Sunday, April 25

Of Writing

Robertson Davies on engage writers:

“Unquestionably some writers are deeply moved by political and social causes, and they write with power to support whatever they think is necessary to bring about a better world. Every revolution has had a few writers involved in it at the beginning; at the end they are frequently either disillusioned or dead…There are many writers, however, who regard themselves as engage because it gives them a direction they would not otherwise have” (The Merry Heart: Writing, 245).

Friday, April 23

Having a Real Friend in an Unreal World!

To talk about “Friend,” first, let see what OED has to offer, as to the definition of the word, so that you can ponder on it, before reading this short note. According to OED, “Friend” is “a person you like and you know well, and who is not usually a member of your family”. Good starting point.

My father often spoke of “friends” and the value of their presences in our lives. He believed that, “A friend is a person who likes, knows and supports you, who is there for you when you need them, who knows your faults but also realizes that there is a certain “goodness” in you, and for all that is good, they stay a step behind you, and when you fall, they are there to catch you”. And the same token he always advised that, “One can only have a few friends, if one is really lucky, and many acquaintances, if one is really wise”.

I’d like to think of a “friend,” as a mixture of Dad’s and Oxford’s definition. I have many acquaintances but few friends, people whose presence in my life has its root to my knowing and liking them well. However, my confidant is my sister, and my most cherished friend is my mother, and both of them are “a member of” my “family”. So, there is where I differ from OED in defining friends. But I also understand that in general term; a friend is a person who is not a member of your own family. In other word, a friend is not related to you by blood ties, but they can be as close, in thoughts and spirit. In choosing friends, I am absolutely pernickety. I like to be selective and I am, and I also don’t mind to be called “a snub”. I am, I admit it. But I also have a few good friends who have been there to catch me, and that’s all that matters to me. That’s all


Monday, April 19

Remembering Dr. Shojaedin Shafa, a Great Iranian Man

What I am about to say may seem offensive to those Iranians who think they have done a lot! But I am merely talking of a dark truth, a truth about our lack of appreciation, understanding, out unwillingness to acknowledge our own fault as a suppressed nation.
Every time an Iranian of worth (worth mentioning their name) passes away a certain sadness overcomes me to the point that it paralyses my senses for weeks to come. I said “Iranians of Worth” and by that I mean those of us, who are selfless, caring, and daring. And they are many, some unknown, and some are very well-known, some are appreciated and some are neglected badly. But they are here amongst the rest of the “Iranians”.

Dr. Shojaedin Shafa, an Iranian scholar, literati, a great translator, and a cultural heritage, passed on, away from the country he greatly loved and cared and worried for. He passed on in exile, like so many other Iranians do, without having the chance to return to his homeland even in his old age. Perhaps a great part of his soul always longed for his ruined ancient Home, but then Home always lived within him, in his heart, like it does in so many others' heart.

Without the slightest doubt, Dr. Shafa’s legacy will live on, and his works will find their way into so many anxious hands, and his words will echo in so many minds. And what could be more fulfilling, for a man whose life was devoted to his love of truth, than to leave something behind that can never be destroyed.

Remembering Dr. Shafa is a national duty, for he gave us so much and so clear that to ignore it is to admit that we are incapable of grasping the truth and therefore will never have a chance to deserve to see ourselves Free.

May we always remember those who did what they could to make us see the naked truth, and they did it selflessly. May we learn to appreciate those who share their lives with us and share they do selflessly, and generously.

May he, who shares so much with his people, live forever


Thursday, April 15

You ought to be out of your bloody mind!

Everything about Politics is nauseating to me. I hate political games, and I cannot respect politicians, for in my time, I haven’t met one, who is not only a crook, but also an ass too.

Re-mapping the Middle East, eh?
You ought to be out of your bloody mind to dare to suggest such a thing. You ought to be out of your mind to make a dirty deal with Devil. Haven’t you heard of the “man” who sold his soul to Devil? And what became of him? Utterly destroyed, a nasty fate!

Fundamentalism? Selling weapons, latest killing machine guns and ammunitions, never mind nuclear wastes, to those dangerous men of (no) “godly” convictions, and you think that that is a joke? You think Terrorism was invented when your dad was still working on a mine-field, when your uncle was joining the Vietnam war, when your grandfather came back from Berlin? You are ought of your bloody mind!

Your meeting in Soudan, and your support of Taliban, and your meetings with the Hamas, and your investing a fortune in creating fear and anxiety for all nations, they are all bad politics with sad ending. Call them failed attempts at bringing peace to many nations around the world! What a hoax! What a load of shit! By the way, have you found Osama?? Or is he still recording tapes for you?! Re-mapping the Middle East, dream on baby, dream on!


Tuesday, April 6

The Definition of Love according to a Metaphysical Poet

This post presents to you The New Definition of Love by Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), an English (metaphysical) poet. I am sure you all know the universal definition of love, but not many of you knows another man’s definition of love. So, this is for those who like to hear something different about Love!

The Definition of Love


My Love is of a birth as rare
As ‘tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by despair
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ne’r have flown
But vainly flapt its Tinsel Wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended Soul is fixt,
But Fate does Iron wedges drive,
And alwaies crouds it self betwixt.

For Fate with jealous Eye does see
Two perfect Loves; nor lets them close;
And her Tyrannick pow’r depose.
And therefore her Decrees of Steel
Us as the distant Poles have plac’d,
(Though Loves whole World on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embrac’d.

Unless the giddy Heaven fall,
And Earth some new Convulsion tear;
And, us to joyn, the World should all
Be cramp’d into a Planisphere.

As Lines so Loves oblique may well
Themselves in every Angle greet:
But ours so truly Paralel,
Though infinite can never meet.

Therefore the Love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debarrs,
Is the Conjunction of the Mind,
And Opposition of the Stars.