Translation: Farsi to English
If you had studied maths, you only needed pen and notebooks
I got accepted at Calart Institute in 2010 and entered art school at 25. I couldn’t believe that one day, I’d be able to study art! As you might know art, for probably about eighty percent of Iranian families, is considered a side topic! And what are the major topics of study? Medicine, engineering, architecture and so on and so forth... Art is for when you’ve got spare time, you sign up for a class and just like swimming, you can be an artistic doctor or an engineer. Basically, it’s a hobby. Any activity that exudes satisfaction and joy accompanied with a sense of pleasure is not worthy of being considered as a job or, as my mum used to say: “If you study art, they’ll end up wearing you abaya and hand you a basket and this, is the destiny of an artist!”
This is exactly what happened to her! She went to Ameneh art school in Ahvaz’s Amanieh neighbourhood to learn typewriting and technical drawing but she got married off before she finished the course. And, she was pregnant on the final year while she was taking the technical diploma exams and incidentally, her husband’s family wore her an abaya and handed her a basket in which she collected her grocery shopping after exam days and this memory, was tattooed in her mind! She believed that every misfortune has roots in Ameneh art school and even though we lived opposite that school, mentioning any of the subjects taught there was forbidden in our home. So now you probably understand me when I say I could not believe I was going to study in an art school! My tearful eyes are still visible on my student card’s photo; a testament to the bliss I believed was granted to me.
The yearly tuition fee was $31’000. My family could not afford to pay this money all at once and so I knocked on every door until I finally managed to get a student loan.
Mum agreed and said: “Now what does this mean? How much do we have to pay each month to pay off the loan?”
“It’ll be about $1’500 or less.” I replied.
“OK, it’s about 1.5 million Toman. We spend more than this on you each month. Get the loan.” She said.
The first and second year passed merrily; nightingale on the tree, canaries sang, green grass under feet and blue sky above our heads!
Towards the end of 2012 - thanks to prudence and wisdom of the rulers – price of Dollar suddenly rose to two thousand Toman. Not a day passed without my dad nagging about the heavy burden of costs saying we’ve got to come back and that he no longer can afford to send us rent money.
“How much does one make running a fabric shop for me to have to send this much money? I don’t make that much.” He would say.
Meanwhile, mum tried to calm him by talking, I greeted him with an extra meaningless respect and care, asking him things like what he had for dinner? And how was his day? Pretending that we missed him! But he kept nagging. Afterall, he was a bazaari himself and knew about money inside out, and also about Nora, my mother.
He didn’t miss Nora though; she was a good saleswoman, she was excellent at choosing fabrics, she knew the trade and without her, the business was not prospering. Haaji was after his business partner, the one that had left and was now in the States.
Anyway, price of Dollar went up and up until it reached 4’500 Toman. This is when I also got my Master's degree. I spent six years using my loan to cover the costs of studying and living except for the rent and the car instalments that Haji sent us each month.
After six years of studying and living under the burden of a heavy student loan, when that dumb businessman became president, I used it as an excuse to pack my suitcase, kiss my mum and sister farewell and return to Iran.
Nemsa said: “I know you’re escaping from the loan. I’m not going to pay off your loan. If they call me, I’ll say I haven’t spoken to you in years!”
I think she suspected that she might have to pay my loan’s instalments for a few months.
The situation got worse as I returned to Iran. It was no longer just my dad nagging at me, my mum and Nemsa joined in telling me off about the crap subject I have studied asking what the hell am I going to do with my life. “There is no money in the arts.”, they said.
I used to say: No, it’s in vain!
“You’re vulgar and outrageous! Admit you made a damn mistake!”, They would say.
“What’s the use of me saying I made a mistake? They will ignore my debt? Besides, I made no mistake in studying what I liked.”
Every afternoon at 4 PM Tehran’s time and 5 AM Los Angeles time mum would call and we’d repeat the same conversation.
She’d continue: “This thing you studied to make so much crap! Spent so much money on buying this and that book, new camera, old camera, medium format, large format, film, printing colour photos, printing black and white, developing film! If you had studied maths, you didn’t need anything other than a pen and a notebook, there would have been no fuss!”
“But mum what are you talking about? I still add 5 and 7 using my fingers! What math? I had to learn everything from the beginning!”
Nora: “I don’t know! You would have learnt.”
This student loan ended up being a pain in the ass and not only Dollar didn’t get any cheaper, it got more and more expensive and Rial ended up a being sugar cube that melted in the mouth without sipping tea!
And I’m not even going to get into what happened during the 3 years I spent in Iran and all the struggle I went through not to end up with a suitcase again on the run.
However, ironically this time, except for a few sets of winter clothes, couple of T shirts, a leather cover Quran and a pen and notebook that had nothing to do with maths, nothing else fitted in my suitcase.
I got accepted at Calart Institute in 2010 and entered art school at 25. I couldn’t believe that one day, I’d be able to study art! As you might know art, for probably about eighty percent of Iranian families, is considered a side topic! And what are the major topics of study? Medicine, engineering, architecture and so on and so forth... Art is for when you’ve got spare time, you sign up for a class and just like swimming, you can be an artistic doctor or an engineer. Basically, it’s a hobby. Any activity that exudes satisfaction and joy accompanied with a sense of pleasure is not worthy of being considered as a job or, as my mum used to say: “If you study art, they’ll end up wearing you abaya and hand you a basket and this, is the destiny of an artist!”
This is exactly what happened to her! She went to Ameneh art school in Ahvaz’s Amanieh neighbourhood to learn typewriting and technical drawing but she got married off before she finished the course. And, she was pregnant on the final year while she was taking the technical diploma exams and incidentally, her husband’s family wore her an abaya and handed her a basket in which she collected her grocery shopping after exam days and this memory, was tattooed in her mind! She believed that every misfortune has roots in Ameneh art school and even though we lived opposite that school, mentioning any of the subjects taught there was forbidden in our home. So now you probably understand me when I say I could not believe I was going to study in an art school! My tearful eyes are still visible on my student card’s photo; a testament to the bliss I believed was granted to me.
The yearly tuition fee was $31’000. My family could not afford to pay this money all at once and so I knocked on every door until I finally managed to get a student loan.
Mum agreed and said: “Now what does this mean? How much do we have to pay each month to pay off the loan?”
“It’ll be about $1’500 or less.” I replied.
“OK, it’s about 1.5 million Toman. We spend more than this on you each month. Get the loan.” She said.
The first and second year passed merrily; nightingale on the tree, canaries sang, green grass under feet and blue sky above our heads!
Towards the end of 2012 - thanks to prudence and wisdom of the rulers – price of Dollar suddenly rose to two thousand Toman. Not a day passed without my dad nagging about the heavy burden of costs saying we’ve got to come back and that he no longer can afford to send us rent money.
“How much does one make running a fabric shop for me to have to send this much money? I don’t make that much.” He would say.
Meanwhile, mum tried to calm him by talking, I greeted him with an extra meaningless respect and care, asking him things like what he had for dinner? And how was his day? Pretending that we missed him! But he kept nagging. Afterall, he was a bazaari himself and knew about money inside out, and also about Nora, my mother.
He didn’t miss Nora though; she was a good saleswoman, she was excellent at choosing fabrics, she knew the trade and without her, the business was not prospering. Haaji was after his business partner, the one that had left and was now in the States.
Anyway, price of Dollar went up and up until it reached 4’500 Toman. This is when I also got my Master's degree. I spent six years using my loan to cover the costs of studying and living except for the rent and the car instalments that Haji sent us each month.
After six years of studying and living under the burden of a heavy student loan, when that dumb businessman became president, I used it as an excuse to pack my suitcase, kiss my mum and sister farewell and return to Iran.
Nemsa said: “I know you’re escaping from the loan. I’m not going to pay off your loan. If they call me, I’ll say I haven’t spoken to you in years!”
I think she suspected that she might have to pay my loan’s instalments for a few months.
The situation got worse as I returned to Iran. It was no longer just my dad nagging at me, my mum and Nemsa joined in telling me off about the crap subject I have studied asking what the hell am I going to do with my life. “There is no money in the arts.”, they said.
I used to say: No, it’s in vain!
“You’re vulgar and outrageous! Admit you made a damn mistake!”, They would say.
“What’s the use of me saying I made a mistake? They will ignore my debt? Besides, I made no mistake in studying what I liked.”
Every afternoon at 4 PM Tehran’s time and 5 AM Los Angeles time mum would call and we’d repeat the same conversation.
She’d continue: “This thing you studied to make so much crap! Spent so much money on buying this and that book, new camera, old camera, medium format, large format, film, printing colour photos, printing black and white, developing film! If you had studied maths, you didn’t need anything other than a pen and a notebook, there would have been no fuss!”
“But mum what are you talking about? I still add 5 and 7 using my fingers! What math? I had to learn everything from the beginning!”
Nora: “I don’t know! You would have learnt.”
This student loan ended up being a pain in the ass and not only Dollar didn’t get any cheaper, it got more and more expensive and Rial ended up a being sugar cube that melted in the mouth without sipping tea!
And I’m not even going to get into what happened during the 3 years I spent in Iran and all the struggle I went through not to end up with a suitcase again on the run.
However, ironically this time, except for a few sets of winter clothes, couple of T shirts, a leather cover Quran and a pen and notebook that had nothing to do with maths, nothing else fitted in my suitcase.