Friday, February 02, 2007

A Yellow Memory

Little by little, bit by bit a crispy chocolate finger disappears between two solid rows of his teeth, and I notice I’ve started talking to myself again and to the walls around that would bear my bickering as much as it goes on. ‘The future is bright’, my sudden dull and gloomy optimism oozes out of my lips and makes him stop chewing the mouth-moistening chocolate and confirms with a nod repeating ‘The future is bright and green’, and ignores what I add to his saying: ‘…and yellow. The future is bright and yellow’. And he walks away preventing me to see how my half-an-hour breathless speech has put a heavy burden on his eyelids, while I’m still explaining to yellow walls how bright the future must be. But even yellow could be considered ‘bright’.

Suddenly I recall a yellow figure, long and clumsy with hands longer than his legs, warped lips borrowed from a shark, huge round eyes to capture as much as possible nailed down in a disproportional head, ears pricky enough to replace Putin’s locators and a tummy eager to enter any room before the skinny rest of its owner.

A decade ago he used to deserve my admiration, perhaps due to a considerable distance between our figures and worlds. The closer I went to discover his world and study his being the deeper went my disappointment. Questions started erupting in my mind if it was the same enthusiastic freedom fighter Mirza whose very first well-appraised journalistic work was a lengthy article based on an interview with a 15-year-old Darius (with a different name).

Our last face to face conversation took place in an elevator by Wenceslas Square in Prague straight after Massoumeh’s resignation was announced. It was his day-off, but he couldn’t afford to miss the meeting and was craving to hear the predictable news and clumsily joined the meeting at its last minutes. By then everything had been done: we had listened to Massi’s moving farewell speech when I was trying not to get too sentimental, and my announcement to follow Massi’s suit and quit my job had risen Michelle (the deputy director)’s eyebrows before turning them into a broken pair of crow wings. He missed the most essential part of the meeting, but Noor was there for him as a trust-worthy informer to whisper a couple of words into his joyful ears: “She’s leaving.” Although he did not know that the picture looks much prettier to his taste and I was leaving too. He discovered it later, but it was too late to retract his silly comments in the elevator: “She had to leave indeed. Just because she did not deserve this position. She was totally accidental.”

I am certain, Mirza still remembers how my outrage brought him to a standstill for a while before leaving the elevator hastily on the second floor while he had pushed the ‘G’ button. Good for him, saved an eye or a ball (I doubt though he got any). But my carelessly thrown words visibly struck his feeble guts: “If you consider her an accidental person what the fuck are you doing here with your walnut-size brain and nothing to deliver except for flattery? Now you are saying this… Mind your words before you utter them and know your tiny space, you little being.”

The only thing he could mutter upon his blocked nose was “You too. You are next to leave.” But when my agony took another revenge the only thing left to do for him was taking his pompous ass out of the elevator before reaching his destination.

After that he was just a tiny pitiful lifeless picture no matter how big his tummy was. A murky moving being entering the space, filling it with disgust as if he’d farted out whatever shit in his bowels was stuck and leaving the premises with no words leaving his curved lips. A fallen head attached to a broken neck on a diminishing figure sits behind a computer, jerks a keyboard and drags his tail between two legs out of the office. While I’m sending my farewell messages loudly over the phone and laughing as if Hadi Khorsandi’s presenting his best act for me.

And now, four months after, I try to fathom out what had caused this unhealthy atmosphere between two of us. The answer is: ‘dollar’. Just 20 or 30 more dollars to be added to his monthly salary by overworking on night shift. I was advocating for those who preferred a decent and civilized nightshift pattern of 4 nights a week. But he thought it was better to work one night more with a day and a half off and get few pennies more. Thus, he decided I was his bitter adversary and did what he did not have to do. His regrets will never work.

But do you think he cares what I’m talking about at all? Of course not. Firstly, this language is out of his reach as his ‘native’ proper Persian. Secondly, he’s serving Turkic rulers at the “Liberty” (what a farce!) at a higher position as a deputy director of Tajik Service with a couple of dollars more than in November. Two dollars! That’s a fortune for some beings. I wish I knew his bank details to transfer two more dollars that I give to beggars in London’s Brixton, to calm down his python appetite.

02.02.07 01:05am

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

According to what you are have wrote, this son of bitch does not deserve a single word. So that is strange you are writing about him. Yeah, just a memory. A Yellow one? Some people are making mistakes, but some are mistakenly went out from the hole, so it is not a big deal, you could just close your eyes and wape them out of the memory.

Jamshed said...

There are a lot of Mirzas in Liberty's, there are a lot of Mirzas in your beloved Tajikistan too. Unfortunately, that nation splited and disunited always, in front of aliens and foreigners for some privileges and "immunity" the majority of the nation become Mirzas, Iskandars,
Khalidas,Sojidas, etc.

Kurush said...

Hey guys! Do you know who is responsible for all of this? Or what is the cause? From my personal pint of view the Podabon of the Tajik -- Emomali Rakhmonov is responsible. Do you know why? He arragavated what was done by Khujandi elites - pederasts like Makhkamov and Nabiev and others. Rakhmonov is an icon of the Tajik Neoregionalism. Although he is Laqai himself he ignates traibelism in the Tajik society. All these kinds of mirzas, sojidas, iskandars, kholidas and many many others send pray to Rakhmonov thinking that he is reviving the South, the slave South like in America. They think now it is their time to do whatever they want. They hate everyone who are not from the South. They think everyone is makhkamov and nabiev, if does not born in their region. That is the problem. Unfortunatlly, this is an ideology of the new Tajik generation. The young people indoctrinated by this ideology of hatred. For them it is a culture. So there is no way out. Just change your nationality. It is chame to be Tajik today due to these sort of people. For me it is better to be an Iranian than a Tajik like mirzas. Just forget them. Thay are monstrs. They will build the future, but than will die in their own shitt. This is an ideoligy of the slaves, who are trying to show themselves independent...

Ismail said...

I am agree with you dear Kurush. Unforunately, a statehood of Tajikistan is at dangerous point, The Tajiks is about to lose their statehood. It is a very serious matter must be for the nation but it seems nobody cares about it. The bandit regime of Rahmonov has almost sold out all richness of the country plus started selling the territory of Republic of Tajikistan. According to the Constitution of RT nobody include the President has no right to sell the territory of RT. Rahmonov declared he sold only 999 sq.km but his ministers officialy told Rahmonov sold more than 3.000 sq. km of the territory of Tajikistan in the area of Murghab, Badakhshan.Without an approval of the Parliament Rahmonov handed it over, now Chinese occupied that big area of Badakshan.
Radio Djavadi and his proteges are never going to tell the truth.
The another point, look at Tajikistan, from 7 million population may be 1 or 1.5 million people inside of RT. A friend of mine just returned from RT, he told he was travelling from Dushanbe to Khorog by car, from Rasht to Khorog almost all towns and villages are empty. You can hardly figure out some older people and kids. All men and women who are able to work are gone.
Because of that, Mr. Djavadi is always able "to find" Mirzas, Iskandars, Khalidas, Sojidas,Rahmatkarims, etc's. They are already "eliminated" more 15 their's collegues by Djavadi hands (from 1995). During these years more than 15 Tajik journalists, more than 15 Tajik families have been cheated, insulted, hurt in RFE/RL in Tajik service.

uzbeki said...

You never change, amigo!
Actually, I wouldn't like you to change.You are rarest from Central Asia.
I still wonder how Mirza's walnut sized brain can carry his doughy tummy and the rest of his body made of lots of shitty water, stinky flab and fatty intestines. Does he have anything else?