Speechless in Fooman

On a Sizdah-Be-Dar several years ago, I went for a day trip to Gilan's Fooman. All over the Fooman marketplace, there were piles of lettuce, vinegar, and sekanjebin (sweet mint syrup, an accompaniment to raw lettuce), presented to the public. I entered a handicrafts shop. I looked around. There were many items from Isfahan and Shiraz and Zanjan on display, but I couldn't identify any authentic Gilani or Foomani items. I asked the gentleman store owner whether there were any Fooman handicrafts available. He pointed behind him to row after row of colorful handmade lofah's (leef) on display. He said in his sweet Gilak accent: "Dokhtara ina ro dorost mikonan (The girls make these.)." I asked him to show me which ones his daughters, the girls, had made. He looked at me confused. He said: "My daughters?" I said: "Yes, you said 'the girls' made these." He said: "I said 'the girls' made these; I didn't say my daughters made these. My daughters are studying medicine and political science in Germany and US." I was so embarrassed. I bought two blue lofah's and left quietly. I still have them. I miss Fooman today.

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I am a citizen of this planet, who believes there is a purpose and mission to our existence. I pursue that mission and try to enjoy every lesson, every day, and every last drop of the pain and joy we drink when we live. I live a mostly regret-free life, with each failure quickly becoming a valuable experience and something to laugh about, and every success something about which to be thankful and celebrative. I do all of this in and around my beloved Berkeley, California.