By Kamran Nayeri, April 19, 2019
As far as I can remember my relationship with my father, Asghar, has been strained. The last three years of high school I stopped talking to him altogether. I began to have “conversations” with him when he and my mother permanently moved to the United States and began to live near me in Northern California in the early 2000s. I placed the word conversation inside quotation marks because for reasons still unknown to me Asghar has never been able to carry more than exchange of a few words with anyone. His favorite mode of interaction with others has been comic monologues or reciting poetry for them. Thus, my attempts at conversation with him took the form of “interviews.” If I could ask him questions that piqued his interest he would respond, often mixing these with his own form of humor which at time was very funny indeed. To keep this type of interaction going, I asked the same set of questions about events or people in his past and he would respond as if it were the first time I was asking that question. A favorite topic of ours was how he came to marry my mother. The following account is from these “conversations” often taking place in presence of my mother who validated Asghar’s recollections.
As it is common practice in Iran where gender segregation goes back for centuries marriage has been arranged and they took the form of khāstegari (proposing). It usually originates with the (young) man who informs his mother that he is interested in getting married to start a family. Until recently, the prospective wife would not have been involved in khāstegari except perhaps in a passive form. That is, by brinning in tea and sweets for the prospective husband and his entourage so that the potential couple get to discretely glance at each other.
It must have been sometimes in 1948 when Asghar who was 25 years old at the time, asked his mother, Monavar, about a wife. His father, Mohammad Nayeri, was a retired director of the Post Office of Kashan, a small town in the Isfahan provinc, who had married three wives from whom he had seven children. Monavar gave him four boys of whom Asghar was the second oldest. Asghar had recently secured a civilian job in Shahrbani (the Iranian national police) and biology and culture urged him to marry and have his own family. Monavar was delighted to know of her son’s intentions and sent word out to the matriarchs in the extended family and in the neighborhood who had eligible daughters.
A cousin of Monavar, Legha, responded enthusiastically. Although her husband, Ibrahim Nikrad, was once a wealthy man in Kermanshah, he had lost everything to his passion for throwing lavish parties for his friends in which much opium and alcohol was consumed as they gambled their property. Ibrahim had two wives with nine children, a son and five daughters from Legha. After Ibrahim lost his wealth in Kermanshah in the Kurdish region of Iran, he accepted a job as the director of the wheat silo in Mashhad, the capital city of Khorasan province in the northeastern Iran, a job that he lost at the end of the World War II. The penniless family moved to Tehran where the older daughter lived with her husband and Ibrahim hoped to get a job in a bank.
* * *
One bright day, Asghar and Monavar dressed up and headed to the Nikrads’ house with some presents for Khātegari. Legha and Ibrahim welcomed them and after tasting some sweets and drinking some black tea, exchanging pleasantries, Monavar broached the reason for their visit. Ibrahim congratulated them on the occasion and gently began to quiz Asghar’s ability to support a wife and a family. He asked Asghar about his job and about his income which was very modest (about 150 tomans a month). When Ibrahim was satisfied with Asghar’s qualifications, he asked: “Which of my daughters do you wish to be your bride?”
Asghar sheepishly responded: “Whoever you choose, Sir.”
Ibrahim protested: “But you must choose as she will be your wife for a lifetime!”
After a bit of hesitation Asghar replied: “How about the one with the fairest skin?”
Ibrahim retorted: “That would be Valentine! She is still a student!”
Of course, Asgar had not seen any of the maidens yet. It was Monavar who had seen them and told Asgar about them.
Asgar sheepishly responded: “I am sorry, Sir! Whoever you say, Sir!”
Calming down, Ibrahim answered: “Nezhat is your best choice. She is the right age and would be a great homemaker.”
Nezhat was 21 years old at the time. Although three of her sisters finished high school and went on to become teachers, Nezhat did not show an interest in school and had quit after the fifth grade. Instead, she had shown much interest in home making.
Asgar responded to Ibrahim’s suggestion positively. They all ate some sweets to celebrate their agreement and wished a happy future for the soon-to-be-wed couple.
* * *
While the khāstagri was in process the Nikrad sisters were in another part of the house trying to figure out what is going on. When they found out about Asghar asking for Nezhat’s hand, the other sisters began to tease her endlessly. Knowing that she dislikes baldness in men, they told her Asghar was bald! This made her cry as the other sisters laughed.
Because Nikard family was Westernized and the Nayeri family was not overtly religious, soon Asghar and Nezhat were engaged and allowed to go out together to get to know each other a bit before their wedding. Years ago, my mother told us about their first date. Asghar arrived at the Nikrad house to take Nezhat for a stroll in the boulevard in the modern northern side of Tehran, now named Keshavarz Boulevard which is very much part of central Tehran. At the time, there was a creek flowing that divided the boulevard lengthwise with paths for the walking public on both sides of the creek.
Being a proper young woman, Nezhat tried her best not look at Asghar all the way to the famous pastry shop on the boulevard. But when the couple stood at the counter ordering cream puffs, suddenly Nezhat saw a handsome young man with a well groomed jet black hair next to her. Her heart was filled with joy—Asghar was not bald!
The outing ended on a comic note as Asghar who was equally overjoyed by meeting his finance slipped and fell into the creek messing up his fancy suit! This episode remained one of my mother’s favorite for the rest of her life and every time she told it she had a belly laugh.
* * *
Asghar and Nezhat went on to have four children—two boys and two girls. Despite their humble beginning the family prospered as the Iranian state-dominated capitalist economy experienced a long period of prosperity especially after the quadrupling prices in the early 1970s.
Eventually, three of their children settled in the U.S. after the defeat of the Iranian revolution by 1982. Asghar and Nezhat who remained in Tehran with Kamiar, the younger son, had nothing more to live for in Iran after he died of thyroid cancer at age 39 in 1994. In 1995, they permanently settled in the United States to be close to their remaining three children.
* * *
While many arranged marriages last a life time, few are happy marriages. Asghar and Nezhat who remained together until she died at age 86 were not a couple in love. While my father did not complain about it, my mother resented the fact that he did not marry her for love nor ever came to express such feelings towards her (his rare expression of affection towards her was always in the form of humor).
A year before she died of a massive stroke living in a nursing home in Morage, Califonnia, she and I sat in the patio overlooking the garden. She began to tell me of the bitterness she felt towards my father. Of course, I had heard the same complaints before but listened any way. I rose up to the edge of my chair when she told me for the first time that my father had raped her on their wedding night and then rolled over and gone to sleep. Her eyes were moist with tears.
Nezhat died at age 86. At age 95, my father is living in a nursing home not far from the senior housing complex where both of them lived. No longer able to or interested in reciting poetry or telling jokes, he is entirely at the mercy of his caregivers for his daily functions.
Ibrahim and Legha died before I was born. He of a massive heart attack and she of cancer that was not diagnosed until it was too late. Mohammad, my paternal grandfather who gave me my name, died when I was still a toddler. Monavor lived with her sons' families, mostly with us, until she died of "old age" in the spring of 1979.
Nothing remains of the Asghar and Nezhat who looked at each other in the mirror of the pastry shop at Keshavarz Boulevard in Tehran in 1948 with their hearts full of joy and hope for the future. Only their memories in my mind and in the mind of some of those who have known them. As our generation follows those who went before us, there will be nothing left of their memories bitter or sweet.
 | |
| Asghar Nayeri and Nezhat Nikrad on the occasion of my first birthday (Tehran, 1951). |
As far as I can remember my relationship with my father, Asghar, has been strained. The last three years of high school I stopped talking to him altogether. I began to have “conversations” with him when he and my mother permanently moved to the United States and began to live near me in Northern California in the early 2000s. I placed the word conversation inside quotation marks because for reasons still unknown to me Asghar has never been able to carry more than exchange of a few words with anyone. His favorite mode of interaction with others has been comic monologues or reciting poetry for them. Thus, my attempts at conversation with him took the form of “interviews.” If I could ask him questions that piqued his interest he would respond, often mixing these with his own form of humor which at time was very funny indeed. To keep this type of interaction going, I asked the same set of questions about events or people in his past and he would respond as if it were the first time I was asking that question. A favorite topic of ours was how he came to marry my mother. The following account is from these “conversations” often taking place in presence of my mother who validated Asghar’s recollections.
As it is common practice in Iran where gender segregation goes back for centuries marriage has been arranged and they took the form of khāstegari (proposing). It usually originates with the (young) man who informs his mother that he is interested in getting married to start a family. Until recently, the prospective wife would not have been involved in khāstegari except perhaps in a passive form. That is, by brinning in tea and sweets for the prospective husband and his entourage so that the potential couple get to discretely glance at each other.
* * *
It must have been sometimes in 1948 when Asghar who was 25 years old at the time, asked his mother, Monavar, about a wife. His father, Mohammad Nayeri, was a retired director of the Post Office of Kashan, a small town in the Isfahan provinc, who had married three wives from whom he had seven children. Monavar gave him four boys of whom Asghar was the second oldest. Asghar had recently secured a civilian job in Shahrbani (the Iranian national police) and biology and culture urged him to marry and have his own family. Monavar was delighted to know of her son’s intentions and sent word out to the matriarchs in the extended family and in the neighborhood who had eligible daughters.
A cousin of Monavar, Legha, responded enthusiastically. Although her husband, Ibrahim Nikrad, was once a wealthy man in Kermanshah, he had lost everything to his passion for throwing lavish parties for his friends in which much opium and alcohol was consumed as they gambled their property. Ibrahim had two wives with nine children, a son and five daughters from Legha. After Ibrahim lost his wealth in Kermanshah in the Kurdish region of Iran, he accepted a job as the director of the wheat silo in Mashhad, the capital city of Khorasan province in the northeastern Iran, a job that he lost at the end of the World War II. The penniless family moved to Tehran where the older daughter lived with her husband and Ibrahim hoped to get a job in a bank.
* * *
One bright day, Asghar and Monavar dressed up and headed to the Nikrads’ house with some presents for Khātegari. Legha and Ibrahim welcomed them and after tasting some sweets and drinking some black tea, exchanging pleasantries, Monavar broached the reason for their visit. Ibrahim congratulated them on the occasion and gently began to quiz Asghar’s ability to support a wife and a family. He asked Asghar about his job and about his income which was very modest (about 150 tomans a month). When Ibrahim was satisfied with Asghar’s qualifications, he asked: “Which of my daughters do you wish to be your bride?”
Asghar sheepishly responded: “Whoever you choose, Sir.”
Ibrahim protested: “But you must choose as she will be your wife for a lifetime!”
After a bit of hesitation Asghar replied: “How about the one with the fairest skin?”
Ibrahim retorted: “That would be Valentine! She is still a student!”
Of course, Asgar had not seen any of the maidens yet. It was Monavar who had seen them and told Asgar about them.
Asgar sheepishly responded: “I am sorry, Sir! Whoever you say, Sir!”
Calming down, Ibrahim answered: “Nezhat is your best choice. She is the right age and would be a great homemaker.”
Nezhat was 21 years old at the time. Although three of her sisters finished high school and went on to become teachers, Nezhat did not show an interest in school and had quit after the fifth grade. Instead, she had shown much interest in home making.
Asgar responded to Ibrahim’s suggestion positively. They all ate some sweets to celebrate their agreement and wished a happy future for the soon-to-be-wed couple.
* * *
While the khāstagri was in process the Nikrad sisters were in another part of the house trying to figure out what is going on. When they found out about Asghar asking for Nezhat’s hand, the other sisters began to tease her endlessly. Knowing that she dislikes baldness in men, they told her Asghar was bald! This made her cry as the other sisters laughed.
Because Nikard family was Westernized and the Nayeri family was not overtly religious, soon Asghar and Nezhat were engaged and allowed to go out together to get to know each other a bit before their wedding. Years ago, my mother told us about their first date. Asghar arrived at the Nikrad house to take Nezhat for a stroll in the boulevard in the modern northern side of Tehran, now named Keshavarz Boulevard which is very much part of central Tehran. At the time, there was a creek flowing that divided the boulevard lengthwise with paths for the walking public on both sides of the creek.
Being a proper young woman, Nezhat tried her best not look at Asghar all the way to the famous pastry shop on the boulevard. But when the couple stood at the counter ordering cream puffs, suddenly Nezhat saw a handsome young man with a well groomed jet black hair next to her. Her heart was filled with joy—Asghar was not bald!
The outing ended on a comic note as Asghar who was equally overjoyed by meeting his finance slipped and fell into the creek messing up his fancy suit! This episode remained one of my mother’s favorite for the rest of her life and every time she told it she had a belly laugh.
* * *
Asghar and Nezhat went on to have four children—two boys and two girls. Despite their humble beginning the family prospered as the Iranian state-dominated capitalist economy experienced a long period of prosperity especially after the quadrupling prices in the early 1970s.
Eventually, three of their children settled in the U.S. after the defeat of the Iranian revolution by 1982. Asghar and Nezhat who remained in Tehran with Kamiar, the younger son, had nothing more to live for in Iran after he died of thyroid cancer at age 39 in 1994. In 1995, they permanently settled in the United States to be close to their remaining three children.
* * *
While many arranged marriages last a life time, few are happy marriages. Asghar and Nezhat who remained together until she died at age 86 were not a couple in love. While my father did not complain about it, my mother resented the fact that he did not marry her for love nor ever came to express such feelings towards her (his rare expression of affection towards her was always in the form of humor).
A year before she died of a massive stroke living in a nursing home in Morage, Califonnia, she and I sat in the patio overlooking the garden. She began to tell me of the bitterness she felt towards my father. Of course, I had heard the same complaints before but listened any way. I rose up to the edge of my chair when she told me for the first time that my father had raped her on their wedding night and then rolled over and gone to sleep. Her eyes were moist with tears.
Nezhat died at age 86. At age 95, my father is living in a nursing home not far from the senior housing complex where both of them lived. No longer able to or interested in reciting poetry or telling jokes, he is entirely at the mercy of his caregivers for his daily functions.
Ibrahim and Legha died before I was born. He of a massive heart attack and she of cancer that was not diagnosed until it was too late. Mohammad, my paternal grandfather who gave me my name, died when I was still a toddler. Monavor lived with her sons' families, mostly with us, until she died of "old age" in the spring of 1979.
Nothing remains of the Asghar and Nezhat who looked at each other in the mirror of the pastry shop at Keshavarz Boulevard in Tehran in 1948 with their hearts full of joy and hope for the future. Only their memories in my mind and in the mind of some of those who have known them. As our generation follows those who went before us, there will be nothing left of their memories bitter or sweet.
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