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Baba Haji

Baba Haji Checking into the hotel in London, I was filled with excitement and sadness at the same time. It had been decades since I had last seen my Dai (uncle) Homayoun. The difference now was that his life partner of 50 plus years, Khal-eh (auntie) Shahin would not be with him. She had recently died in a car accident. When I heard a gentle knock on the door, I quickly opened it. Dai stepped forward, buried his head in my arms, and quietly wept. This was not the Dai Homayoun that I knew. A man whose physical stance yelled, ‘try me!’ A man who had withstood months of solitary confinement and physical torture under the Khomeini regime. This was someone else. An older man who was broken. An older man who had lost his North Star. Dai was someone who always turned everything upside down, and made fun of people being too emotional. For example when Mooness joon (his grandmother and my great grandmother) died, he questioned why I was being sad. He suggested that we meet up at t...
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Social Media & Sense of Self

  Photo by Clark Alcantara @clarkos29 Social Media & Sense of Self(ie) By Zahra Dowlatabadi Exploring Balboa Park in San Diego, I suddenly found myself in one of those “frozen space moments” which is fairly common in Southern California. A celebrity has been spotted and the immediate world is caught up in between disbelief, awe and what to do next? It turns out that I walked into an event organized by #BalboaParkMeetup, an Instagram posting that has invited photographers and aspiring models to show up on the bridge at 3:00 pm. The average age of participants was mid-teens to early 20s. In attendance were passers-by, lookie-loos, photographers and models of all shapes and sizes in colorful wigs, full make-up and eclectic clothing!   It was a   seamless event organized through social media with all types of people arriving or passing through, with minimal control over who will do what and for how long. Witnessing the excitement around me, it is c...

Mooness Joon

  Mooness joon & Mahdokht Sanati (my mother) circa 1940 Mooness Joon My great grand mother was called Mooness joon. If you were to translate her name from Persian to English, it would be the perfect companion , and that she was! Our lives overlapped long enough for us to play cards, go for walks and on occasion, provided me with a precious glimpse into her life. Mooness joon was mostly quiet and still. She led a very simple life. I discovered one day as we were casually talking about belongings that she owned exactly four dresses. I didn’t believe her so she dared me to count for myself. I ran to her closet and opened the door. There were in fact only two dresses on the hangers. Over my shoulder, I heard her say, “I am wearing one. The fancy one on the right is my dress for ‘mehmooni’ (party dress) and the other one is what I will be wearing tomorrow. Look down, the fourth one is in the laundry basket.” In her days, all dresses were hand made to order, so four ...

A Home vs. a House

If I shut my eyes, I can still see myself squeezed between my mother and the truck driver as we were leaving our old home in downtown Tehran and driving up to our new house in Niavaran. The truck shook hard as the driver shifted gears. We left the city, the hustle and bustle of the busy streets and the potholes, for a stretch of Tehran which was completely rural. I had a hard time imagining how our home could fit into one truck and the car that my father was driving behind us. I wondered how that feeling of home can be transported. So much of a home is how everything fits into the space. How the light falls on the furniture during specific hours of the days and how all the colors change in different seasons. My father would often place me on top of the fridge giving me a bird’s eye view of the kitchen, and from there I could see everything. There was the dining room table where my brother had secretly and successfully placed many unwanted food items in its drawers ~ if you take all thi...