Iran Darroudi​ Transcript and Audio

Part 01

Mrs. Iran Darroudi. Part One
Childhood

I was born in Mashhad on Sep. 2, 1936 at 8 p.m.

My mother’s family were of the Caucasian traders; they lived in Badkoubeh (a coastal town) and migrated to Iran when my mother was 3.

My father was of a famous family of traders in Khorasan (a province at east of Iran).

When my father was a young son, he was sent to Moscow on behalf of a steward to study architecture.

When my father was at recent years of his life, I found out that he had passed the courses at Moscow Conservatory.

He didn’t talk about it at all but I knew he loved music.

My father was an architect and my mother was a housewife;

she played the piano and taught me my first piano lesson.

My father was a painting collector so he loved painting. I saw the paintings since I was born.

As my father loved painting, I tried to catch his attention so he would love me and pay attention to me.

Therefore, I was interested in painting and I wished to be a painter to be loved and supported by my father.

I grew up in a house where even the plates, engraved with royal arm, were belonged to the Tsar Era.

I mean, my father had bought all the dishes or even the furniture during the time he was in Russia – he had a good special taste.

Now, I believe that my father was a painter who had never painted

but the existence of colors, volumes and proper forms were impo rtant in his view.

I always wished my father accepted me as a painter.

Coming back from Mexico, I asked him about his idea about painting.

He answered me: “I love the painter more than the painting.”

It was a nice great speech for me because I knew how much he loved the painting.

When I was one, my mother took me and my sister from Iran to Germany to stay with our father;

he owned a trading house in Germany – it was 1937 and 4 years after Hitler had rose to power in Germany.

I was severely sick when we were travelling by the ship so I cried a lot.

The Captain told my mother: “if your daughter has a contagious disease, I have to throw her into the sea because I am responsible for the others’ health.”

Fortunately, I stopped crying because of catching a cold and the problem of my sore throat.

That was a start for me to be strong to survive.

In Germany, they took me to a hospital – I was there for one year.

They informed that I suffered from malnutrition because of lack of my mother breast milk.

We were in Germany for 2 years. The war started.

One year after, the foreigners’ food quota was blocked.

My father found out about the serious threat for us and knew that there was no visa on behalf of any embassies.

Immediately, he decided to come back Iran at that night.

He ignored the house and the trading house in Germany and packed the luggage so fast.

We got on the livestock train, full of people, cows and sheep – there was no space even for standing. People pushed each other.

I remember that me and my sister were thirsty but we had no water.

My father gave someone his gemmed ashtray to take some water for us.

It was a better situation when we reached Turkey.

My parent’s family sent us some money and a car.

We were in a company with a group of the Jewish who had escaped from Germany; we had reached Iran together with them.

Getting off the car, my father did homage to kiss the Iran’s land and said: “I won’t stay in any other country rather than Iran.”

Although he knew German and Russian and he was a tradesman,

he decided to stay in Iran – he had left his trading house in Germany and never left Iran.

Soon after we reached Iran, Russia bombarded Mashhad (capital of Khorasan Province).

The Russian soldiers arrested German soldiers and took them to Siberia on foot; they didn’t let the German soldiers get on the train.

Me and my sister couldn’t speak in Persian, so, my father became worried

and decided not to stay in the city till we could learn Persian.

At a night, we went to Shandiz (a city in Khorasan Province) but we weren’t allowed to be seen by the villagers.

My mother was a young, beautiful, blonde woman so they could become suspicious whether we were German or not.

We stayed at home during the days and came out during the nights.

This is the beginning of my life.

There was a cemetery near our house on one side and a raging river on another side.

By the sunset, me and my sister ran out of the house to find a new dead buried…

Really surprising! We went to the mortuary to see why they shroud the dead.

I was only 5 and it was amazing for me.

My childhood memory has been formed during the time when a gardener woman could find our asylum – an abnormal world for me forming my memories.

My mother didn’t ask anybody for help and I was learning Persian little by little.

That woman told me about the genii and the grave;

she told me about the genii having hoofs running on that river so the loud sound was heard.

She was superstitious and also believed in the nonsenses she said.

Whenever I hear the word “washer of the dead”, my body shakes because of fear.

By her false stories, I was known about the concepts of violence, cruelty, and injustice.

That woman would come to our house till we left Shandiz and came back to Mashhad.

Once, she cooked us some food and my mother didn’t understand about the catastrophic effect she had on me.

Still, in this age I am, I cannot stay in darkness and all the lights are on in my house during the night.

That bad memories were the beginning of my surreal world.

After the war, I became a silent child; I couldn’t talk anymore to communicate with the people around.

Those much fear caused me the mental retardation;

those much fear of God or of the genii was out of a child’s brain capacity to bear.

I was changed to a non-talking child who just could understand everything but couldn’t talk.

I could understand the kindness, specially. I could understand how badly the relatives treated me;

whenever they wanted to annoy my mother, they told her annoying words about me e.g. “Iran is an ugly girl!”

Based on my photos, I wasn’t an ugly child – a cute innocent child, holding her doll.

Those kinds of bad, nonsense words are really threatening for a child mental health.

But those are of my childhood memories. Till third grade of primary school, I couldn’t read anything.

My father asked my elder brother to teach me Persian.

Once, my brother asked me about the spelling of a simple word but I only looked at him instead of answering.

At that time, we would write with inkwell. He hit my hand with the stone inkpot

and told my father: “this girl can learn nothing!” And he didn’t continue teaching me.

We had a servant at home, called “Haji.” He took us to the school.

Also, he didn’t accept to take me to the school anymore.

My father asked him about the reason and he answered: “being with this girl would discredit me!”

My father asked: “what a discredit you mean?!” “she is dumb and understands nothing!”,

he said, “she gave a coin to the owner of a stationary to buy his shop!”

I understood everything, I was at grade 1 of primary school. What did he mean by a dumb girl?! What did he mean by discredit?!

Haji told to the owner of the stationary: “let this child buy whatever she wants. I’ll tell her father to bring money for you.”

It was surprising that I didn’t try to progress. Haji called me “monkey”!

I wish I could tell him that whatever roots in childhood, would grow up and never leave the person.

I still do not know the value of money, I do not know the computing and I want everything though I haven’t enough money for that.

That was my tragic childhood. Then, we migrated to Tehran.

I spoke in a strong accent of Khorasani. Whenever I started talking in the class, the students burst into laughter.

When I entered any classes at primary and high school, they started to laugh and there were lack of discipline in the class.

Once, I wore ill-matched shoes, one black and one brown!

My classmates asked me why I wore ill-matched shoes. At that time,

I could find out the secret of hearts.

Once, the principal told my father: “it is better that a private teacher teaches your daughter. Her actions make the class for lack of discipline.”

Beside such a problem, I caught trachoma grade 3. The school inspector understood that I was going blind!

I, as a dumb child, went to the doctor alone. I could see nothing, blind!

By treatment, I could see again and I knew the value of sight – a great blessing!

My father did his best to make me become interested in painting.

He presented me an album of famous paintings. He sat beside me to turn the pages of the album to show me the paintings;

I couldn’t distinguish the colors and every photo was black and white. When I went to visit the Louvre, I knew the paintings.

My father didn’t tell me the names of painters.

Instead, he explained me the concept of the paintings and told me a story about each of them.

That album is still the most important book I ever had.

I became interested in painting by that book and the paintings of great Russian painters that we had at home.

That was my childhood story until grade 3 at primary school – when I caught trachoma.

Once I was at grade 4, I heard my father told my mother: “don’t worry for Iran for every person would have a unique destiny.” My father consoled my mother!

I became angry because they didn’t understand that I can understand everything better than the others.

I could play chess. I cried because of the words of my father but his sentence had make my life:

don’t worry for her for every person would have a unique destiny!

They behaved really badly to tell such words to each other about a child, dumb and absent-minded.

My father turned the pages of that album and I imagined the story.

Whenever my father’s family wanted to annoy my mother, they told my mother something about me – that was the annoying matter of my life.

Once I heard that they told her: “we don’t curse you because you are cursed having a daughter like Iran!”

Imagine how does a child feel when s/he hears such a word. Instead, I could improve my senses.

My silence leads to my senses improvement.

Now, I can understand why some people observe silence fast; that is because their other senses would be improved.

I was the top student from grade 4 at primary school until I got my diploma.

At the end of school year, they didn’t let me to stay on the stage with other students;

instead, they made me sit down with the parents as the invitee.

My wise pretty sister was also the top student. To encourage my sister, the school teachers gave her a bunch of flower at the end of school year festival.

She came down the stage and gave me the flowers. So, my sister was my patron – my dearest in whole my life.

A patron, a sister, and a friend. We completed each other in different ways; she was a ping to my pong.

She was responsible for thinking, computing and earning living – and I was thinking about my dreams.

When I was 10, my sister encouraged me to go to the painting class because she has understood that I loved painting.

My parents disagreed because of my private classes and lots of lessons for school.

They thought that I couldn’t manage those many classes beside the painting class.

My sister supported me and said: “I give you enough money for the painting class. I will also buy you the paints.

You can tell me whatever you need. Be sure that I will help you.”

She was only three years elder than me. She really supported me and three years later, I took home a painting.

Although my father knew well that I painted the painting, he asked me: “who’s painted? Not bad. I will buy it for 100 Toman!”

Comparing with the current value of money in Iran, 100 Toman equaled 100 million Toman (many million dollars).

He also bought a frame for my painting. He approved my painting – the first step.

Little by little, I could assert myself. He pretended not know about my painting classes but he tried to support me.

Once I came back Iran from Mexico, I suggested my father to take one of my best painting instead of the first painting I had given to him.

He didn’t accept and said: “I like painter more than the painting.”

By such a sentence, he wished to show me his love toward me.

I was vague in whether my father accepted me as a painter or not – it was vague for me till the last time before his death.

At that time, he told me: “come closer to me; I want to kiss your eyes for you become a painter.”

He would visit my painting exhibitions without letting me know.

After visiting, he came home and told me: “that was a great painting. Know its value!” but he never asked me who the painter is.

I wondered why it was so difficult for him to express the feeling. My father taught me strictness.

Whatever I know is taught by my mother and my father. The family plays an important role in any person’s life.

My soul had been scarred for that tragic period of my life but I owe to those soul scars because it made my life.

I knew the nature during the time I passed at the cemetery near our house in Shandiz Village.

The school period and the time I became blind were also important periods for me. My father’s family ignored me.

I decided to continue my way by fighting.

First, I forgave those persons who had treated me badly.

Then, I believe that “love” is the most effective.

So, I decided to love those who annoyed me to attract them via my kindness toward them.

I owe my life to them because it was at that tragic time

when I could determine my way of life to make it