wheat bread

it must have been something, some sight, some signboard, or some passage i came across recently, but by some freak association of words and images in my sick mind, they have recomposed themselves into the form of the following stanza that i read long ago and now seem unable to get out of my head:

یا الهی کم مگردان چار چیز از این اتاق
نانِ گندم، جوشِ مردم، جان جوری، اتفاق

the first instance of my reading this must return to when i was about 10 years old in watan and freshly confronted with large hand-embroidered curtains featuring green pigeons with over-sized eyes, lions holding swords, and multicolored decorative flowers you might find in the planet pandora of cameronesque imagination. these curtains would occasionally bear the names of persons and religious figures too. and poetry. this one, as i recall, was a recurring favorite, and it was sometimes rendered in the following way:

یا الهی کم مگردان چار چیز از این اوتاق
نانی گندوم جوش مردوم جانی جوری اتیفاق

speaks volumes about things valued in that intimate rural setting: fine wheat bread enjoyed in the company of healthy and like-minded friends. may not be much, but is just enough.

all recent indications point to the fact that this simple, serene mode of life might be going extinct in the farthest corners of the land. chinese manufacture has invaded the farthest reaches of our collective consciousness, and coca cola makes its gory and synthetic presence felt at every tablecloth.

and i regret to report that gone are too the lovely hand-embroidered curtains with imagery reminiscent of early dali.

*

(reminds me in a sad, heartbreaking way of the novel ‘how green was my valley’ by richard llewellyn.)

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~ by safrang on January 23, 2010.

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