Nowruz Celebrations: A Persian New Year Tradition
Now Ruz is almost around the corner. In days gone by, after Valentines Day, we began to prepare for it. The first thing we did was to soak lentils and mung beans to prepare for the green shoots that we grew for our Haft Seen table. There were so many joyous things we did to prepare for the coming of spring, Now Ruz, the New Day or the Persian New Year. The earth would awaken from its deep slumber. Flowers would raise their beautiful faces from beneath the warming earth to greet the sun with large happy smiles. The trees’ buds would begin to bloom, daffodils and narcissus would gently sway in the spring breeze in a happy dance. Hyacinths would perfume the spring air with their heady aroma. The bulbuls would sing their hearts away. Housewives would rush about preparing for the month of celebrations. The house would be cleaned with an eager frenzy that came but once a year. Everything sparkles. New clothes would be purchased for everyone. Brand new crispy notes would be attained from the banks to give as gifts, as well as shiny silver and gold coins.
Haji Firooz characters would sing and dance in the streets as they beat their tambourines. Haji Firooz came but once a year, to announce the coming of spring.
‘Haji Firouzeh, sal-e yeh rouzeh!’ they would chant.
‘I am Haji Firouz, I come but once a year!’ They dressed in colourful satin pyjama-like costumes, with a warm vest over that, to protect them from the chilly weather. On their heads perched a cone-shaped hat. Their faces and hands were stained in black, their lips were painted bright red. People stopped and smiled as they watched them sing and dance. They would drop clinking coins into their brass bowls. Peddlers would pile nettles on top of their donkeys which they sold for Chahar Shambeh Souri, the Wednesday before Now Ruz. Everyone would buy the nettles, for that night they would make huge bonfires and jump over them while chanting,
‘My pale pallor is from you! Your rosiness comes from me!’
Trick-or-treaters would walk about the streets with a pot and a spoon. They would bang the spoon loudly against their pot if they did not get coins dropped into the pot. Sounds of laughter would be everywhere! Thus, the month-long celebrations of Now Ruz were about to begin.
Now Ruz is a Zoroastrians holiday. Zoroastrians preceded Islam by many centuries. Their religion is the religion of light and goodness. They have many different fairies or parees (fairies); as they are called in Persian. There are seven good fairies whose names start with the letter ess. To honor them, on our haft seen table, we decorously arrange items whose names begin with an ess in Persian, sib - apple; samovar, sumac; sini - tray; sonbol, hyacinth; sangak, a type of bread; samanou, a type of paste made from wheat; seer, garlic; sabzeh, the herbs we grew over the past month, tied up in ribbons. Each of the parees’ names starts with an ess. Also on the table would be a mirror to reflect light, a holy book lies open with gold coins scattered on its pages. Goldfish swim in a bowl of water. It is said that at the moment of the spring equinox the goldfish face each other in greeting. A plate of beautifully decorated eggs also sits on the table, to denote life. Platters of different sweets are also on the table. This spread stays there until the end of Now Ruz.
At last, March 21st, the first day of spring arrives! Every household is abuzz. The radio announces the exact time. The goldfish make a slight bow to each other. The younger members of the family go to the elders’ home. Everyone is dressed in their new finery. The house exudes the heady aroma of all the food and the scent of the spring flowers that fill every room. The youngest generation bows in greeting and kiss the hand of the father. The father leans forward and kisses the cheek of the offspring, grandchild or niece or nephew. He gives them each a piece of gold or silver, depending upon his financial circumstance. The family teems about excitedly, greeting each other. ‘Now Ruzetan Mobarak! Now Ruz Mobarak!’ they greet each other. ‘Happy New Year! Happy New Year!’
The women congregate in the kitchen to examine the contents of the simmering pots. On the stove. The servants bustle about around them trying to get the food on the platters and on to the dining room without any mishap. Small children run in and out in glee as they chase siblings and cousins in play. At last, all the food is set on the long dining table.
“Lunch is served! Lunch is served! Come to the table,” it is announced.
Since our family eats Iraqi food as well, the food is varied. There is the green rice with white fish, for a prosperous year and a healthy one; there is orange rice for a sweet year; there is dolma, vegetables stuffed with rice, ground meat, and herbs. What would a family gathering be without tebbit, the stuffed hen, which is cooked overnight, or the various kibbahs? There is ghormeh sabzi and various other stews. Such an array of food! The table is weighed down with th! The family files into the dining room and sits around the table. They smile at the array of food. What shall they have first? Their eyes sparkle! Their mouths water! They pass each other platters of food, from one end of the table to the other. They compliment the cook. She has been standing quietly in a corner. She smiles proudly. She has received her Now Ruz bonus plus a gold bangle. Each year at Now Ruz, she receives one. Twelve of them proudly jangle merrily around her wrist. She loves this family and they love her right back. The young grandson could not say Sultan when he was a baby. He called her Tantan. The name stuck to her.
When dinner is over, they all move to the room where the Haft Seen table is set. The samovar is moved to another table where the desserts are set. It is gurgling merrily with the hot water inside. On top of it is perched a huge teapot filled with tea. Thimble-sized crystal glasses sit by the samovar ready to be filled and sipped. Before that, everyone admires the Haft Seen table. It is exquisite! The dessert table is also astonishing. There are platters of fresh-cut up fruit. There is baklava, crème caramel, Mama’s speciality; trifle, my speciality; there is roulette, stuffed with whipped cream and strawberries. There are date-stuffed pastries and nut-stuffed ones, and so much more! One does not know what to choose.
If the weather was nice, we would sit outside on the sweeping patio overlooking the swimming pool and the weeping willow. Huge bushes of forsythia surround the patio, the cheery yellow little blossoms add joy to the happy day. The cherry trees flanking one side of the house are bursting with pink blossoms. The tables arranged across the length of the patio are covered with beautifully embroidered cloths. We place our dessert plates and cups of tea there as we chat. Several groups gather there according to their preferences. Papa was a great raconteur. He had a sharp wit and a great sense of humor. There was always a group surrounding him. Then the aunties and great aunties. They always segregated together. They had the most interesting tales to tell of bygone days. When I was young, I used to sit and listen to them with wide-eyed wonder as if I was listening to the magical tales of A Thousand and One Nights. However, at that time I was a young wife and mother. We had our group. The children ran about all over the place, never seeming to get tired.
At last the day came to an end. The sky darkened. The children tired, and perhaps the adults did as well. Everyone went back to their homes. The next day the women stayed home while the men went to their elders. The Haft Seen table was constantly replenished as men went to pay respect to each family. These visits were taken very seriously. It was a matter of respect and honor. Heaven forbid that a family was slighted by no visit! Some families went away for the whole month. Others got together and enjoyed themselves. And so passed one pleasant day after the other. Mostly it was a round of get-togethers and activities. The last day of the holidays is Seezdeh beh Dar. On that day, everyone gets up early in the morning. The food that had been prepared the day before, the fruits, the desserts, the paraphernalia for the three meals eaten out of doors that day have to be all packed. Telephone calls have to be made to all the family and friends for a last-minute change of plans. Each household brings their help with them. We meet at one of the homes. There must be at least thirty of us, not including children.
A caravan of cars is formed. On the roof of each car, the greens that had been grown all month long are arranged, one for each member of the family. When we reached our destination, we will each tie knots in our greens, making our wishes. We would walk down to the river and fling them in to be carried away by the water fairies, to grant us our wishes. My parents had a large orchard there which was managed by the groundskeeper and his family. They lived in a modest little house on the grounds.
As our entourage winds its way out of the city towards Karaj, we pass groups of people picnicking in the fields. There is a great deal of camaraderie amongst the different groups. Even though they did not previously know each other, they share their meals together. They joke, sing, and dance together. The day is so joyous! As we children peer out of the car window at the different groups, we become impatient to reach our destination. We want to romp about with our friends.
We reach the village of Karaj. We stop to buy hot taftoon bread before reaching our destination. We continue on. At last we reach our destination. With a lot of excitement uncontained children spill out of every car. They run to and fro with glee. The groundskeeper and his family greet us. They arrange the wooden platforms about the clearing and cover them with carpets. The different samovars are started for tea. All the help hurry about to arrange the food. They then accompany the groundskeeper and his family. They have done this several times over the years and are well acquainted by now. They now begin to celebrate and socialize amongst themselves.
Each age group amongst our friends celebrates in their own way. A young adult leads the children for a hike up the mountain or down the path to the river. The adults lounge about on the bed-like wooden platforms. It is so serene under the lush trees. By a stream on one side of the property are a donkey and a cow. They nibble at the herbs by the side of that gurgling stream and sip and the cool running water. The cow moos contentedly as it eats. The donkey, not to be outdone gives an occasional gentle bray. The whole place is like an idyllic piece of paradise. The smells and sounds give one a deep sense of peace and contentment.
Soon it is time to have the midday meal. Every family brought food. There was enough food to feed an army. Heaven forbid that anyone should go hungry! Each wife tried to outdo herself, and there was a friendly competition amongst them for superlative praise. There were meat-wrapped pancakes, bourag; kibbah patata; kibbah burghul: sambousak bel tawa! All delicious finger foods! There was salade d’olivier, beet salad, tomato salads. There were delicious eggplants fried to perfection and eggs cooked overnight until they were brownish red and tasted deliciously different than an ordinary hard-boiled egg, a true delicacy! There were various pickles like mango pickles and pickled turnips, olives, and of course the bread we stopped to buy at the village. The friends did justice to it all. Sated, the men lay their heads on their wives’ laps and snoozed. The ladies chatted quietly between themselves; the children scampered up and down the fruit trees down by the river, with a warning not to go near the river if they knew what is good for them!
The men woke up. Tea and fruits were served. Someone had brought a kamanja, a stringed instrument, another a tabla. They broke out into song as the musicians played. Some of the ladies started to sway to the music and finally danced. The men joined in. They laughed and joked and had an altogether wonderful time. Time passed. It was now tea time. More bread was bought from the village. Cheeses and more eggs were brought out. The Aunties each had baked what they were well known for. There were pastries stuffed with nuts and dates and cheese; their delicious homemade cakes. One Aunty was renowned for her rum babas. It was almost time to go back home. This was the last day of Now Ruz. Tomorrow was back to work and school. Tired but happy, we all piled back into the cars and headed back home with a great sense of euphoria.
As my Peter used to say, “It was a wonderful day, wasn’t it?”
Yes, it was Peter, a wonderful month and wonderful memories…