It's a long-standing joke that Iranians invented everything. But there's one thing I take exception to... Please, Iran, stop trying to claim that Freddie Mercury was Iranian!
Freddie was born Farrokh Balsara in Zanzibar, Tanzania. His parents were Indian Zoroastrians. Granted our ancestors (Freddie's and mine) originally came from Persia, but that was 1,000 years ago! Freddie was more African than he was Iranian, really!
We Parsis have so little. Most people have never heard of our prophet and think Zubin Mehta is Jewish. One of our few worldwide claims to fame was aapro Freddie. Even though Freddie changed his name, lived a wild life that probably didn't always include good thoughts, good words and good deeds and left little to the Parsi community when he died, we still want him. In fact, we NEED him.
So forgive me, Iran, for being a little defensive on the Freddie front, but you have so much to be famous for and we Parsis are holding on to what little we have. So back off... or I might have to refer the issue to a higher body!
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
I'm a one-comb-woman
Last weekend I stopped at a street-side fortune teller near the bazaar in Zanjan. He was a fascinating-looking character with a full white beard and a woolen cap pulled low on his head.
My expectations of what he might tell me weren't too high, but I was hoping for a little clarity on our currently muddled life situation... a hint of things to come? A glimpse of where we might land?
Our mystical mate asked for my first name and my mother's first name. Then he set to work flicking the beads of an abacus around in no particular order. When he was satisfied with the results and the abacus was safely back in its plastic covering, he took a very battered book from his lap and began reading in a monotone voice, speaking heavily Turk-inflected Farsi.
My friend AmirReza translated a summary of my fortune thusly: "Don't share your comb with anybody. A person with red hair is your enemy. Be good to your husband. Buy a turquoise ring for good luck."
Finally! Words to live by...
My expectations of what he might tell me weren't too high, but I was hoping for a little clarity on our currently muddled life situation... a hint of things to come? A glimpse of where we might land?
Our mystical mate asked for my first name and my mother's first name. Then he set to work flicking the beads of an abacus around in no particular order. When he was satisfied with the results and the abacus was safely back in its plastic covering, he took a very battered book from his lap and began reading in a monotone voice, speaking heavily Turk-inflected Farsi.
My friend AmirReza translated a summary of my fortune thusly: "Don't share your comb with anybody. A person with red hair is your enemy. Be good to your husband. Buy a turquoise ring for good luck."
Finally! Words to live by...
Like a virgin
This is my first ever blog. Wish I could say it is something I've been wanting to do for a long time but, really, the idea just came to me. Please enjoy responsibly.
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