Your Charisma Still Lingers Here

Since a long time ago, I wanted to write a feature on Imam Khomeini. Yesterday, the day before the anniversary of his death, I and my friend, Saleh, had some time to go to Isfahan’s bazzar and took some photos. Interestingly, there are still some merchants in whose shops some photos of Imam Khomeini are installed. In near future, I will compile a feature to complement following photos.

* The title of this post is borrowed from a song of Evanescence.

Individuality is worth it all

“Capital dwellers” is the adjective attached to us. The smoky Tehran, the expensive Tehran, the merciless Tehran, the lonely Tehran! Loneliness is as fashionable here as individuality. And I perhaps fall for this individuality; this fact that not all the time I’m being monitored and judged. This is why I don’t like smaller cities in which, it seems, everybody is obliged to control you. In which all the people find themselves entitled to comment on every petty issue of your life, your appearance, your mood and your secrets. And the smaller the city, the more meaningless becomes the privacy. And the stronger becomes the rivalry. And gossiping and talking behind others’ backs becomes more frequent. And the atmosphere becomes more intolerable. Right, Tehran is expensive, polluted, crowded, not that much moral-minded. I, however, never exchange the individuality I have in Tehran for the [seemingly better] life in other cities.

Source: Green Desert

All the President's Dreams

A nice joke says that hedgehogs always dream of somebody giving them a close hug. A similar joke says that zebras always dream of taking a colorful photo.

In your opinion, what does Ahmadinejad usually dream of?

You have one week to participate in the game (either through comments or through Email) and the most interesting answer will be awarded 10$. Believe me, Ahmadinejad is not worth more.

A Dirge for an Old King

O’ the old Cheetah,

Once you were the fastest in our county,
Preserving the order as a king, the mighty,
Wolves and foxes in our desert scared,
To me, your strength was the utmost beauty,

As opposed to those who called you wild,
I believed in your potency to keep the county, your child,
Happy and prosperous, not letting lions of neighboring woods meddle,
It took many lives, I know, but this was what we had to abide,

You didn’t let anybody stand, grow up,
For you had to be the one, front and up,
And your turn came, to get old, to fall,
Wolves and foxes, waiting; they run a coup,

O’ the old Cheetah,

What did you do to our county?


P.S. 1: Big thanks to a cyber friend.
P.S. 2: Any political interpretation is due to your crazy mind. :D

To You: Nagoya Oceans

I was with them for almost 12 days. Regulated, disciplined, on time. In short, Japanese, very Japanese, conforming to all what I used to hear about and expect from them.

Nagoya Oceans Futsal Club represented Japan in AFC Futsal Club Championship 2010 which was held in Isfahan, Iran. And I was their liaison officer. Such an easy job, given their well-organized, reliable personal and team behavior.

Their tomorrow schedule was always ready the night before, detailed and practical. And when it came to act according to the schedule, they were on-time, or more exactly, caring about every simple minute. To them, 7:30 means just 7:30, neither 7:29 nor 7:31. And you know, to an average Iranian, 7:30 means a period as wide as 6:00 to 8:00. It took me almost a day to get accustomed to their systematic, timely behavior.

They were very conservative, and meanwhile very friendly. Only one of them, Murayama (supervisor), was a fluent speaker of English. Watanabe (club manager) and Miyazawa (interpreter of the Portuguese head coach) spoke decent English. And I made friends with all of the three English speaking ones, especially Miyazawa. And with the head coach, Jose Adil, who invited me to a delicious pizza on the last night I was with them. And with the photographer, who fixed my camera once I was absolutely frustrated. And with Muri, whose fantastic performance in the pitch and nice dance in the stadium won the hearts of spectators. And with everybody else, less or more.

I was excited when they won just to get sad when they lost. I was not only with them, but also somehow found myself a member of their delegation. Waking up everyday at the same time, exchanging ‘hello, good morning’ every day, walking together, and touring the city together. Even I practiced with them, though not physically. And when they failed to make it in the semi final against Al-Sad from Qatar, I was as sad as the Japanese. It was then that I told Miyazawa “when you are this sad and exhausted, I feel sad and exhausted as well.”

At the gate of Imam Khomeini International Airport where they were about to depart, when I said goodbye to each one, especially once someone took the last photo of me with Miyazawa, I was about to burst into tears.

Such a great experience. Such a near-Japanese experience. Such a great memory.

Murayama gave me a JFA T-Shirt and Miyazawa gave me his Nagoya Oceans sportswear. Such a nice, great, invaluable present and memory, to remain in my custody, in my heart, forever.

I miss you all, my friends.