ماندی و مردی. تا جایی‌ که یادم هست در آخرین برخوردمان با هم یک شات ویسکی به سلامتی بقا بالا رفتیم، دو سه پوک دود هوا کردیم و از وجود هم ارضا شدیم.
و چنین بود که باقی‌ و فانی همبستر شدند

ترانه‌های سوخته ،کاری از نصرت رحمانی

نمیدانی جفا را دوست دارم ------- خیانت در خفا را دوست دارم

وفا کن تا رها گردی زدستم -------- زنان بی وفا را دوست دارم

چراغ کومه ام خاموشه امشب -------- دل دیوانه ام در جوش امشب

صدای پایی از کویی نیومد -------- خدایا در کدام آغوشه امشب

ز جا بار دگر برخیز یارم -------- مرا سیراب تر کن بی قرارم

سپیده میدمد بگریز،بگریز -------- سحر با یار دیگر وعده دارم

My Home

This is my first post in this blog. It was a long time, I wanted to express myself through writing but always managed to find excuses to do so. However, my recent trip to Iran after a few years of absence acted as a catalyst and pushed me here to commence this.

I left my parents' home in Rasht in 1991 when I was only 17. Since then I spent time/lived (short/long term) in following cities:
Tehran, Kermanshah, Khalkhal, Lashtenesha, Amsterdam, Amersfoort (Holland), London, Dubai, Swansea (Wales).

Residing in different areas of the world and facing the life as it unfolds affected me and changed my characters and personality a great deal. However, there was a single fact that was persistent over the years:

I had a HOME. It was the little HAJKOKABI alley in Rasht where I grew up and spent my childhood. It was where I learned to play Chess and became a little champion in adolescence. It was where I met the first girl I ever loved and kissed in a humid summer evening. It was where I said goodbye to my grandma and cried a long night for my cousin who left us in 1359 (1980). My HOME was a 350 sqm land that my mom and dad bought for 16000 Tomans ($2500) in 1358(1979) and built it as they always dreamed in their childhood. Later, more than 10 other families built their dream houses around ours and lived there for the last 25 years (Do you remember TARA?)

It was where the old Mr. Hajkokabi and his big dog lived and died and hence gave his name to the alley. There were little windows where we watched men shouting each other during revolution in 1979 and the spacious parking area where we used to hide when Bombs were pointing our city in 1988, and the little yard where we used to sleep over nights following 50000 killer Gilan earthquake in 1990.

AND I USED TO GO HOME
Whenever there was a problem in life when I couldn't cope with, when all the world seemed to be falling over me, when I was tired of struggling and fighting over and over and when I was tired of a woman and needed to feel the true love and....
I had a home. I could escape and just leave everything behind. I could go back. There was something behind me that I could always rely on. It was my home.
I used to go home, walk across the big guest room, rest on one of the old sofa's for a few hours, listen to the rain playing that traditional music over the roof and talk to my dad who used to watch me and talk to me and give me lessons from the history and his own life.

A history teacher who was born in a little village and managed to educate in Ferdosi Uni in Mashhad where he was proud of attending Dr. Sharitai's classes. He was one of the first people holding a bachelor degree in History in Rasht. In 1979 he became chair of Gilan Teacher Training Uni after revolution. A year later he was swept away by second revolutionary wave.

AND I WENT HOME IN APRIL 2009:

The aircraft landed in Rasht airport, I was amazed to know that it was the same Dutch made Fuker 100 aircraft that took me to Tehran when I left the country. I remembered my tears when It departured in 2001.
My mom and dad were in airport, I saw my dad through the windows surrounding the luggage claim section and I crashed!
I could barely recognise him. He had a hunch and could hardly talk. I remembered him teaching in classes for 8 hours a day and more.
We drove through the lovely streets of Rasht surrounded by trees and flowers as I had it depicted in my mind. I had chosen to go there in Ordibehesht to experience dreamy land of Gilan in the spring.
We arrived in our neighbourhood. I passed through old streets that were barely drivable. Hajkokabi alley was still there (thanks god they didn’t change the name) but a big whole of 2*2 meter at the middle of the alley welcomed me back home. My memorable Hajkokabi alley was almost not recognisable. All the beautiful villas and family houses were replaced by apartments. One could easily calculate that each family has been replaced by more than 5 families.

We arrived in our family house which was one of the last ones remaining among those tall and ugly buildings. I immediately realised that nowhere there could flowers be found. My dad was too old so that he couldn't look after the garden. I never saw those pretty spring flowers again. The story was the same for our neighbouring buildings. The only difference was that they didn't even have any space left for gardening.

I heard stories of some of the people who used to live in the neighbourhood and died in the recent years. They were people I knew for more than 20 years. Families sold their family houses and left to live in apartments.

I soon realised that %99 of people were dressed in black or semi black clothes. So the fight against government legislations for clothing was finally over. I felt that people admitted their faith and didn’t even think of fighting for anything even if it’s related to what they eat or wear.

All my old friends and classmates had left the city like I did. They were all living in Tehran or had immigrated to other countries. I walked across the main streets of the city. I met boys with strange haircuts resembling Turkish actors who seemed to be still famous. Girls had the same sort of Islamic clothing that I could remember being the most important subject of debate among young girls in the past. It seemed to me that they are no longer interested in such a discussions. But the true story was revealed when I walked around where Mr. Hajkokabi's house was. The dark corners of the alley were occupied by girls and guys talking and kissing each other in public. Others were busy using strange drugs and cigarettes. I could see the fear in their face when I walked by them (I seemed to them a very old and traditional religious person because of my age and hair that was not like them).

And finally, I spoke to my dad. The only one who could always fully understand me and the one who gave me best advices of my life. He couldn’t concentrate on subjects of our discussion. I could easily realise this fact since I had a clear picture of his quick thinking and decision making process. Our conversation started with usual things about our everyday lives in the UK and Iran. I was trying to ask him the process of rapid changes in our city which led to the current situation. He was amazed by hearing that I found the situation deteriorated. He believed that everything has improved a lot since I left. I couldn’t argue with him as his view was not based on any statistic or scientific research. I remembered that every other person from my past life thinks and argues in the same way. I remembered that I learned talking and acting based on documented evidences in Europe and after I left Iran. It was enough I realised that I had nothing else to tell him apart from subjects related to our family life.

BACK TO LONDON:

I left the country a few days later. No feelings, emotions or passion to be there again. Nothing was left in my home country, city or even my childhood neighbourhood worth thinking or visiting again. I returned to London thinking about those changes. I arrived in my little flat in Kensington. That was the moment I realised that:

I DO NOT HAVE A HOME ANYMORE

I had never felt at home in Kensington as I can feel huge cultural differences between me and people in this country. Before arriving in the UK I had two dreamy years of my life in Amsterdam. Though I enjoyed a lot living in Holland, I never felt at home.

And now, I realise that I do not belong to my country, city or even to Hajkokabi alley anymore.

The biggest fight of any human being when born is to survive and grow. I succeeded in that fight like any other kid. Later my adolescence religious society forced me to accept answering to my existential questions as the greatest challenge of life. When I moved to Europe I realised that love is the greatest challenge of any animal including human being.

Having lived 35 years of my life I eventually realised that the biggest challenge of my life still lies ahead. Its not a survival issue as we all know (like any other animal knows) how to top up the minimum requirements remain alive. Its not answering to existential issue as answering to those questions doesn’t change anything in the real life. Its not a matter of loving another human being as by 35 we all learned to love and enjoy its beauty. I have recently learned that:

The biggest challenge of life is to find the little piece of the nature where a most evolved animal like me belongs: HOME