IranAvenue (ایران آوینیو)

Among Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar adaptations, Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s 1953 film is a favorite of mine. Marlon Brando wrote in his autobiography, Songs My Mother Taught Me about the challenges and uncertainties he faced acting alongside great English actors like John Gielgud and James Mason. My favorite scene is where Caesar talking to Mark Antony and pointing to Cassius and says “Let me have men about me that are fat Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o’ nights. Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look He thinks too much such men are dangerous.

It’s good to be back :)

Omar Sharif met Faten Hamama, a well-known Egyptian actress, before he became famous worldwide for his roles in “Dr. Zhivago” and “Lawrence of Arabia.” They had a strong connection and got married becoming one of Egypt’s most popular couples. Even though their relationship ended after Sharif became a global star, he always thought of Faten with great respect and admiration.

Scene from the Movie: Struggle in the Pier (1956)

Faten: I’m not good at saying beautiful words. Beautiful words are said in the cinema (movies)

Sharief: ohh you learned about cinema too! Have you been to the cinema?

Faten: yes, I have! In the movie a girl told the boy she loved, “I wish I was a part of you.. I want to be in your heart and soul” It’s meaningless but pleasant to hear..

The moon represents morality for me. When I look up, I always remember Albert Camus’ play Caligula. Morals guide our actions and keep us human. In Camus’ Caligula, the emperor’s obsession with the impossible—the moon—leads him to break all moral rules. By ignoring these limits, Caligula becomes a cruel tyrant, showing how losing our morals can lead to madness and destruction.

Watching this video that recently went viral on social media, it’s a behind-the-scenes moment from the movie Certified Copy with actress Juliette Binoche and director Abbas Kiarostami. Binoche looking perplexed, listening to Kiarostami as he guides her to deliver a specific line to convey a particular meaning. Kiarostami instructs her not to say the line with anger, but with reproach and disappointment.

Binoche, who seems a bit frustrated, responds, “I don’t understand this Iranian bittersweet. How could one complain without anger?” Kiarostami explains that reproach has love and affection in it; a tendency toward reconciliation and returning, while anger has a tendency to lead to breakups.

Binoche won the Best Actress award at the 2010 Cannes Festival for this role.

Harari’s next book Nexus drops in September. I’m tempted to pre-order it, but I know I won’t have time to dive in right away. Harari argues that Homo sapiens despite being wise humans, often do self-destructive things. He suggests that our creation of AI could even lead to our downfall, which is a bold idea. While we don’t know the outcome or the path AI is taking, Harari reminds us that, historically, our inventions have made us more powerful. But with AI making its own decisions, the future might be different this time.

As I walk down Hakim Nezami Street, an older gentleman approaches me and offers some sweets. It’s a customary gesture on Thursday nights before Friday. To my surprise, he calls me by my name. I look up puzzled and ask how he recognized me.

Then, I realize he was my childhood barber who used to cut my hair. I ask him how he knew it was me after all these years. He smiles warmly and says, “I recognized your eyes.”

Explanation of the photo: Amaterasu, the sun goddess, got into a fight with her brother Susanoo, the storm god. She was so upset that she hid in a cave, making the world dark. The other gods decided to throw a loud party outside the cave to lure her out. They had the goddess of dawn, mirth and meditation Ame-no-Uzume hold up a mirror and dance around. Curious about the noise, Amaterasu peeked out and saw her reflection in the mirror. Tricked by this, she came out of the cave, and the sunlight came back.

Urashima Taro is my favorite story from Japanese fairytales, especially those from the Muromachi and Edo periods. I first came across Urashima Taro as a teenager through a book called “The Soul of Japan” by Félicien Challaye. The tale of a fisherman who saves a turtle and visits an underwater palace, only to return and find centuries have passed.

Marlon Brando was first offered the iconic role of T.E. Lawrence in David Lean’s 1962 epic, “Lawrence of Arabia” but he turned it down because he didn’t want to endure the scorching heat of the Jordanian desert. This twist of fate led the role to a young and relatively unknown Peter O’Toole, who then shot to universal stardom.

In the middle of nowhere between Isfahan and Shiraz, we pulled over to a farmer selling his early batch of tomatoes from the back of a blue Zamyad truck. As I reached out to buy some, I heard him say to another customer “Tomatoes are anti-cancer!” The customer replied “Yeah, but they’re anti-taste too.” I did not expect to hear nutritional debates in the middle of nowhere!

It’s not ancient history—1930. There used to be a time when you could travel with peace of mind on the Taurus-Express. Starting in Istanbul, you could journey all the way to Baghdad, visiting Ankara, Kayseri, Adana, Gaziantep, and Mosul along the way. The same express also connected to Tehran and Cairo. It’s almost hard to believe now, given the current tensions in the Middle East, but back then, these historic cities were easily accessible, each with its own rich history and charm.

Photo: Passengers on the Taurus-Express to Baghdad, 1969.

Favorite GOT scene: Arya Stark riding through the forest, finds Ed Sheeran singing around the campfire!

Twenty monks and one nun, who was named Eshun, were practicing meditation with a certain Zen master. Eshun was very pretty even though her head was shaved and her dress plain. Several monks secretly fell in love with her. One of them wrote her a love letter, insisting upon a private meeting. Eshun did not reply. The following day the master gave a lecture to the group, and when it was over, Eshun arose. Addressing the one who had written her, she said: “If you really love me so much, come and embrace me now.”

101 Zen Stories,” Nyogen Senzaki and Paul Reps.

I’m walking in Bustan Park one morning and see people playing chess and backgammon. It reminded me of my high school days when I used to have a pocket chess set. My friend Alireza and I would carry it everywhere. We were playing in the parks, on the bus, and sometimes even in class.

Watching them play, I couldn’t help but begin a comparison of backgammon with chess. Chess is all strategy. You make a mistake, your strategy’s wrong, you’re dead. Backgammon’s different. It is 30% or 40% skills and strategy; the rest depends on the roll of dice and your luck. Something beyond our control.

It reminded me of life. Much in the way backgammon does, life lets us free to an extent with respect to our decisions and practicing strategies. But beyond that, there are many things that we can’t control. A gentle reminder, there are events beyond our control, and we should make the best of what we can manage.

All of my life, the women around me have knitted. My grandmother did, my aunt did, my aunt still does, and so does Mom. As a child, I associated knitting with the love of the beloved women around me. This might be why I feel a connection to Madame Defarge from Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities.

Madame Defarge is the vindictive woman who, together with her husband, runs a wine shop in Paris during the French Revolution and encodes into her knitting those names doomed for the guillotine. In this way, her knitting symbolizes thorough planning and fate. I really detest Madame Defarge, full of hate and vengeance, but her knitting attracts me to her. I have a love-hate relationship with this character. Her actions revolt me, and yet I am in sympathy with her, for her destiny seems in some weird way to have become tangled up with her knitting.

In Germanic and Norse mythology, there were three strong women known as the Norns who woven destiny into the roots of Yggdrasil, the world tree. They have therefore been dubbed Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld, the Past, Present, and Future, who arbitrarily controlled the destiny of both gods and humans. This weaving represents linked and predestined destinies.

My favorite part of The Brothers Karamazov is chapter five, where Ivan explains his poem, The Grand Inquisitor. In this chapter, Ivan tells his brother Alyosha a story set in Seville, Spain during the time of the Inquisition. Christ returns to Earth, and people immediately recognize him and follow him as he heals the sick. However, the Cardinal Grand Inquisitor orders Christ to be arrested.

That night, the Grand Inquisitor visits Christ in his cell and explains why he has taken him prisoner. He argues that Christ’s return interferes with the Church’s work. The Inquisitor believes that people cannot handle the freedom Christ offers and need the Church’s guidance for security and order.

Despite the Inquisitor’s lengthy speech, Christ remains silent. At the end, Christ kisses the Inquisitor, who then decides to release him, telling him never to return. This chapter in chapter is a powerful exploration of faith, freedom, and authority.

I first discovered Vasily Yan (1875-1954) through my grandfather’s library. Picking up the book “Chengiz Khan”. His writing made me fall in love with Central Asia and its rich history. In 1888, Vasily Yan embarked on a journey to the ruins of ancient cities along the Black Sea. These were once energetic locations, now silent, reclaimed by nature. Yan documented with minute detail into the architecture and life of these past worlds. In his prose, vivid pictures of the past are painted. The most interesting point of Yan’s writings is in relation to his remarkable dream encounter with Chengiz Khan. In his sleep, Yan found himself on an ancient battlefield, facing the mighty Mongol leader. They wrestled in the traditional Mongol style, holding each other’s backs. At one point, Yan felt as if Chengiz Khan was breaking his spine with his immense power. In a moment of desperation, Yan decided to trick the Khan by waking up. Yan later wrote that he chose to fight the Khan awake by collecting stories and documenting the history of his reign and battles. This dream encounter became a pivotal moment in Yan’s explorations. It deepened his understanding of Chengiz Khan’s legacy and gave birth to his trilogy: “Chengiz Khan,” “Batu Khan,” and “the Last Sea.” Quite often in my postings, I shall quote from Yan’s books so that my readers can share some of his profound insights and taste his graphic expression. And through his eyes, one is able to relive Central Asia’s wonders and timeless stories.

Legends often borrow from each other, and we can see this among different cultures. In Greek mythology, Achilles’ mother dipped him in the River Styx, holding him by his heel, which became his only weak spot. Similarly, in German legend, Siegfried bathed in dragon’s blood, but a leaf stuck to his back, leaving that spot vulnerable. His uncle Hagen later used this weakness to kill him. In Persian mythology, Isfandiyar was bathed in a magical spring, but he closed his eyes, making them his weak spot. Rustam used this knowledge given to him by Simorgh to defeat him.

It is interesting how mankind has always sought immortality. However, it often fell due to its own weaknesses.

Isaiah Berlin uses a fragment from Archilochus, “The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing,” to categorize thinkers into two groups: hedgehogs, who focus on one defining idea, and foxes, who draw from diverse experiences. Berlin analyzes historical thinkers using this framework, suggesting it reveals their approaches to understanding the world.

Berlin describes Leo Tolstoy as a fox who wished to be a hedgehog, arguing this inner conflict contributed to his great literary works like War and Peace and Anna Karenina.