Finding new music is such a sacred and personal procedure, and something that feels so gratifying when it happens by accident, kind of like everything else in life. It might be when you’re stuck in traffic, listening to the radio or during your favorite television show or soundtrack to a film or when you’re dilly dallying online.

Of course, friends always exchange music with other friends, but there have been plenty of instances when someone has given me music, which I’ve listened to and liked, but that I don’t “discover” myself until weeks later when I hear it randomly during one of the aforementioned scenarios. It’s like a late reaction, kind of like when you hit your toe on a corner and the throbbing pain doesn’t reach you until after a few seconds.

For example, a few months ago I sent my boyfriend a Fleet Foxes song that I really liked and it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that he heard it one day on t.v. and decided he loved it. This is why I say that the act of discovering new music is so deeply introverted. For some reason this type of discovery doesn’t necessarily apply to film or books as much as it does to music.

Kitty, Daisy and Lewis, Mamer, Choir of Young Believers and Zee Avi are a few new favorite musicians of mine that I’ve accidentally discovered.

Kitty, Daisy and Lewis - When you listen to this three person rockabilly/rock n’ roll/swing/[insert music from the 40s and 50s here] band, you’ll be transported back to the days of Elvis, amazing vintage fashions and all the nostalgia you can muster up. The best part? Kitty, Daisy and Lewis are 16, 21 and 19 respectively, which makes them just that much cooler to listen to. They are everything I would aspire to be if I was a musician, right down to what they wear and the equipment they use, which is  8 track tape machines and vintage BBC and RCA microphones, by the way.

Mean Son of a Gun - Kitty, Daisy and Lewis

Mamer - Growing up 2,000 miles away from Beijing by the borders of Russia and Kazakhstan in the grasslands certainly has a great influence on Mamer’s music, carrying with the themes like “the nature of man, the delicate balance of man and the temptations of modernity.” Make no mistake, Mamer’s music really can’t be categorized. While listening, you might ask yourself, “Ok, but where does this fit into music.” The beauty is that by the end, you wont really care. Signed to Peter Gabriel’s “Real World Records,” Mamer uses the dombra, a long-necked lute that is popular in Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. His strong voice is paired perfectly with the folk melodies he sings against.

Choir of Young Believers - Hailing from Denmark, Choir of Young Believers is the brainchild of 24-year-old singer-songwriter Jannis Noya Makrigiannis. Their music is haunting and just plain cool. The interesting thing about this band is that their performances vary in size - at times you might see all 10 members will appear on stage or you might be treated to a solo performance by Jannis himself. Infectious and intelligent pop music is one way I would describe the “Choir.” They sound like a combination of Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver put together and as far as I’m concerned, that can’t be a bad thing.

Photo by Autumn de Wilde

Zee Avi - Oh Zee Avi, what can I say about this stunning new singer from Malaysia who was more or less discovered on YouTube. Just a girl and her guitar, Zee Avi is what I like to call “music that makes me smile.” I suppose she does for me, what pop singers like Colbie Caillat with their annoying and cheesy song lyrics do for those who listen to top 40 exclusively. Plus, she’s covered Morrissey’s “First of the Gang to Die,” which is an automatic free pass into my world of cool. Her debut single “Bitter Heart” will totally put you in a good mood.

In high school I had a friend who worshiped the ultra trendy and ultra cheap clothing store Forever 21. She called it her favorite store, I called it Polyester Emporium. I hated Forever 21 with a passion and didn’t think the cheap material they used helped her overwhelming B.O  in the least bit.

Years went by, we graduated high school and happily went out separate ways, until I bumped into her one day on my way to a college class. I wasn’t close enough to detect any B.O or deduce that her outfit was in fact, from Forever 21, but I could probably safely bet on both counts.

In the last few years, Forever 21 has done everything in their power to revamp their style, a move that hasn’t always exactly been free of controversy. They amped up their collections, brought versatility to their fabric and textile palette and focused on super trends of the moment, but racked up lawsuits from Diane von Fürstenberg, Gwen Stefani and Anna Sui in the process, and that’s not all. In 2001, factory workers who had produced clothing for the company boycotted the store until working and payroll conditions improved. The company subcontracted production to manufacturers and sewing contractors which in turn employed workers in sweatshop conditions. The lawsuit was dropped when Forever 21 paid the workers’ back wages.

The company earned a projected 400 million in 2001, according to CorpWatch, and that number grew to $1.3 billion in 2007, says the Los Angeles Times.  In 2004, Forever 21 agreed to stop selling clothing made with animal fur under pressure from PETA.

Despite their copycat tendencies, this writer fully admits that she’s shopped at the store she once detested. If you spotted cardigans for $14 and all the jewelery you can imagine before your eyes, you wouldn’t hesitate either. After coming home however, I started to notice everything from earrings to tops to accessories kept falling apart. Shoddy execution is the byproduct of cheap labor and unless you research where your clothes are coming from, it’s very easy to buy clothes with a checkered history. I mean, forget the knockoff factor, the fact that your clothes might come from grossly underpaid employees who work in horrible conditions is enough to seriously think about where you’re shopping.

The argument for or against Forever 21 is a tough one. On the one hand, they provide the masses with coveted fashions at  affordable prices, but on the other hand, they do it at the cost of counterfeit material and possible illegal work practices.

Current laws do not give fashion designers any protection against design copycats, however there recently have been more cases brought against companies Forever 21 that might change that. This past Tuesday, a federal case was brought against them from clothing label Trovata who allege that Forever 21 has knowingly copied a series of shirt designs that you can see below.

Forever 21 on the top, Trovata on the bottom

To date, Forever 21 has been sued 50 times for copyright violations, according to the Toronto Star.

Of course, in this debacle, expensive designer brands don’t receive a get out of jail free card  either. Take for example one of the items in Diane Von Fürstenberg’s lawsuit against Forever 21- a $325 “Cerisier” smock, which was renamed “Sabrina” and sold for $32. The dresses were identical, down to not only the pattern, color and measurements, but the fact that both were made of 100 percent silk in China. So why must the DVF dress cost over $300, Diane? Some of it might have to do with labor costs, but most of it is about a name, a name that will sell clothes at  $325 and who knows how much more. Because when you buy a Diane Von Fürstenberg dress, you’re not just buying a dress, you’re buying a lifestyle, you’re buying something not only for yourself, but for how you’re perceived by others, as in what you can afford and the affluent lifestyle you live.

So really, the dress isn’t worth $325 and it’s not worth $32. A fair price for me would be $100.

Interestingly enough Diane Von Fürstenberg’s DVF label has also done its fair share of copying, reports the Toronto Star.

The issue of design piracy came home to Canada this week as local designers Jennifer Halchuk and Richard Lyle, of the label Mercy, successfully negotiated a compensation package from a large American design house that had admittedly stolen wholesale the design of a floral jacket from Mercy’s spring 2008 collection.

The negotiations were swift and relatively painless. Ironically, Mercy’s vintage-looking, tea-dyed jacket of complicated construction was pilfered by a design staffer for the New York-based mega-brand of Diane von Furstenberg

Now more than ever, getting the most bang for your buck is a priority and it’s pretty safe to say that Forever 21 is just watching the profit roll in. You can’t expect people in this economy to pay astronomical prices for a dress, so the problem needs to be addressed by both sides by coming to a happy medium.

Unfortunately, finding brands that don’t use sweatshops to manufacture their clothes and are originals, as well as being affordable, is really impossible-at least in the U.S. anyway. Wal-Mart, Gap (Old Navy, Banana Republic), Target, Abercrombie and Fitch, Eddie Bauer, J.Crew and Nike are some of the known brands that do employ sweatshops. The fact that J.Crew happens to be in that list is more than disappointing to me, as it’s one of my favorite places to shop from. Boo on you, J.Crew, really.

The business of clothing and fashion are tainted in many ways, and this discussion can go on forever. There are so many issues at hand, including the ongoing battle against unfair wages and working conditions, as well as trying to find labels that are labor and environmentally friendly, issues that I hope to discuss later, but for now, it might be a good idea to keep these looming human rights issues in mind the next time you’re overcome with joy at the prospect of buying five shirts and three pairs of pants all collectively under $100.

In a column in the New York Times yesterday, writer Stephen Holden discussed how the final of a long drawn out season of American Idol that never seems to end raised one extra question:

the overhyped media question of the moment is whether the country is ready to hand the crown to an androgynous, seemingly gay 27-year-old fireball from San Diego

Well, we have the answer, and that is, no, America is not and was not ready to handle Adam Lambert, perhaps the most unique and entertaining contestant to ever grace the American Idol stage- someone who I liken to a modern day Liberace, with a slight hint of Eddie Munster and a whole lotta Freddie Mercury.

It might have been Kris Allen’s roaring rendition of Kanye West’s “Heartless,” it might have been his home grown, boy next door appeal, or it could have simply been that he was better.

Except that he wasn’t.

In the 2 hour finale, Adam, clad in metal wings, platform boots, and all the black eyeliner CVS had in stock, took the stage and performed with none other than KISS. His pixie hair swaying between bursts of flame, he stood next to Gene Simmons and looked like he was home.

Between the subdued melodies and unoriginal interpretations of songs that fell flat, Adam was the type of contestant that made you excited about music. “I have ideas,” he declared. And he was right. With amazing renditions of “Mad World” by Tears for Fears, “Born to Be Wild” and “Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry, it’s no surprise that Adam performed last on more than one occasion - he was not one to be followed.

But beyond his far reaching voice (complete with full view of his tonsils), Adam wasn’t able to catch the vote far enough to make it to the top. As Stephen Holden pointed out yesterday, it’s just the way American Idol works.

But the kind of talent “American Idol” promotes is a known quantity. The show would never introduce, nor could it ever create, the next Bob Dylan, whose nasal voice, to use a favorite “American Idol” word, is too pitchy. As often as not, the dictum to put a new spin to an old song results in the kind of confusion that made the renditions by Danny Gokey (this year’s No. 3) of Aerosmith and Joe Cocker hits unfocused travesties.

Maybe an Adam Lambert upset was inevitable. Maybe (or definitely) Adam, with his theatrics, over the top performances and one of a kind outfits wasn’t a fit for this competition at all.

The answer to Holden’s question still remains the same - America wasn’t ready for Adam. The country voted in the right man for president, you think they could have gotten American Idol right, but such was not the case unfortunately.

Despite this, there are high hopes for a full fledged career in music, and I’m pretty sure he wont disappoint. There’s always a renewed type of hope for those that come in second or third - just look at Chris Daughtry. After millions of copies of his self-titled debut sold , he was nominated for a Grammy for Best Rock Song for “It’s Not Over.”

So Adam, don’t despair. It’s better this way. Trust me.

Popular television and movie streaming site Hulu has a Bollywood section. As soon as I found out, I almost reenacted Aishwarya Rai’s entire dance sequence from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. ALMOST.

Though the selection isn’t extensive in the least bit, it does carry the following five notable films:

Sarkar (2005) - Basically the Hindi “Godfather,” starring Amitabh (aka “Big B”) and Abhishek Bachchan, which I guess I could call “Little B.”

Dhaai Akshar Prem Ke (2000) -  More or less a remake of “A Walk in the Clouds” starring Bollywood power couple Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai

Deewana (1992) - Sharukh Khan’s debut film revolves around a “Cast Away” type romantic plot, where the supposedly-deceased first husband of a young widow reappears after she is married again.

Hulchul (2004) - Starring Kareena Kapoor and Akshay Khanna, “Hulchul” chronicles the reconciliation of brothers who break an oath of singledom by marrying. As always, chaos ensues.

Hera Pheri (2000) - “Hera Pheri” also known as “Monkey Business” is about three unemployed friends who accidentally intercept a ransom demand and come up with the idea to make money off the misunderstanding.

The quality is great and best of all there’s English subtitles (!!!), a treasured rarity you will not find when trying to stream most Hindi films online. The only downside is that you can’t view these (or any other Hulu vid) if you’re located outside the U.S.  I’m a bit puzzled as to why these particular films were chosen,  but this is a brave step Hulu, very brave. Here’s to hoping more get added in the future.

The Los Angeles Times blog - Jacket Copy, had a great post on a new volume that’s come out titled “First We Read, Then We Write: Emerson on the Creative Process,” by Robert D. Richardson. Of course the Emerson he’s referring to is Ralph Waldo, whose thoughts on writing have been collected from letters and essay by Richardson.

The best single bit of practical advice about writing Emerson ever gave — best because it is a cry from the heart, because it focuses on attitude not aptitude, and because it is as stirring as a rebel yell — is this: “The way to write is to throw your body at the mark when your arrows are spent.”

This was a phrase I had to read twice, as literary theory and analysis from my college days have been unwillingly replaced by a foray in service journalism. When it finally sunk in, it made so much sense. “The way to write is to throw your body at the mark when your arrows are spent.”

In other words, go all the way, push yourself all the way, until there’s nothing left.

This is how I feel about almost every aspect of my life, except maybe  laundry and cleaning. I will exercise the utmost degree of lazyness I can muster in regards to the aforementioned things, but when it comes to writing, to the creative process, to even baking and most certainly relationships, I want to go all the way with as much passion, ambition and drive I can conjure up.

This reflection brings up two important things I’ve been thinking about a lot: my reasons for writing and landing an assignment.

For the former, I have many reasons - it’s what I love, where I belong, where I give 110 percent, where it’s not a job, not even a career, but a full fledging burning passion that I can’t ignore. For the latter, it’s something I’ve been struggling with lately. I have too many ideas, not enough outlets and a lack of responsive editors all standing in the way.

As an editor, I get a lot of emails from writers, most of which are cordial, and a handful which are so irritating and annoying. I disregard my feelings however and reply to them, because when I put myself in their position, I wouldn’t want an email I’ve sent to go unanswered forever. While I understand that editors are national and local publications receive hundreds of emails from people just like me, it just doesn’t seem right that even after at least two follow ups, they still don’t respond. I don’t need a “yes,” I just need a reply-either way. It baffles my mind.

I have one story lined up and due in the summer which I’m excited about, I’m working hard on my own ezine, ianyan, trying to use this place as an outlet, all the while working a 40-hour a week editorial position. But I want more. As any freelancer knows, committing to writing dozesn of emails and even worse-coming up with idea after idea which cannot in anyway guarantee an assignment is nerve wracking. I’m hoping something will bite, sooner rather than later.

You haven’t watched the best television of your life until you’ve watched Wife Swap. And you haven’t experienced the amazingness that is Wife Swap until you’ve watched one particular episode, where the cultured and worldly Mrs. Hess-Webb from San Francisco has to switch places with a woman whose family, the Haigwoods, lives on a self-sustaining farm, 90 miles from the nearest city in rural Iowa and abides by a raw animal food diet. But wait, There’s more! The family doesn’t believe in using conventional methods to clean their abode because things like bleach and other cleaning agents kill good bacteria as well as bad. So what do they do instead? Nothing! They don’t clean! This one is a doozy. It’s even better than God Warrior, who is from Trading Spouses, not Wife Swap, but they might as well be the same show. It’s everything you could ask from television and more. And I’m amazed and dumbfounded that it took a day of being sick at home to finally discover this gem of fine television programming from 2007.

I think it’s time for more details, don’t you? Well, in addition to following a raw meat diet, the Hagwoods also eat their eggs raw, sometimes up to 12 a day, according to their son. It’s a good thing I remembered they have children, because guess what? They don’t go to school. That’s right! Mrs. Haigwood thinks school is “boring” and feels that she’s giving her kids everything they need to learn when they work their 10 hour shifts on their farm. “I practice math by counting the chicken’s eggs,” declares their son. Oh dear OH DEAR.

If that wasn’t enough for you, the Haigwoods get up around 2 a.m. every night to ingest what I believe was kefir, which is a fermented milk drink, before resuming sleep.

I can safely and honestly say that I watched this entire episode with my mouth open, baffled by the ahem “traditions” of both families, and while I sympathize with the Hagwoods on the war they wage against chemicals, artificial and processed food and agree with the idea that everyone should be educated about where their food (especially animal products) come from and how they’re prepared, there were just too many things I couldn’t ignore - like the blatant disregard for education and not cleaning their home, um, thing. The Hess-Webbs weren’t that much better, with an extraordinary amount of time and emphasis they put on their appearance and clothes and eating out multiple times a week. Mrs. Haigwood was the better sport of the two  as she went along with pretty much everything to adjut to the Hess-Webb’s lifestyle, while the other wife did not take part in the raw food diet or even sleep in their, albeit disorganized and filthy house.

I’d really love for Wife Swap to create a “Where Are They Now” edition because, well, you know those are always fun to watch, especially where God Warriors and Extreme Raw Food Eating Iowans are concerned. You know you want to see if Off Kilter Rural Iowa Family still butchers their own chicken and then eats it raw. And if their toilet is still filled with black water. And if they still brush their teeth with butter and clay. And if their teenagers have come to their senses and enrolled themselves in school. And if-ok I’m going to stop.

Here’s a fascinating clip below. The lagoon toilet makes an appearance.

Considering all the fake tanning, silly emphasis on cars and plastic surgery a good majority of Los Angeles residents are guilty of, it’s safe to say there’s a lot of cheese here. But beyond what people contribute to the lame-o factor of L.A., our city’s memorabilia does a lot of damage as well.

Here are a few of my favorite L.A.-themed finds:

I’m not entirely sure that this “I Heart L.A.” t-shirt by Los Angeles-based brand JOYRICH is worth the $44, but it’s definitely note worthy.  It’s the kind of shirt you can actaully wear in L.A. without looking like a nerd. A great take on the famous “I Heart NY” design.

Created by Ork, this Los Angeles neighborhood poster is stuffed with 111 neighborhoods and printed on 100 percent recycled paper with black soy-based inks. For $22, you can have the whole of L.A. hanging on your wall, even if traffic restricts you from getting to it all.

From Etsy designer dustDesignCo, these vintage Los Angeles Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) Transit token cufflinks are the definition of cool. Mounted on vintage silver cufflinks, they’re priced at $26 for the man in your life that appreciates style and nostalgia.

I had hoped to write about green almonds in the likes of Gourmet or another favorite food magazine of mine, but the window of opportunity to acquire and eat green almonds is so miniscule that I didn’t think of it in time to pitch it. Nevertheless, green almonds are a popular Middle Eastern snack and have been a part of my family’s culinary palette for as long as I remember.

Green almonds are basically young, underdeveloped almonds. They can be eaten whole and the almond inside is still quite fleshy. They’re only available for about 3 to 4 weeks beginning in about mid-April, so I suppose they’re an odd type of delicacy. They’re a bit sour, but refreshing nonetheless, like something so appropriate for a hot summer night- and can really only be found in Middle Eastern or unconventional markets.

Green almonds are one in a list of fruits that are so entwined with culture and ethnicity, like the loquat which is known as “Nor Ashkhar” (New World)  in Armenian or dates and figs, which are guaranteed staples at my house yearround.

For one reason or another, food seems much more special this way - it doesn’t just become nourishment for your body, it takes on a slightly deeper meaning, defining your roots and background more than you ever intended it to.

Even though I’m thousands of miles from my origins, and that of these particular fruits and delicacies, it’s nice to live in a city like Los Angeles which provides me with the resources to not only experience far off aspects of my own background, but the backgrounds of dozens of other cultures as well.

If you can ever get your hands on green almonds, they are definitely worth a try - though the small window of time to get them in is definitely challenging, so this might be something to mark on a calendar. Odd I know, but you wont regret it.

photo by normanack

Going to the super market is  a favorite past time of mine.  Call me low brow, but there’s nothing better than browsing the isles where you can find face wash, strawberries, magazines, wine and a bin full of $5 so awesomely bad that they’re good DVDs all in the same space. Plus, they always have a fun little holiday section. What I can’t stand is what takes place in the parking lot of said super market, mainly that people have the audacity to leave their shopping carts in parking spaces and raised sections of plants and trees, when there are at least three CLEARLY designated areas to deposit your cart. Would it kill you to walk an extra few feet? Really? Would it kill you?

I’m convinced that the selfish people who can’t put away their own shopping carts are also the ones who wont ever give you way to switch your lane on the freeway or talk horribly to wait staff.

I don’t understand the disconnect between having enough decency to realize that you take responsibility of a cart when you decide to put your groceries in it and carry it out the door. The fact that someone would leave a cart in a parking spot, therefore rendering the spot unfit for another car to use is beyond selfish and careless. It’s a matter of etiquette at this point really and blatant laziness.

It’s one of the mysteries of life I ponder now and then. Have we become so inconsiderate of others and so self-absorbed that we can’t even put shopping carts back where they belong? I guess we have.

I wish there was a secret supermarket cart task force who would hide out in store parking lots across America and verbally assault anyone who couldn’t bare the 15 second walk to properly dispose of their carts. Preferably, it would be someone like Nene from Real Housewives of Atlanta yelling, “I’m just telling you like it is, honey. Put. Away. The. Cart. or you’re getting an ass whoopin.” If she needed back up, she’d call  New York from all the reality shows VH1 has to offer to deliver the punches. She’d be all ” I’m the HBIC up in here. Put that shit away or get socked.”

I woke up to the great news this morning that Roxana Saberi, the American journalist who had been convicted of espionage and sentenced to 8 years in prison in Tehran, Iran has now been freed and reunited with her parents. She had been arrested in late January, followed by a one-day secretive trial.

My heart sinks every time I hear of a journalist being equated with  a criminal or being accused of criminal activity. This case was especially close to home because my family is from Iran. I always remember the fact about how my life would have turned out if we had never left. How differently would I have turned out? Would my passions, goals and dreams have been the same? Would I have even considered becoming a journalist, knowing that because of what I said or did, I could be arrested and put in jail with an 8 year prison sentence? In my heart of hearts, I have to believe that my passions in life would not only have stayed the same, but would have been stronger.

Saberi’s case comes after that of Esha Momeni, a CSUN graduate student I have written about here before, who was arrested on Oct. 15, 2008 for videotaping interviews with members of the Campaign for Equality, a gender rights group in Iran. Momeni was held in the same prison-Evin- which Saberi was held for 25 days before she was released.  Unlike Saberi, who will most likely return to her native North Dakota in a few days, she has since been forbidden to leave Iran.

Momeni’s case also hits close to home for me, again because she is from Iran and that CSUN is my alma mater. This could have very well been me.

In the U.S., journalists live and die by not only the deadline, but of the second amendment:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

America prides itself on this fact, but in countries like Iran or China or Cuba,  a journalist cannot practice his or her craft without fear of imprisonment or worse, death.

One only needs to visit the Committee to Protect Journalists to see the attitudes towards journalists displayed in numbers killed, imprisoned and missing.

This cannot be said enough: Journalism is not a crime. Uncovering the truth and changing some tiny part of the world by reporting on it is not a crime. Being brave enough to do what these two women did is not a crime.

I can only hope that now, Momeni’s case be shown such swiftness because Saberi was released. Give her her passport, allow her to return home. You’ve got it all backwards, Iran. The love that your country’s journalists have for their home can be matched by no other. Those who seek to challenge, to bring honesty and bring democracy by their craft to the people and the country that they adore are not criminals. Why? Because they are not indifferent. Because indifference, as George Bernard Shaw said is a sin.

The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them; that’s the essence of inhumanity.

So no, journalism is not the crime, indifference is the crime. Ignorance is the crime, turning a blind eye is the crime, being docile and apathetic is the crime.

Here is an excerpt from an essay written by Esha Momeni in 2007, translated by Sudi Farokhnia. Here you are, government of Iran, convicting a woman who has written these words and not allowing her the freedom to leave. Read her words, consider her intentions and then decide. Here is hoping for a quick return home for Esha.

I am dressed in white, head to toe. I am aware that the serenity and peacefulness of white does not represent my city, but when I am dressed in white I feel like a dove that is free, one that has not been earmarked and was never kept captive. As I stroll along the streets of my city, I feel like a bride, a bride that is walking towards a new promise, the dream of equality.

Iran and all that makes it unique - steep streets, narrow alleys and unmarked homes - is still the land of promise that we hold dear to our hearts. The women of this land are peacefully writing a glorious end to the bitter long story of inequality and injustice. Iran is still the covenant to those hands that would like to wash the mud of distress from the yarns of this land in the stream of peace and unity. Only then we can resurrect equality and knit white wings for the dove that represents unity. Meanwhile, behind every closed door, a young girl dressed in white is making history so that she can embrace the future with pride and honor.

My grandmother everyday practices her signature, as evidence of her existence and her uniqueness. Here in Iran, I, you, and our mothers are all brides dressed all in white, and with our peaceful approach we dance in the alleys from house to house so that our promise of equality and unity transforms the sounds of the chains on our feet to the melodies of an anklet.

Los Angeles, Mehregan Festival, 2007 :

A young lady with Channel eye-glasses is standing right outside the bridal booth:

“Excuse me, but may I have a few minutes of your time?”

There is no reaction so I continue.

“Have you heard of the One Million Signatures Campaign?”

She shakes her head as if to indicate “no” (at least I know she understands ¨Persian).

“Would you like to know?”

This time, she doesn’t even move her head so I continue:

“The One Million Signatures Campaign ….. inside Iran…”

She interrupts me: “I don’t travel to Iran.”

A couple of meters farther on, a female artist is discussing the work she has for sale. Self-assured, I walk towards her and it doesn’t take long before she says: “bring me the petition that fixes the root of the problems, these things won’t do the job” and then she walks away.

I attempt to talk to a few others, I get some smiles which have various meanings embedded in them: “forgive me I can’t”, caution, skepticism, pity…

I walk back to the Campaign booth inside the bazaar. I see my imperfections, I feel as if I have forgotten how to speak Persian or I can’t find the right words, or maybe words don’t have the same meaning in different parts of the world. Of course, I did manage to collect many signatures, and each person had their own personal reasons for signing. However, I couldn’t stop thinking: I, my mother, my sisters, Marjan, Azadeh, Maryam,… we were all just images, just like pictures that one quickly browses through in a furniture catalogue.

For more about Esha and her ordeal, visit For Esha