How far and yet how close we are from our past.
A blink away and all of a sudden I go back to my childhood pastimes, traveling to my mother’s hometown a little town; Sarab. Muddy paths between my uncle’s house and my grand mother’s mysterious house! How many times have I run through that path? I still have scars form falling on unpaved path from my bike. Buying homemade icy ice cream with highly chemical colored taste! We were so connected, was it childhood or was it the small town making us so close. Where are those cousins now? Really far. I cannot have a meaningful sentence with them. Childhood was happiness, happiness and happiness. Bombing Iraq was above us but we were happy. Smell of fresh milk and yet I had no idea one day I will crave for that smell. I will crave for my grand mother’s yogurt wrap.
Where will I run? Where will I run that happy again?
A back cold room of grandmother’s house was a biggest playground, with blankets and mattresses piled up on top of each other. They were my grand mother’s ‘jahiz’: which means what a newly wed girl would take with her to her husband’s house as means of their living or serving potential guests! That house was full of visiting grand kids and kids. Cotton sheets with bright colors shinning under the light projected from a high ceiling was the most beautiful color I have seen and the feeling of those sheets as a summer afternoon nap cover was amazing. I could give my head to my aunt’s gentle hands and she would brush my hair with her fingers and she would go on for hours doing this while talking to my mother. She was whom I loved with passion and respect. She was a political activist yet very Schick one! She used to smell like Clinique perfume, I wonder how could she get one those days! Her kindness was always a ray of sunshine saving me from my mother’s demanding discipline.
In that house nobody told me any nighttime stories, but I remember making up stories for myself in a big guest room where we all slept as a family when visiting grandmother. Little stove in the room would sing us a lullaby putting us to sleep.
One day I remember waking up with chicken pot on my skin and I was so happy to have the blessing to be there. Being sick and being home alone in Tabriz was not my favorite part of life. Sarab was cold but being together and having dinner all together with cousins was fun! And then tea would come and grown up talks, being a kid I could listen or whenever I was bored I could take off to the cool back room, passing kitchen and I would be there. There was no obligation to be part of a lengthy conversation or being in front of 21 inch black and white television set.
There was a ISHKAF; a wardrobe in that room, no wonder I liked that room so much! And grandmother’s so called fancy clothes were there. They were worn only for special occasions. The whole closet smelled like some kind of a flower or some kind of scent that I can never find out what, it was simply grandmother's unique smell!
Mirror in the living room once was victim of my soccer game inside the room! And many times cookies put aside for norooz guests were gone by my constant snacking! Grandmother used to make those herself ; Halva
My uncle’s house was just next-door. It was a modern version of grandmother’s house with two floors and all wall windows where I could chase sun through long summer days. Brown two-sided door and an which was not too high to reach, I loved the fact I could ring that bell and could see right away an opening window from upstairs checking the visitor. My aunt ‘s kitchen was a different one! With a caroet in between where she would hang out with my cousins and talk for hours and laugh! I can still hear their laughter! Then she would serve food on small plates, my mother never got the idea! There was no rule in that house. No certain morning wake up call! I remember days opening my eyes being in my cousin’s room while ‘sobh e jome bashoma’ was airing. Oh didn’t I love that goofy radio show. Jokes after jokes and sitcom style of plots. Even today I follow such shows! And the fun was getting even more when we found out aunt will bring us another cousin! I remember that summer I spent the whole 3 months there playing with my new born cousin ; farzad .He was the one I could practice my childhood mothering instinct , I could pamper him like a doll! A real doll that I could feed, put to bed, till I got sick and I had to go back to Tabriz home, where there was a whole renovation going on. I hated that phase. My books, my room was not accessible and we had to share rooms and give the contractors food and then clean and clean and clean. My mother was the only one interested in renovations and change of design.
Another trip in Sarab was a 20-minute walk to my mother’s sister’s house. Walking by a pubic Turkish bath and through narrow allies, crossing the main streets and getting closer to a side boring street with no stores to watch! And another narrow street leading to a clinic on the opposite side of my aunt’s house. In this girl free zone my aunt would cherish the female visit! But there was a Gestapo style of germaphobic rules! No wet shoes in the room, extra rinsing after shower and so on! But lasting more than couple of days wouldn’t be easy! It was far from center of action! Back to grandmother’s house was like being back into my kingdom!
Tabriz to Sarab was a two to three hour drive. A short nap and then looking at other car’s license plates trying to find a relevance to their model year and the number. Or counting number of buses would occupy the time! And then a fast run to the covered entrance of grandmother’s would be the end of the trip.
