Michele Roohani

On the eve of he international women’s day, I would like to go back to the superb Parvin Etessami’s poem about the Persian women ‘s emancipation from Hejab in 1936. She died 70 years ago at the age of 34.

زن در ایران، پیش از این گویی که ایرانی نبود
پیشه‌اش، جز تیره‌روزی و پریشانی نبود
زندگی و مرگش اندر کنج عزلت می‌گذشت
زن چه بود آن روزها، گر زآن که زندانی نبود
کس چو زن اندر سیاهی قرنها منزل نکرد
کس چو زن در معبد سالوس، قربانی نبود
در عدالتخانه انصاف زن شاهد نداشت
در دبستان فضیلت زن دبستانی نبود
دادخواهیهای زن می‌ماند عمری بی‌جواب
آشکارا بود این بیداد؛ پنهانی نبود
بس کسان را جامه و چوب شبانی بود، لیک
در نهاد جمله گرگی بود؛ چوپانی نبود
از برای زن به میدان فراخ زندگی
سرنوشت و قسمتی جز تنگ‌میدانی نبود
نور دانش را ز چشم زن نهان می‌داشتند
این ندانستن، ز پستی و گرانجانی نبود
زن کجا بافنده میشد، بی نخ و دوک هنر
خرمن و حاصل نبود، آنجا که دهقانی نبود
میوه‌های دکهٔ دانش فراوان بود، لیک
بهر زن هرگز نصیبی زین فراوانی نبود
در قفس می‌آرمید و در قفس می‌داد جان
در گلستان نام ازین مرغ گلستانی نبود
بهر زن تقلید تیه فتنه و چاه بلاست
زیرک آن زن، کو رهش این راه ظلمانی نبود
آب و رنگ از علم می‌بایست، شرط برتری
با زمرد یاره و لعل بدخشانی نبود
جلوهٔ صد پرنیان، چون یک قبای ساده نیست
عزت از شایستگی بود از هوسرانی نبود
ارزش پوشانده کفش و جامه را ارزنده کرد
قدر و پستی، با گرانی و به ارزانی نبود
سادگی و پاکی و پرهیز یک یک گوهرند
گوهر تابنده تنها گوهر کانی نبود
از زر و زیور چه سود آنجا که نادان است زن
زیور و زر، پرده‌پوش عیب نادانی نبود
عیبها را جامهٔ پرهیز پوشانده‌ست و بس
جامهٔ عجب و هوی بهتر ز عریانی نبود
زن، سبکساری نبیند تا گرانسنگ است و بس
پاک را آسیبی از آلوده دامانی نبود
زن چون گنجور است و عفت گنج و حرص و آز دزد
وای اگر آگه ز آیین نگهبانی نبود
اهرمن بر سفرهٔ تقوی نمیشد میهمان
زآن که می‌دانست کآنجا جای مهمانی نبود
پا به راه راست باید داشت، کاندر راه کج
توشه‌ای و رهنوردی، جز پشیمانی نبود
چشم و دل را پرده میبایست اما از عفاف
چادر پوسیده، بنیاد مسلمانی نبود

It is hard for me to translate this beautiful poem to you but I read it with deep respect for this great poet who died so young. The image is the Persian woman’s face shaped like the map of Iran and in a chador…

To see the most beautiful Persian women go here.

“The age of US dominance in the Middle East has ended and a new era in the modern history of the region has begun. It will be shaped by new actors and new forces competing for influence, and to master it, Washington will have to rely more on diplomacy than on military might.” Richard N. Haass

Bourguiba Square in Tunis, Tahrir Square in Cairo, Azadi Square in Tehran , Pearl Square in Manama are witnessing a collective awakening of the Middle Eastern world and this means a major American policy shift in the region.  Now that the Arab world is being remade from within, European policy must change too.

I am both thrilled and scared by the middle eastern earthquake…

Is the Arab world waking up after taking a vacation from History during the past few centuries (as Daryush Shayegan puts it in his book, Cultural Schizophrenia: Islamic Societies Confronting the West)?

I made this image with the hope of freedom (and finally some democracy – even half baked) in the Middle East.

Recipe for volatile social cocktail: “a youth bulge, vast unemployment, inadequate education, and gross economic inequality. but are the richer Arab states immune? There is anger about entrenched authoritarianism and subservience to America’s strategic agenda for the Middle East – especially its  support for Israel’s oppression of the Palestinians”. Middle East’s reaching a tipping point…

To see some of the brave women of Egypt go here.

Sahyegan’s book in English is Cultural Schizophrenia: Islamic Societies Confronting the West

I have read it in French: Le regard mutilé

Egypt is awakening…Pharoahs are trembling…Pyramids are cracking…and I am hoping for more Cleopatras than the Muslim Brotherhood…

From Maureen Dowd (a few days after my blog got published):

Egyptians rose up at the greatest irony of all: “Cleopatra’s Egypt was modern in ancient times and Mubarak’s was ancient in modern times. The cradle of civilization yearned for some civilization.”

University of Cambridge, England, is one of the oldest universities in the world (800 years old) and is made up of 31 colleges. A college is where students live, eat and socialize. It is also the place where students receive small group teaching sessions, known as supervisions. This post will be about the grandest and most magnificent of these colleges: Trinity College.

I had the best guide to take me around several of these colleges but for this post, Trinity it is. It was founded by Henry VIII in 1546 as part of the University of Cambridge, combining two older colleges that existed since 1317 and 1324:

This is the clock gate with a statue of one of the older colleges founders, Edward III (and yes it did take me 20 minutes to walk 20 feet!)

“Pugne pro patria” or fight for your country he’s preaching with a beer belly and three crowns in his hand.  Edward III quartered the Royal Arms of England (the three lions) with the ancient arms of France, the fleurs-de-lis on a blue field, to signal his claim to the French throne.

The iron-work of the gates in the Nevile’s court leading to the “backs” is very impressive (I found a funny criticism of the gates in an old book—they were built for a total sum of 4 pounds in 1691):

I love this little feather stuck on these ornaments:

Trinity has many notable alumni but for me its most distinguished is Isaac Newton; this is where he measured the speed of sound (you can still clap your hands and hear the echo):

He is now standing in the college’s chapel:

For the ones who don’t want to decipher the words above, here is William Wordsworth’ poem (1850):

“Near me hung Trinity’s loquacious clock,
Who never let the quarters, night or day,
Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours
Twice over with a male and female voice.
Her pealing organ was my neighbour too;
And from my pillow, looking forth by light
Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold
The antechapel where the statue stood
Of Newton with his prism and silent face,
The marble index of a mind for ever
Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.”

Newton is surrounded by bright minds in the chapel and even A Man for all Seasons. I am almost sure that the second gentleman from the left is Sir Thomas More:

Of course you should first get in the chapel to see all of that!

The most beautiful sight is the Wren library—off limit to cameras—which has exquisite classical proportions and maximizes space and light having bookcases below window level. It has Newton’s own copy of the first edition of Principia Mathematica, with hand written notes for the second edition.

Trinity College undergraduate gowns are dark blue, as opposed to the black favored by most other Cambridge colleges:

Unlike any other Cambridge college the porters—aka grass police—always wear black bowler hats; they make sure that as with many other Cambridge colleges, the grassed courtyards are generally out of bounds for everyone except the Fellows or me who was accompanied by a Fellow.

And this is their headquarter:

If you get lucky to be invited to a High Table in the Great Hall, you will have a formal dinner with very interesting Fellows but if you are very lucky, like me, you will sit between the most senior Fellows, Anil Seal and Béla Bollobás!

This is what  you are going to eat and drink (we were lucky enough to inherit a great Sauternes left over from the previous night’s big dinner); I was warned not to pass the serving platters to the person sitting by me and always wait for the waiter to do it!

And of course row after row of tea cups…

The great court is even more breathtaking at night where the college bathes in soft lights and the sound of the central fountain:

Just imagine going to sleep (like the other students of the college) with the sound of this old spring:

If you are a visiting scholar, you may stay in the college,

right beside the Master’s Lodge—in this case Sir Martin Rees:

I so wanted to peek through Sir Rees’ house but the best I could do was to take a furtive picture and be happy with his TED talks...

One place I could visit was the neighboring guest house in this blue hour,

and delight at the “green teas” you could have in the morning by the window…

Last but not least on my list is the river Cam and its romantic bridges made even more beautiful by the Punts (flat-bottomed boat with a square-cut bow):

It couldn’t get greener, wetter, fresher than this hazy beautiful morning spent visiting the Cambridge colleges:

And this punter, oblivious to the fine rain, enjoys the shallow and gravelly river, from one Cam bridge to the next:

After the first couple of colleges you either need a coffee at Caffé Nero accompanied by great fudge from fudge kitchen,

or something stronger: a carajillo just like Mitra D. likes it!

To be continued…

Dmitri Shostakovich, the great Russian composer, is the ultimate Iron Man! He defeated, with his amazing music, Stalin’s Iron Fist in spite of the Iron Curtain.

Pushkin, Tolstoy and Shostakovich have helped Russia’s spirit endure the darkest moments of its history: the triumph of intense culture over politics.

Shostakovich, this fragile, shy, nervous, unassuming, fidgety little person, had a difficult and complicated relationship with the Soviet government. He lived in constant fear of persecution by a government that needed him for its propaganda machine.

I have been consumed by his music in the past several days; his symphony #8 (3rd movement) and symphony #10 (second movement), his string quartet #8 in C minor (II) are haunting to say the least.

He was influenced first by Prokofiev and Stravinsky (needs a post all to himself) and later by Mussorgsky and Mahler;  I can’t get his music (or his life story) out of my mind: the only way to put it to rest is to write about him.

What I’ve learned from my hero, Isaiah Berlin, is that people (in this case Shostakovich, this tragic figure), can not and should not be judged, from the safety of the 21st century western world, for having failed to stand up against Stalin’s terror machine. It’s just too easy to send others to their death…

“Shostakovich produced a wide range of music. In addition to the 15 symphonies for which he is best known, he wrote operas, film scores, ballets and compositions for theater. He also maintained ties with the literary community by setting the works of prominent Soviet writers (Babi Yar is one of them) to music.”

His symphonies number 5, 8 and 10 are my favorites—music notes are mightier than swords…

I hope you will find a little time to listen to this achingly beautiful music that celebrates life in all its glory and… gore.

Shostakovich : Symphony N° 8, III

Shostakovich: Gustavo Dudamel  Symphony 10 II

Shostakovic: String Quartet No. 8 in C Minor, II

Iran may be United States’ best/only ally in the hellish war of the tribal belt region between Afghanistan and Pakistan.

An ignorant approach to the Afghan realities and the “benevolent negligence” regarding Pakistan will have more dire consequences for the U.S. and the schizophrenic government of Iran (saddled by Iraq and Afghanistan’s unrest on both sides) may be a necessary ally in the necessary war…The Islamic Republic will do anything  to avoid facing up to the “enemy within” (aka millions of unhappy/angry Iranians)

Look at the map of the world’s most dangerous place; most of the 4,000,000 Pashtuns who live in the tribal belt between Afghanistan and Pakistan refuse to recognize the British-drawn Durand Line, which divides the two nations and splits families. Afghanistan, the fifth poorest country in the world with a life expectancy of 44 is deservedly called the “graveyard of empires”. It has been in a civil war in the past three decades.

The above picture, Exodus from Afghanistan,  from the formidable photojournalist Reza Deghati has haunted me for years—the silence of this cold journey moves me deeply. I almost forget the picture was taken just twenty years ago; “Time” has indeed suspended its flight in this  godforsaken country…

I met Reza in Paris last month at the opening of the exquisite exhibition (organized by my friend Anahita Ghabaian) of 165 year of Iranian Photography at the Quai Branly Museum. Stay tuned for next week’s post about PhotoQuai.

I was once again impressed by Reza,  the great master photographer. We talked about his humanitarian work at Aina, a media & Culture center in Afghanistan. His extraordinary talent deserves a post all to itself—I became a fan years ago thanks to his National geographic’s photos like this one:

Only a few months ago, the Pakistani military was still inclined to view the Taliban as agents of influence able to provide their government with help to contain the Afghanistan in the west as it confronted India to the east. As Roger Cohen puts it: “the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing—the result is self-amputation. Even Pakistan’s competent General Kayani, noted for his patience, diligence, intelligence and sheer determination, may be doing the wrong move in the right direction, too little too late.

Today’s news that Abdullah Abdullah has pulled out of the Afghanistan’s runoff election exasperated me even more; I can’t believe his official explanation for doing so but as Churchill says:

“in wartime, Truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of Lies”

and Afghanistan is deeply at war…

Take a look at Reza’s Webistan here.

Visit Aina here.

Visit the PhotQuai here. (click on “honoring Iranian Photography” to see some great photos)

Budapest, the neglected beauty on the Danube, is a city of friendly people, opulent buildings, golden domes, thermal baths and opera.

Budapest became a single city occupying both banks of the river with a unification on 1873 of right-bank Buda and with left-bank Pest.

A foreign city robs you of your prejudices about different neighborhoods—you look at everything with fresh virgin eyes.

Let’s start by my posh, but relatively inexpensive, hotel room and its great view:

grand cafés everywhere,

like the Callas :

The Hungarians are Opera-crazy and they have their elegant Opera Houses to show it:

There are plenty of beautiful Hungarian girls,

and boys:

and very proud ones at that: The Heroes’ Square welcomes you with seven Magyar chieftains (Magyar: Hungary) who led the Hungarian people in their proud history; I highlighted a couple that I liked best:

Now we’ll take the Budapest metro—super efficient and easy to use— to go places.

Like a good muslim, I first went to visit the great Saint Stephen Basilica:

the madonna looks friendlier in orthodox churches—somehow less aloof, more human…

In spite of all the gold in the public places, Budapest has its share of run-down buildings,

this huge metropolis is not as pretty as her smaller sister city, Prague,

but is as rich in history and as breathtaking in sights:

the sunset on the Danube is majestic:

Again as a good Shiite who does believe in Holocaust,  I went to visit the Dohany street Synagogue of Budapest, the world’s second largest that caters to a mix of Orthodox and Reformed Judaism unique to Hungary:

in spite of its Byzantine Moorish style, the similarities between this synagogue and a grand church are striking: there is an organ (Franz Liszt played on it once),

and even pulpits!

In the Jewish quarter,  you are constantly reminded of the Nazis’ atrocities:

Budapest is known for its 80 geothermal springs but I didn’t have the courage to accompany my friends to these pools in Szechenyi bath:

the Fine Art Museum was more pressing but that should wait for another post; the Hungarian parliament deserves a post all to itself as well.

If you want to stay in great affordable hotels in a great cosmopolitan European city, go to Budapest (or ask my friend, Reyhaneh, who is a champion in finding great deals!)

I leave you with this quote: “The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget” and “Clear thinking requires courage rather than intelligence” by Thomas Szasz.

p.s.  I am not writing about food because the only good meal I had worth writing home about was with my favorite Hungarian,  Professor Ungvari, at Remiz.

An expression that can mean anything means nothing; when you want to please everybody, you please nobody.

Enrico Fermi, the great Italian physicist, killed all the aliens in 1950 by asking this simple/innocent question: “if extra-terrestrials exist, where are they?” This question has become the Fermi Paradox.

Even though I am a science fiction fan I do agree with the skeptics that, Houston, we have a problem:

a) the search for extraterrestrial intelligence (SETI) program to detect radio transmissions from other civilizations has been a failure.

b) the question of the Great Silence remains unsolved; if life is common, why don’t we detect their radio transmissions?

Today is the 40th anniversary of the first moon landing (July 20, 1969).

I remember the thrill of hearing about it on a hot summer day in Iran; the moon has not looked the same since!

Unlike my father, I am a lousy philatelist (postage stamp collector) but I was able to find the above page I bought in 1994—on the 25th anniversary of “the big step”—among my loose leaves.

The Drake Equation—an attempt to estimate the number of extraterrestrial civilizations in the Milky Way with which we might come into contact— is still fascinating to me but I see its light getting dimmer with every “silent year”…

N = R_* × f_p × n_E × f_l × f_i × f_c × L

This once serious equation looks more and more like this cartoon from this very funny site:

To commemorate the 40th anniversary of Neil Armstrong’s historic walk on the moon, Google is offering Internet users a virtual trip to the moon.

I empathize with Fermi’s passion for clarity. I am simply unable to let things be foggy. The Drake equation is literally meaningless because “an expression that can mean anything means nothing.”

Related and Suggested Posts and Resources:

Carl Sagan explaining the Drake Equation.

Google earth lands on the moon.

Other Life not likely to be intelligent.

The new Drake Equation by Susan Blackmore.

The SETI Institute.