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Masjed Shah, Esfahan
Masjed Shah, Esfahan
| We’re on our way back from a visit to an uncle whose son is a dentist in Florida, when we get stuck in a traffic jam. It is around noon on Muharam, the mourning of the death of Imam Hussein, the grandson of the prophet Mohammed, who died in battle about 1400 years ago. This memorial lasts a few weeks, during which nobody is allowed to express happiness, and music and dance are even more restricted than usual. This year Muharam coincides with Now Ruz, the Persian New Year, which spoiled a lot of the fun. The past evenings we have heard the big drum and seen small groups of mourners walk through the street. But right now is the prime time of the memorial period. A long procession files through the street. On the slow beat of the big drum men beat themselves with sticks on which metal chains are fastened. After them follows a group of men that carry a heavy metal float decorated with metal animal figures, black flags, ribbons and feathers. Then a few men with a huge drum, a few mean pushing a generator and someone who spews verses from the Quoran over the crowd using a loudspeaker. The street is filled with people, all dressed in black. We choose an alternate route because the procession moves too slowly. There are more processions in other streets. My family jokingly calls the processions Husseiny carnival, and apologizes to me for all this, but I watch with interest. As I understand it, the memorial in Tehran is subdued in comparison with other cities, where men beat themselves so fanatically on their bare backs that they bleed. Everywhere free food is being handed out. We see tub-sized pots and pans in the streets. Keyvan stops to go for a free snack. I am being laughed at when I protest, saying that it is wrong to profit from something you are principally against. Everyone in the car relishes the sjol-e-saard (yellow saffron rice pudding) picked up from a black-veiled tent. |