It’s Not All Nuclrear!

Last Wednesday of the Persian Calendar, is Chaharshanbe Suri (translates to Wednesday Feast): A 3700 years old festival of fire in which family members and neighbours gather around and celebrate the end of Winter and give thanks for having made it through a healthy year. Bonfires are lit and as people jump over the flames, they exchange their paleness and evil with the life and warmth of the fire by singing “Your redness (health) is mine; My paleness (sickness) is yours.”

After party includes dinner, the usual girls meeting boys (and vice versa), looong family chats that go on until early hours in the morning, games and lots of other stuff. But before all that and before the fires are out, two important things has to be done:

Ghashogh zani: It’s basically banging on empty pans with spoons!!! It’s done in order to scare and kick out the last remaining evils of the year from the neighborhood and, of course, to get treats from your elderly neighbours. This is perhaps the original version of what kids do on Halloween (candy-hungry-singing-kids!). The difference is, as far as I know, only grown-up men, dressed as old women, have to do this! I remember my dad used to do it when I was young (seriouly)! After they’re done with the pan and spoon business, they might have to dance a little too for neighbour’s satisfaction! Why is it important? Why not?! All year your dad has been your dad! He deserves to do whatever he wants to on Chaharshanbe Suri night!

Falgoosh: It means fortune hearing. It’s done by interpreting a short part of others’ conversation as your own fortune! It’s not fortune telling, but fortune hearing! As far as I remember, only young girls had to do it. Apparently, it’s got something to do with their future husbands! They never let me in on their secrets!!!

There are other traditions too which vary from town to town. But these the ones that I remember being a part of when I was younger. However, things changed over years. The more presure from the government, the bigger the fires got. And our lovely (I hardly ever use this word; but it was truly lovely) Chaharshanbe Suri became more extreme every year to the point where we were just happy to be with our familes. Neighbours didn’t matter anymore. And punks with their illegal fireworks got the streets. It was all modernised — Iranian Style! Intentional or not, “people of the Islamic Republic of Iran” did manage to ruin their own 3700 years old tradition without even knowing it.

Last traditional Chaharshanbe Suri I had was almost 15 years ago. But still, I remember every detail. My old Chaharshanbe Suri nights are good memories that I will never want to forget. They remind me of the good things about my homeland. They remind me that Iran is not all about “Nuclrear” stuff or circus freaks that are shown on Fox News. They remind me of things that have nothing to do with hatred. Things that are worthy to remember and tell.