Nowruz Memories
Shaghayegh Hanson
As we grow older, we tighten our hold on the memories that give us the most pleasure. For me, these memories go back to Mashhad, time and again. A little girl, sitting at her mamanbosorg’s (grandmother’s) knee in the shade of a patio, looking out onto a sun-soaked courtyard with a water fountain in the middle, its turquoise-colored tiles glistening under a bright blue sky. The birds are chirping, the jasmine smells sweet, and the gentle murmur of rippling water envelops the scene. It’s peaceful here. The most peace I’ve ever felt in my life.
Mamanbosorg is talking about Nowruz preparations as we sew together; well, she sews and I butcher a scrap of cloth with random needle pricks (I am 5, after all). My mastery lies in threading the needles for her because, since time immemorial, her eyesight isn’t “up to the task.” But her eyes are magnificent to me—kind and playful, and made warmer by the laughter lines etched around them. She lists the items we need to buy, the food we must prepare, the cleaning we need to start, and the people we should visit. I feel a prick of excitement and attentively listen to what my responsibilities might be in all of this, given my limited skills. I will be the sabzeh maker and keeper, of course (I have my own mini watering pot for just such things)! And I am permitted to pick out the goldfish we will add to our collection from last year.
As each pre-Nowruz week passes, the buzz of excitement increases, reaching several crescendos: Chaharshanbehsoori, the New Day itself, and Sizdahbedar. These were times in which I really felt the promise of Nowruz; everything we did, all the rituals we observed, created a palpable sense of change, freshness, and renewal. I feel so blessed to have experienced Nowruz in my homeland, authentically and joyfully.
Some things never change (my terrible sewing comes to mind), some things change too much (mamanbosorg’s place is always empty now), and other things naturally evolve. Although Nowruz has never felt the same as it did in those Mashhad days, thankfully it has survived the migration of its disciples. One can even argue that Nowruz has evolved into an even more important or meaningful part of our lives here because to lose it would bring irreparable loss to our heritage and identity. And so every year we must embrace, honor, and celebrate it with all our might—for us in the present, for those in our memories, and for those yet to come. Happy Nowruz!
