Friday, April 20, 2007

Paul Bergne

Alexander Paul A'Court Bergne, intelligence officer, diplomat, writer and broadcaster: born London 9 January 1937; ambassador to Uzbekistan 1993-95, and to Tajikistan 1994-95; principal research officer, Research and Analysis Department, Foreign and Commonwealth Office 1995-96; OBE 1985, CBE 2002; staff, London Information Network on Conflicts and State Building 1998-2002; Specialist Adviser, House of Commons Foreign Affairs Committee 1999-2000; Prime Minister's personal representative for Afghan Affairs 2001; married 1963 Susanne Wittich (one son, one daughter); died Upper Slaughter, Gloucestershire 5 April 2007.

His only book "The Birth of Tajikistan. National Identity and the Origins of the Republic" to be published in May 2007 in London. You can reserve a copy now.

For further information about the great man in Persian follow the links below:
in English:

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

PRESIDENT ATTEMPTS TO GIVE TAJIKISTAN A CULTURAL MAKEOVER

Kambiz Arman 4/10/07
Eurasianet.net

Tajik leader Imomali Rahmon, having safely consolidated his personal authority, is turning his attention to giving Tajikistan a cultural makeover that aims to strengthen the country’s national identity, as well as reduce social tension. Some experts, however, believe the moves could easily backfire.

The president created a sensation in late March with a televised announcement that he was changing his surname, dropping the "ov," and embracing a traditional Tajik spelling -- Rahmon. He also "ordered appropriate authorities to implement measures to introduce a Tajik pattern of naming newborn children," Tajik state television reported March 26.

Concurrent with the name-change initiative, Rahmon called for measures to enforce economic modesty in a nation that has an estimated per capita annual GDP of just $1,300. His prime target was the children of the well-to-do: he banned students from driving to and from school and from using cell phones at school. He also imposed strict limits on graduation ceremonies, prohibiting lavish parties. In early April, Rahmon also made a very public call for the return of gold and silver objects excavated in the 19th century near the Oxus River and now housed in the British Museum.

"We want to comprehensively support and revive our national traditions from the scientific and historical points of view," Rahmon told members of his administration, in comments broadcast April 5 by Tajik television.

We should refuse all those customs … that harm the development level of the state and [hinder] the improvement of people’s living standards and their welfare," Rahmon continued. "All these [new measures] are first of all aimed at raising the quality and level of the Tajik people’s living standards."

Many observers were at a loss to see how de-Russification measures, combined with a ban on ostentatious displays of wealth, can improve the lives of average Tajik citizens. Some believe the moves are motivated not by a desire to foster general prosperity, but to ensure the long-term health of his administration. Having won re-election in a landslide last November, Rahmon currently enjoys a pliant parliament and has no visible rivals for power. [For background see the Eurasia Insight archive]. The only possible threat to his administration, then, can be found on the grass-roots level, where enduring poverty helps fuel the growth of Islamic radical groups, especially Hizb-ut-Tahrir. [For background see the Eurasia Insight archive].

The move to curtail displays of wealth thus may be an attempt to cover up the widening gap between the living standards and privileges enjoyed by a select few Tajiks and those experienced by the bulk of the population, some analysts believe. Tajik authorities are clearly worried that the poverty experienced by most Tajiks is causing social tension to reach dangerous levels.

In late March, around the same time as Rahmon’s name-change announcement, the heads of leading Tajik media outlets appealed to the government, complaining about seemingly arbitrary power cuts made by the state electric company, Barq-i Tojik. The appeal accused the company of violating "consumers’ rights," adding that the state entity lacked "a mechanism for public communication." It went on to note that the power company routinely cut electricity to "printing houses … hospitals and schools … whereas certain businesses or private houses go unaffected."

"The failure to follow the schedule of power supply, and its complete absence on some occasions, causes social tension, undermining public trust in the government’s policy," said the appeal, which was signed by the heads of such prominent news outlets as the Asia-Plus and Avesta news agencies, along with the Tojikistan, Farazh, Kuryer Tajikistana and Millat newspapers.

In mid-March, Tajik Minister for Economic Development Ghuomjon Boboyev announced at a development conference that 57 percent of Tajiks live below the poverty line, the Asia-Plus news agency reported. The number would be far higher, Boboyev indicated, if not for the income generated by labor migrants. As many as 1 million Tajiks, or about 40 percent of the nation’s working-age population, find work abroad every year, mainly in Russia, and send a large portion of their earnings to relatives back home. [For background see the Eurasia Insight archive].

Tajik dissident journalist Dodojon Atovulloev, who now lives in Moscow, reckons that Rahmon’s recent actions are motivated by a desire to cultivate a more populist image amid continuing economic hardships.

Other observers suggested the cultural initiatives are linked to tension in Tajikistan’s relations with Russia, which in recent years has reasserted its political and economic influence in the Central Asian nation. Rahmon is eager to improve the country’s electricity-generating and aluminium-production capacity, but progress has been negligible, in large part because the Russian aluminium conglomerate Rusal has not followed through on promised investment plans. The Russian company signed a deal in 2004 to invest up to $2 billion in Tajik infrastructure projects, but the deals remain stalled by "technical" disagreements. [For background see the Eurasia Insight archive].

Some analysts believe the Russian company’s hesitation is connected with a geopolitical dilemma, rooted in the Kremlin’s efforts to maintain strong ties with both Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. Uzbek leader Islam Karimov is a vociferous opponent of Tajik efforts to develop an aluminium plant near the Tajik-Uzbek border. [For background see the Eurasia Insight archive].

Rahmon’s name-change certainly captured the attention of Russian media outlets, with some expressing alarm at the move. "What to do with Petrovs, Ivanovs and Sidorovs?" read an article published by the Kommersant daily. A Tajik presidential spokesperson, Abdulfattoh Sharifov, sought to dampen concern, characterizing Rahmon’s decision as a "personal initiative," adding that the president was not demanding that all Tajiks change their names. However, a Justice Ministry official, quoted by the Asia-Plus news agency, contradicted Sharifov, saying that the "traditionalization" of names "will soon be compulsory in Tajikistan."

Atovulloev, the dissident Tajik journalist, suggested that Rahmon was playing a dangerous game with Russia. Any move that antagonizes Russia is sure to cause economic pain for Tajiks, he asserted. Russia, he added, can retaliate by potentially placing restrictions on Tajik guest workers, whose remittances are critical to the economic welfare of a large number of families in Tajikistan.

A few observers worry that Rahmon may be intent on building a cult of personality, akin to that created by Turkmenistan’s deceased former dictator, Saparmurat Niyazov. [For background see the Eurasia Insight archive]. Kirill Nourzhanov, an expert at the Centre for Arab and Islamic Studies at the Australian National University, said, "Rahmonov has been in power for 14 years now, and he’s an absolute ruler. So he has been at the apex of political power for so long that perhaps he now believes that he can do whatever he wants to do."


Editor’s Note: Kambiz Arman is the pseudonym for a Tajik journalist.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Flying Thoughts or Thinking Flights

260307
Dushanbe-Moscow

Trying to adjust myself into a small and narrow Russian plane seat, revoltingly uncomfortable one, while a balding man in front of me starts pushing his seat backwards right on my knees straight away after getting aboard. I respond by pushing it back, but it doesn’t disturb his comfort a bit. Even the captain’s announcement about keeping the seats upright before taking off is not able to deserve his attention...

By now I must be flying over Kazakhstan or perhaps farther. The crew are not too keen to inform their passengers what’s going on out there.

I have lost the count of my flights back and forth. Usually seeing wet eyes of my beloved ones before leaving my lovely homeland makes me feel guilty as I feel right now. This morning Mum’s eyes saw me off as far as I disappeared behind a building. She’s the one who makes me truly re-think my prolonged stay in London: is there any point of living without her beside me, without her caring touch and loving pair of eyes?..

Until my last breath in Dushanbe before getting aboard I could smell corruption and dirty money: beggars in uniform have spread their web widely throughout the city, desperate taxi drivers mistaking me for a foreigner and trying their best to fool me around, common people speaking of additional (let them be illegal) ways of earning. Money is the main topic to talk about, to take a toast for, and to think thoroughly of. Liberties? Democracy? Oh please, we can survive without them, but not without money!

At Dushanbe airport my eyes caught a border guard aggressively following a man into a toilet. He closed the door behind himself, but I opened it after a while and saw him grabbing a bunch of banknotes taken out of the passenger’s inside pocket. He put them into his own pocket and left the toilet hastily, but happy…

Two guys sitting beside me are tilting towards my laptop and looking at each other with something close to horror in their eyes before saying: look at this weirdo who was reading a Tajik paper, before asking the stewardess for something in Russian, but now he’s typing something in a strange language.

An impolite rude Russian stewardess is distributing immigration cards among us. She is doing it in a way that makes me assume we killed her father or gang-banged her yesterday. The guys beside me need her help to fill in their forms that contain a couple of simplest questions. It takes them about half an hour to accomplish a ‘mission impossible’. Still, they cannot believe in their own incredible success and ask the stewardess to check the application forms for them. She looks at the papers arrogantly and throws them back on their dining tables and goes on checking everybody else’s immigration cards. It makes me drop my poor head in my hands in despair.

Before getting on board three guys were thrown out of the queue down to its tail by a Tajik border guard just in order to make a way for a Russian-looking man and whoever else did not look like a typical Tajik. The same happens when these miserable guys enter their own country. Border guards prefer to check in and out “dear guests” first and then poor owners of the country, before emptying their Russian-stricken pockets once more.

In Moscow the picture looks identical: first Russians and non-Tajiks, then Tajiks. It happens mechanically as if it’s the only way to get through airport doors. These Tajiks lack the feeling of being home. They are neither hosts nor guests at any airport of the world. Their pathetic guilty looks and obvious complex of inferiority make others feel superior, just the way the Russian behave in London.

Certainly, not everything was painted in black. Dushanbe embraced me with its beautiful rainy and sunny spring weather and Nowruzi festive mood. However, a dearest person’s demise ruined it up to the end of my stay. Seeing my adorable family and fantastic friends had been my pink dream for almost two years and I succeeded to do so. This trip re-connected me to the realities of my homeland, and as far as I can feel now, recharged my exhausted mind to strive for more changes, to believe in our power to build a brighter future, despite the fact that most of our hopes have been ruined so far.

By the way, Mr Rahman had mistaken when he’d said Islam Karimov looked like his gone father. When I saw him on the 21st of March waving to his people with a self-satisfied look I was amazed how strikingly similar to Brezhnev he looked. His stature, his smile, his brows and his waving hand painfully reminded me the old late man. And of course, the similarity does not except their mindsets.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

I'm Coming Soon

And very soon
I will be there
To step on its burning horizon again…

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Lost

I don’t know what I waited for;
A miracle to fall on shoulders?
A bunch of angels in a choir?
A velvet rain to wash the borders?

I don’t know what I now expect;
A phoenix to sit on my lap?
A curve of rainbow to erect,
To bridge the real with my nap?

I don’t know what I find untrue;
A stricken tree in a typhoon?
A nation to embrace voodoo?
A prophecy in a balloon?

I don’t know what is to forget;
My search for heavenly a path?
Or bitter taste of the sunset?
Or sunrise of a godly wrath?

I don’t know why I am so lost;
Did I believe in a mirage?
Could I distinguish heat and frost?
Where is the coast in this voyage?

06.02.07
01:25 AM
London

Inspiring Winter Breeze

چه خوش گذشت نسيم شب زمستانی
که می وزيد به آسودگی مهمانی

دل گرفته غزل های خفته باز نهاد
قلم دويد و نوشتش به اوج آسانی

رهيده تر ز آرزوی قلب ديوانه
رسيده تر ز کلام وزين ديوانی

ولی خجالت ما پيش اوليا باقيست
ز رودکی زرفشانی و ز خاقانی

02.02.07
02:45 AM

Chi xush guzasht nasimi shabi zimistoni
Ki mevazid ba osudagii mehmone

Dili girifta ghazalhoi xufta boz nihod
Qalam davidu navishtash ba awji osoni

Rahidatar zi orzui qalbi devona
Rasidatar zi kalomi vazini devone

Vale xijolati mo peshi awliyo boqist
Zi Rudakii Zarafshonivu zi Xoqoni.

***

Che xosh gozasht nasime shabe zemestani
Ke mivazid be asudegiye mehmani

Dele gerefte ghazalhaye xofte baz nehad
Qalam david o neveshtesh be owje asani

Rahidetar ze arezuye qalbe divane
Rasidetar ze kalame vazine divani

Vali xejalate ma pishe owliya baqist
Ze Rudakiye Zarafshani vo ze Xaqani

Transoxonian Drop

در اين سرای دودر من دمی نياسودم
مسافه هر چه بدانی، عزيز، پيمودم

گناه، هر چه شناسی، قرين من بوده
ثواب، هر چه شماری، قرين آن بودم

شباب، در تن من هست و در وجودم نيست
خراب، هر چه که آباد بوده در بودم

طناب، هر چه فکندند، به بال من ننشست
کتاب، هر چه نوشتند، به خنده آلودم

اگر عزيز، تويی، يوسفی ز کنعانم
خطر سرشت من است و سزای نمرودم

مطاع پيرهنم رستگاری قوم است
ظريف و ناب ترين قطره ورارودم

02.02.07
02:15 AM

Dar in saroi dudar man dame nayosudam
Masofa har chi bidoni, aziz, paymudam

Gunoh har chi shinosi, qarini man buda
Savob har chi shumori, qarini on budam

Shabob dar tani man hastu dar vujudam nest
Xarob har chi ki obod buda dar budam

Tanob har chi fikandand, ba boli man nanishast
Kitob har chi navishtand, ba xanda oludam

Agar Aziz tui, Yusufe zi Kan'onam
Xatar sirishti man astu sazoi Namrudam

Mato'i pirahanam rastagorii qawm ast
Zarifu reztarin qatrai Varorudam

***

Dar in saraye dodar man dami nayasudam
Masafe har che bedani, aziz, peymudam

Gonah har che shenasi, qarine man bude
Savab har che shomari, qarine an budam

Shabab dar tane man hast o dar vojudam nist
Xarab har che ke abad bude dar budam

Tanab har che fekandand, be bale man naneshast
Ketab har che neveshtand, be xande aludam

Agar Aziz toi, Yusefi ze Kan'anam
Xatar sereshte man ast o sezaye Namrudam

Mata'e pirehanam rastegariye qowm ast
Zarif o riztarin qatreye Vararudam

Scattered Pieces

آخر نرمی، آخر سختی است
عمق بدبختی، اوج خوشبختی است.

Oxiri narmi oxiri saxtist,
Umqi badbaxti awji xushbaxtist.

َAxare narmi axare saxtist,
Omqe badbaxti owje xoshbastist.

***

حيفا که نفس از قفس سينه هدر رفت
هوش دل غافل به تمنای کمر رفت

خورشيد اهورايی بسی خسته ما شد
دردا که هوس از پی نوری به قمر رفت.

Haifo, ki nafas az qafasi sina hadar raft
Hush az dili ghofil ba tamannoi kamar raft
Xurshedi ahuroi base xastai mo shud
Dardo, ki havas az pai nure ba qamar raft

Heyfa ke nafas az qafase sine hadar raft
Hush az dele ghafel be tamannaye kamar raft
Xorshide ahurai basi xasteye ma shod
Darda ke havas az peye nuri be qamar raft

***

آيينه های دق
افسرده ترين لحظه بيچارگی من
پربارتر از چشم تماشای شما بود
افسون شما همسر افسانه های من
هرگز نبود و نيست

Oyinahoi daq
Afsurdatrin lahzai bechoragii man
Purbortar az chashmi tamoshoi shumo bud
Afsuni shumo hamsari afsonahoi man
Hargiz nabudu nest

Ayinehaye daq
Afsordetarin lahzeye bicharegiye man
Porbartar az cheshme tamashaye shoma bud
Afsune shoma hamsare afsanehaye man
Hargez nabud o nist.

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

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

This is London. Radio Zamaneh!

Our new London “studio” is set up. We went on air straight away on the next day counting in 22-second-delay that means I had to start speaking 22 seconds before the program starts. And it worked as it worked yesterday and today. It makes you think: technology has lessened our hassle so vividly that you don’t know to laugh or to cry. The feeling that you have missed the bit where the impossible became possible depresses you. How come a radio station is run just by a laptop and a bunch of wires? This bunch of wires seemed just a useless bunch of wires yesterday. But now it does a miracle and connects you from your comfortable chair in your flat to the world. Just push a button and say: “Dorud! This is London! Radio Zamaneh!” what I’m doing these days. It’s been made possible by one of the whales of the radio station (I’ve told you about him earlier: Setareh). So, now I got a new routine in London: getting up earlier in the morning, tuning to different channels, gathering different information, writing them down in Persian, looking for a guest to attend our live program in our brand new studio… and of course, looking for a long term accommodation in the hope to stay here and work from London.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Unwelcome Warming

Global warming is more sensed than ever: the weather has gone mad and doing awesome tricks. Yesterday on the way to work the sight of a huge wind-stricken bush on the main road to Linneausstraat slackened my heartbeat. Ironically there was another cut and dropped bushy branch of an old tree just by the office building to frighten me on my way back home. Although there is no sign of snow yet, while the moaning Dutch say, it used to be much colder and snowy in past Decembers and Januaries. God save the Earth!

The European Union has ringed the bell again by unveiling a new plan to tackle the problem. But how much hope does it give you? Don’t you think they’ve waken up a bit too late? Maybe not. The European countries as the only sensible locomotive of the modern civilization have been warning the world about the deadly consequences of the global warming since the first signs of it became vivid. We still remember something called “the Kyoto Protocol” on global warming that unfortunately has been forgotten due to inhumane sabotage of powers like the US. While the Protocol was ratified by the EU in March 2002 and by Russia in 2004, the US and Australia did not like the idea and remained out of it. The Russian ratification brought the treaty into force commencing on 16 February 2005, however, some of its huge signatories, like India and China are not required to reduce their greenhouse emissions. America’s stance is somewhat ridiculous: it has signed the protocol, but doesn’t dare to ratify it or withdraw from it. Bush thinks the exemption granted to China is not fair and that’s why prefers to die in a global pan rather than signing under the treaty. And even today there was a report about “the US still in denial over global warming”. Even Katrina didn’t help them realize the seriousness of the situation. China considers it just a sign of heinous jealousy and says, Beijing is already contributing to the world environment by undertaking “population control measures”.

Alas, by the time these bogey arson mug states succeed to solve their differences, the world will turn into a boiling mug.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Card Palace by Wanceslas Square

What is obvious these days is the utter decadence of the Tajik RFE/RL. Great thinkers like Taher Abdoljabbar & Emamnazar Khalnazar are out, youngsters on the path of journalism are out and now a good journalist in Dushanbe has left it voluntarily. Rahmatkarim Dawlat, my friend and double-ex-colleague (since we used to work together in Tajik TV too), has spat on the face of Prague by sending the following message:

"Salom,
Az hamkoiri va hamrohii har yaki shumo minnatpaziram. Vale man zindagii mushkil dar sharoiti Tojikistonro bar kor va fa'oliyat zeri bori farmon va fishori ravoni va ruhi tarjeh dodam. Kor dar Ozodi bo vujudi mafod baroi man, mutaasifona mushkil va dushvor niz anjom shuda. Khususan, munosibati akhiri Kh. Baqozoda baroi man dardovar bud. Man, in vaz'ro, ki yak mudir meoyad, zeri bori yak guruh va mudiri digar, ki
meoyad zeri bopri guruhi digar boyad qaror girifa bosham, digar tahammul
nadoram. Binobar in az ta'rikhi 11. 12. 2006 man az hamkori bo ozodii tojiki sarfi nazar kardam. Bo vujude guftam az kase niz ba surati judogona gila nadoram.
Bo salom, RD"

I know Djavadi is going to get him back on his return from Baku and I know RD presumably will re-join them. However, I feel really sorry for RFE/RL Tajik Svc. It seems it's falling apart with a blow of the wind of change.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Thinking in The Dark


Cork popped out and rocked me back and forth.

“Setareh!”

Silence got back to me to say that I was all alone on all three floors…

I had asked him too if he was comfortable with the way I address him. “Setareh” is his surname, but we have three Hosseins among our colleagues and contributors. He was OK with it, perhaps because his surname sounds more poetic, hence more Persian. He’s one of the whales of the station and our technical credibility lays on his shoulders almost entirely. A modest intelligent guy in his late thirties endowed with long brown hair that he likes caressing while speaking to you before laying them down on his right shoulder bunched as a pony tail and forgetting them for a short while. Yeah, he is my neighbor who I happen to see once a day and that’s in the office, drawn in his work that he enjoys so vividly. But his speech adds to your general knowledge a lot. For instance, before I talked to him I didn’t know why lanes and streets in London were so curved and winding and buildings were so sharp-edged with half of them jumping out of the designated space. His explanation was simple but wise: just in order to break the wind, otherwise they couldn’t withstand the Genghis strength of the London winds. Winding roads to break the winds!

Tonight it’s windy out there too. Just got back from work while my birds must be in bed by now in London. The rain was washing my eyeglasses and turning me into a blind-walker in still-strange alleys of a soulless city of Amsterdam. Before picking up one more Marlboro I felt the annoying weight of Niquitin patches in my right jacket pocket. Suddenly recalled Mehdi’s saying: Some people prefer to live long and tasteless, while some others choose to live short but joyful… And lit one more fag. With the image of G.W.B. in front of my eyes jerking around the entire world, the significance of my smoking problem diminished momentarily. We got more serious things to care about.

Now I’m sitting in my huge kitchen attached to the lounge with a huge mirror on the wall and a big “Loewe” TV set beside it. (I guess “Loewe” is Lion in Dutch. Haven’t started taking Dutch courses yet). A bottle of Santa Ana Argentine Chardonnay begging for my attention on the dining table.

Nostalgic sound of the rain squeezing into my ears from the top-opened window of the kitchen and the seeking wind that calms down as soon as touches me. Whispering leaves behind the window, invisible to my un-armed eyes (I wet my glasses with the rain, remember?) That’s my entire company for tonight.

My first impressions from Amsterdam are as follows: gigantic spinning windmills stealing your gaze everywhere, numerous bridges over unnumbered canals, streams of bicycles that would love to run you over, dangerous cycle lanes (fietspaden) that could turn into a place of accident for you, dedicated road signs and traffic lights for bicycles (!), plus special bike (!)-routes linking the city, plentiful of gay faces and places & an easy city scheme. And of course, close to fluent English of its inhabitants with no English signs and writings in the entire capital.

Torn away from my beloved ones sometimes I feel lost. Even my Mum doesn’t know yet that my birds are not with me. At times I wished to be forgotten by everyone and now I feel it indeed. Thrown away by a weak bunch of Tajiks in Prague, wandering somewhere on Earth and trying to establish myself anew. My future was seductive before and now it is illusive. There was a thud behind the door of my heart: You will serve your nation, because you have to! Now I’m losing my ability to hear it, as if the people I want to serve and who really need me do not want my service anymore.

Amsterdam
05.12.06
01:00 AM

Saturday, November 25, 2006

Javadi's Further Commandments

I have received them ages ago, but publishing just now.

By the way, Abbas Javadi has introduced a new transcription in the RFE/RL Tajik Service borrowed from Turkish alphabet. I wonder how Tajiks accept it within the section. Anyway, you can see further signs of destruction in the service by the Turk:

1) Barnomai Sadoi Toza (Xiromon) laghv meshavad. Ba joi on Mezi Mudavvari
Javononro takror mekunem.

2) Tahiyyai barnomahoi haftagii Farhangu Andesha (to hol Shafkat va Saidkosim)
va Bargi Sabz (to hol Xolida va Iskandar) bu Dushanbe kuchonide meshavad. Az
hamin haftai oyanda Farhangu Andesharo Barot Yusifi va Bargi Sabzro Safargul
bonu tahiyya mekunad. Az in hamkoron xohish mekunam: 1-2 ruz kabl az tahiyyai
haftanomahoi xud mavzuhoi xudro bu Mirzonabi maslihat kunand, tarhu peshnihodi
xudro bo email ba MK va Praqa firistand. Tasmim va tahriri nihoiro MK mekunad va
agar lozim boshad man (va yo Mirzo va yo Nurmuhammad) ham maslihat medihem.
Xohishi digar in ast ki ba'd az tahiyyai barnomaho ruyxati guzorishhoi doxili in
barnomaho ba Praqa firistoda shavand to melum shavad kiho dar in barnomaho sahm
doshtand. (In baroi pardoxti haqqi kalam muhim ast).

Tashakkur, Abbosi Javodi

++++++++++++++

1) Barnomai navi xabari bomdodii mo (dushanbe to jum'a) oghoz meshavad.
Tafsilotro allakai muzokira kardaem. Soat ve soxtori barnomai subh (CLOCK) ba in
email ilova shudaast. Dar Praqa barnomai bomdodiro ba navbat yak hafta Xiromon
va yak hafta Tohirjon icro mekunand. Dar Dushanbe boz ba navbat Rahmatkarim va
Shahlo bonu mujrii barnoma xohand bud va baroi tahiyyai xabar va meqola ba
navbat Nosirjon va Barot ba onho kumak xohand kard.

2) Haftai oyanda soat va soxtori barnomai xabarii begohiro ham omoda karda ba
ittiloe hama merasonam.

Maksadu manzur az in soxtorho onast ki barnomaho nazmu tarteb doshta boshand va
tasodufi naboshand va ham mo hamcun tahiyyakunanda va ham shunavanda bidonad ki
kay, dakikai chandum chi paxsh xohad shud (albatta ba'ze holathoi favuloddaro
nametavon istisno kard). In dar ayni hol (maxsusan dar barnomahoi begohi) ba mo
kumak mekunad ki, guzorishhoro bo me'yori balandtar intixob kunem, guzorishhoi
beahamiyyat va yo kamahamiyyotro paxsh nakunem (intixobi guzorishho va tartibi
onho ba dushi moderator, sipas editor, sipas manast).

Tashakur, Abbos Javodi

++++++++++++++

Baroi on ki Bargi Sabz va Farhangu Andesha (ki az haftai oyanda dar Dushanbe
tahiyya meshavand) va vakte dastu poi hamkoroni Praqa boztar shud mo kushish
xohem kard har hafta baroi har du barnoma materiali xurde tahiyya karda firistem
to in du barnoma mahz va tojiki va "lokal" sado nadihand, balki perspektivi
baynalimilali ham doshta boshand....

AJ

A Puzzled Puzzle

The atmosphere around me has changed entirely and I like all personages of my new chapter. Of course, I can see an utmost confusion on their questioning faces: Is he really from Tajikistan? Is he trying to hijack this purely Iranian cause and turn in into something Tajik? Is he going to weaken our positions? Is he… Even I am puzzled with the puzzle I have become.

But there is a huge difference between my last two chapters. In RFE/RL some of them were ready to strangle me if they could, take my heart out of my chest savagely and cook a shish-kebab to celebrate the victory of stupidity. But now I am facing pretty beings with a little dose of suspicion and a huge question mark on their faces: is he going to make our lives easier or is he trying to push us down to hell? I’m trying to assure them that the latter is nonsensical; that we are going to have a lovely peaceful life and I’m not willing to challenge our co-existence. Why? Just because I like all of them with no exception, since I can see humanity in their eyes. Maybe I am exhausted for the time being after my long trip to hell or perhaps just because I like them indeed: an extraordinary hybrid mass of human characters ranging from Hassan Shakiba to Hossein Derakhshan. Actually the latter amazed me the other day with his tolerance: two of my colleagues were grilling him at the pub down-stairs, but he managed to keep a broad smile on his happy face with thrilled wild eyes. Kamelia said she could see number 666 on his forehead; his reaction was just a broad smile again before turning to me to say: “Oh, I wish to visit Tajikistan, just because I like Tajiks & Tajiks who I know like me in return.” I encouraged the "Father of the Persian Weblog" to keep his pledge to visit my homeland to discover something fresh deep inside himself. He remembered my dearest friend Salim as “a really good person” (Hossein’s words) & had nothing more to add to his Tajikistani sayings. But that was enough to generate a true respect to him within me. A friend who likes my friend is more than a simple friend to me.

Derakhshan added one more thing: “Your today’s presentation was absolutely different from what we used to hear from Zamaneh before. It was really cool.” Kamelia said: “You gotta believe him. Because it’s Hossein Derakhshan saying that, a person who’s keen to criticize only; the one who’s really stingy in praising.”

We'll see soon if he was right or not.

Zaterdag, 22 November 2006

Monday, November 20, 2006

The City and Mum

Oh yeah, the city! Amsterdam is a comparatively small city with approximately 750000 people (Mehdi’s figure). I have not seen much of it yet. From where I am standing now (The Royal Institute of Tropical Studies!) I can see an astonishing huge Dutch windmill transformed into a factory (Mehdi’s information), a couple of sporadically erected skyscrapers and rows of small tin-roofed houses separated by wide and narrow roads and streets… The widest road is just underneath us; the one that crosses our street. Now it’s wet with the rain and shiny with the lights of rare cars cautiously moving in different directions.

…Mum was shocked that I had changed my job again. She sounded really worried, but I did my best to convince her that everything was going to be OK. That’s what we all hope, anyway.

Embraced by The Time

That’s it! I am in Amsterdam now with a heavy burden of thoughts in my mind and two physical bags on my shoulders. Zamaneh seems to embrace a dozen of very friendly smiling faces in a very amicable atmosphere. Perhaps after what I witnessed and endured at RFE/RL my perception of the Third Reich’s radio station would have been something similar too. But, no. Actually, my first impression from RFE/RL was something similar to my last impression and this fact gives me a greater hope that the black line of my destiny has been cut off by my departure from Prague.

Mehdi chaired a long meeting to introduce me to my new colleagues and to talk about his latest adventures in Tehran. My introduction embarrassed me a bit or perhaps I just did not know what to do while Mehdi was generously lavishing me with praises and giving some details of my journalistic past. It was really very kind of him and made me fonder to start working as soon as possible. My only job today was filling the chair of today’s “Guest of the Day” in the program and revealing some facts of my life that somehow happened to sound to me like I was bragging about myself, and I felt embarrassed again.

But today’s meeting demonstrated Mehdi as the real head of the station with an ample amount of self-confidence and authority who cares about each member of the team while anticipating a proper job from each of them. The team was listening to his words carefully, analyzing his statements, asking questions, reacting to his answers and listening to him again. All is done in a mutually amicable style.

As you can see, the start is ostensibly optimistic. Let me unfold the future or rather let the future unfold the events further on.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Javadi's First Commandment

If anybody had a doubt in the truth of my words about the Tajik RFE/RL happenings, must be having a clear image in front of his/her eyes by now. Abbas Javadi, the new acting head of the Tajik section (with very strong Turkic affiliations who had written books to praise Pan-Turkism) has sent his first message to the section where he appoints his aids (Mirzo and Nurmuhammad) as "the editors of everything". The letter is in "Tajik" and it shows the depth of Javadi's hatred to Tajiks, if you take a deeper look:

"Hamkoroni aziz, salom:

1) Az dushanbei oyanda jalasa (telekonfransi) Praqa-Dushanbe soati 9:30 (Praqa) ye'ni 13:30 ba vakti Dushanbe barguzor meshavad. Shurui ruzi kori dar Praqa: 09:00. To 9:30 dar Praqa buroi Dushanbe barnomai korii Dushanbe va shahrhoi Tojikistonro ba hama mefiristad. XOHISH AZ DIGER XABARNIGORON (MASKAV, BISHKEK, ALMATI, KOBUL): To haddi imkon subhi har ruz peshnihodhoi xudro ba hamai bakhsh firisted to dar barnomarizii ruz doxil karda shavad.

2) Mirzo Salimpur (va agar on kas ba har dalel, masalan ruxsati, barnomai subh dar ofis naboshad va yo bor kori digar mashgul boshad) Nurmuhammad Xolzoda sardabir va hamohangsozi tamomi barnomahoi radioii mo hastand (Xabar, Chashmandoz va barnomahoi vezha). Yani Mirzo (ve ya Nurmuhammad)

n barnomai ruzonaro tarhrezi mkunad va baroi barnomahoi oyanda naksha va peshnihod medihand
n dar jalasahoi ruzona (soati 9:30 Praqa) ba tavri faol shirkat mekonand (va dar nabudani direktor in jalasahoro rahbari mekunand)
n edit/tahriri guzorishho: guzorishhoi Dushanbero Mirzonabi edit/tahrir mekunad, sipas moderatori Xabar va yo Chashmandoz. Sardabir ham kabl az paxsh onhoro meshunavad va agar lozim shud taghirot medihad. Agar lozim va maslahat shud man ham mebinam ve mudoxile mekunam. Dar Praqa guzorishhoi xabarnigoroni digar (Maskav va ghayra) ro moderatorho (Xabar ve Chashmandoz) bo kumaki texniki Sam megirand, edit mekunand. Sardabir inhoro ham mebinad, rohnamoi mekunad, maslahat medihad va agar lozim boshad, bo kumaki moderator dar guzorishho, tarzi guzoshtani mas'ala va suolho teghirot midihad Guzorishhoi Praqaro ham sardabir (va agar lozim boshad man) edit/tahrir mekunad. Sardabir dar zimn dar hamkori bo moderator va man tartibi guzorishhoro muayyan mekunad (navbati paxshi guzorishho).
n sardabir dar zimn barnomai subhro dar nazar dorad, dar borai guizorishho va xabarhori subh ba moderatori subh peshnihod va maslahat medihad.

(DAR HAMIN ROBITA HAFTAI OYANDA MIRZO DAR XABARI SUBH AST. NURMUHAMMAD SARDABIRI BARNOMAHOST. BA IN XOTIR ruzi seshanbe 14.11. az Xolida xohish mekunam Chashmandoz-ro icro kunad. Ruzi Chorshanbe boshad (15.11) Iskandar dar Xabar xohad bud (HE-i in haftaro takror xohem kard).

3) Dar barnomahoi subh taghyirot cori xohem kard. Maqsad onast ki fe'lan in barnoma ba tavri mushtarak az Praqa va Dushanbe icro shavad. Barnomarezi baroi in taghyirot hanuz idoma dorad.

4) Az haftai oyanda Xoliq Sangov hamcun web editor ba Abdufattoh mepayvandad. Abdufattoh va Xoliq fakat kori veb-ro xohand kard. Ya'ni

Dar Praqa har kas maqola/guzorishi xudro xud dar veb xohad guzosht.
Dar Praqa digar kase tamomi ruz fakat mashguli veb (OL) naxohad bud.
Dar Praqa moderatori Xabar va Chashmandoz (CHI SUBH VA CHI SHAB) ba'd az icroi barnomai xud matni moderasiyai xudro ba Xoliq va Abdufattoh xohad firistod to onho xabar va matolibi xabarii digari in matnhoro dar veb biguzorand.
Dar Dushanbe va digar shahrhoi digar (Tojikistan va ghayra, Maskav, Bishkek va s.) xabarnigoron MATNI NIHOII GUZORISHHOI xudro ba Abdufattoh va Xoliq xohand firistod to dar veb guzoshta shavad.
Sardabiri nihoi veb va mas'uli Forum Salimjon Ayubzod ast. Salimjon har ruz nigohe ba veb mekunad va tashehot/taghiroti lozimro medihad.

Tashakkur baroi hamkori.

Abbos Javodi"

Monday, November 06, 2006

Just Before I'm Gone

In few minutes Said Qasem will arrive to take us to the airport and that will be the real end of my Praha Saga. I will take with me some images: Taher - my dearest friend in Prague is still in front of my eyes. He flied away today as well, but to a different direction. He flied to Geneva and I'm really happy for him, since he really deserves it. The other day Massi called him "the sweetest member of the team" and everybody knew who she was talking about. So, that sweetest image is my dearest friend in Prague and he will remain among my dearest amigos for good. And of course, Said Qasem, who has been earmarked as "the most Tajik guy of the team" by Massi. Perfectly said. His kindness is enormous. OK, gotta go now, Said Qasem must be downstairs by now. Talk to you soon amigas e amigos. Bedrud for now.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Nashledanou, Zlata Praha!

It was on January 13, when I forsaw my future adventures in the Liberty, but still my heart was filled with warming hope and a ton of confidence. I was almost certain about developing similar qualities with them and said:

And I believe that we can extend those ties even up to the new world of mine and we’ll finally find a common language and will develop the same sort of nasal and pharyngeal textures to comprehend and love each other. Only if Ahura will remain just beside me. Eydun bad (Amen).”

Today I was reading my pre-Liberty blogs and laughing as a madman; I could not believe how similar feelings could be at different times and different places. I remember meu amiga warning me about possible bitter consequences of my crucial decision to leave the BBC. And now here in Prague my new amigos e amigas are trying to re-convince me to stay a bit longer: “perhaps the future is bright.” Actually I feel it too; I feel the brightness of the future too, since there’s no other option rather than remaining hopeful. But lack of patience and the feeling of beeing extremely odd among this lot are probably my biggest motivations that are forcing me out of Prague again in the search of new adventures in a new place. It’s good that I had no enough time to fall in love with Prague yet and it would not bee too painful to leave this small and quiet town. I will just miss my really good friends in here and will cherish the memories of our shared time together.

This is the last time I am sitting behind my brand new wide olive desk in this old building that used to belong to the Czechoslovakian parliament in Soviet times. My PC was emptied yesterday, my ID will be handed in the reception for good today, my papers are in pieces in a trash bin, my rota still hanging on the edge of a blue board beside a paper that contains “15 Things You Probably Never Knew Or Thought About”. One of its points say: “The only reason anyone would ever hate you is because they want to be just like you.” But the first point of it is much more beautiful: “At least 5 people in this world love you so much they would die for you.” That makes you feel someone, even if it’s not true at all.

A beautiful green flower in a pot on the right corner of the desk has spread its two branches so wide as if trying to give me a good-bye hug. And just above it Ella Wheeler Wilcox’ terrific lines sent by T and printed out by me:

“There’s one sad truth in life I’ve found,
While journeying east and west.
The only folks we really wound,
Are those we love the best…”


Beside it a plain charcoal painting depicting presumably a street of Prague with its crucifixes, churches and domes… and empty alleys deriving from it.

Thus, another city lived by me and lived in me, while I was living in it, must be left behind tomorrow. Nashledanou, Zlata Praha!