RedWine
01-22-2006, 12:49 PM
It is a strange concept amongst Iranians to always bring each other gifts every time they travel. This outdated and stupid tradition is explained with one word: Soghati, which is a like a souvenir or gift.
I, for one, do not understand the tradition, but it is something that my mother keeps telling me is very important. Ok, it’s not that she tells me but more the way she sneers at me if I don’t bring enough soghati. Chap chap negah kardan never had a better companion than my own mother (looking at someone sideways – as if to stare them down in disapproval).
When I was a little girl, my dad would bring me lots of soghati whenever he went on his business trips. Snoopy magnets, Barbie dolls, Hello Kitty pencil cases, Spiderman nighties, and all the chocolate in the world. It was heaven. These days, just hearing the word soghati, gives me a stomach ulcer.
Every year, I go to Iran to visit my parents, and relatives. As luck has it, our wonderful culture distinguishes between aunts on the mother’s side (khaleh) and aunts on the father’s side (ammeh). Not to mention my mother’s brother (da-ee) and then all of my dad’s brothers (amoo). This sort of linguistical clarity only creates a bigger rift in the family as it helps my parents keep a scorecard of whose family is more scandalous or plain stupid. Usually my dad wins the arguments, although my pesar amoo’s (son of my uncle on my dad’s side) have come really close to shifting the vote in my mom’s favor.
With so many trips under my belt, I have developed a good eye for what works and what does not work as a qualifying “soghati”. Regardless of what I buy, I always bring all my old clothes to Iran to give to charity. So instead of running them down to the Red Cross or the Salvation Army, I take them home. My brilliant mother invented this system as she says it diverts the attention of the customs people to mix old clothes with new clothes. They will surely leave me alone, if I do this, she says. They have never once opened my bags.
The old clothes also work great as a backup system for soghati, because there might be clothes that I have either never worn, or that still look pretty new and can be given away to the unexpected dokhtar khaleh (daughter of aunt on mother’s side) at any moment. Also, clothes somehow look different, newer, in Iran. I am not sure why. Did I mention my mother has an undying urge to give anyone who comes over gifts? Did I also mention that she is the queen of re-gifting? This of course can be the catalyst for the most embarrassing moments in life.
One time, a respected author and well-known playwright, who is our neighbor, came over. I, of course, had not brought anything for him. After some “cheshmetoon roshan” and kisses, we sat down for some cha-ee and shirini. He had graciously brought over a manuscript from his latest work for me to read. As I was oohing and aahing over his latest creation, my mother waltzed in with a travel bag from Swiss Air and presented it to him as a soghati I had brought him! Yes – this was the kind they give away for free, with the towel-y socks and the plastic hair comb and the sometimes-useful plastic shoehorn! I could not believe my eyes. If I can turn red, at that moment, I must have been a laboo.
My neighbor, a classy and sophisticated artist who travels often I am sure, gracefully took the gift, opened it up, and pretended to be amused with it's usefulness. He then thanked me profusely for the “thoughtful gift”. I don’t know what was worse – the gift or the elaborate thanking. At that moment, I decided that unless I make a permanent list of every single person with their dress size, shoe size, head size and favorite topics in life, I would never be free of my mother's wrath! This of course wasn't the only incident. A few years before, when I received a big bonus at work, I went to David Jones and bought a really subtle and elegant Escada suit for my mom. It cost me around $2000. She never wore it.
The good news is that there are gifts that work and this has nothing to do with my taste and everything to do with my mother’s psyche. First, the soghatis that she likes are mostly very bright or eye-catching glittery clothes that she thinks may appear more expensive to the unsuspecting visitor. I am convinced she would permanently tattoo sequins to her forehead if the procedure were medically available. The more sparkle, and shine, the better. On her shirts, on her shoes, on her sandals, even on her bags. Many a Sunday, I have pondered buying that glue gun from the infomercials that does exactly that. Secondly, my whole family seems to be in complete denial about their weight and their age. Last time my mom came for a visit, I took her to the mall and in every store, she would naturally gravitate towards the teenage prom sections, displaying pink or aqua sequin dresses. She really thinks she is still 16, going on 69. Weight is another issue. If my mother reports my khaleh Maheen to be a size 14, I will buy a size 16 – as I have discovered through very expensive trial and error that my relatives don’t want to admit they have gained weight.
Iranian fashion is never subtle and always full of surprises. If you asked my uncle what he regards as a quality brand, he will predictably say Pierre Cardin or some outdated label you have never heard of. Among the most prevalent “recognized” brands in Iran: Givenchy, Chanel, Dior, Cardin, Louis Vuitton, and Fendi. I don't know if your family is like this but mine is stuck in a time machine, taking a stroll down “Shanzeh Leezeh” with their pockets stuffed full of francs. Of course, I have found plenty of Pierre Cardin shirts in outlet malls and when I do, I buy them in gobs.
Inevitably though this tradition of giving soghati has left me bankrupt before every trip. I have 7 aunts and 5 uncles. Each has at least 2 kids. These kids are now getting married and having more children. Then there are our neighbors, friends, parents' colleagues, mechanic (Ali Agha), gardener (Hosseini), housekeeper (Robabeh), roadkeeper (Mashti), and my grandparents. You do the math! Unfortunately, because of the experiences I have had and the sheer size of the clan, I end up buying really tacky, cheap clothes, so that 1. they will like it and 2. I can afford it. Don't get me wrong. I try and buy a few select nice things for my parents. But who is kidding who? My bag is mostly filled with scarves, vitamins, advil, tylenol, dayquil, nyquil, prescription drugs, Quality Street chocolates, CD's, and about 100 sequin tops in all different colors and sizes. (Last year my uncle asked for viagra!) I also load up on men’s button-down shirts, socks, and t-shirts.
After all, you never know - if Ali Agha fixed your mom’s Peugeot last winter, doesn't he deserve a nice Pierre Cardin?
Thx Mahnaz jan ;) .
I, for one, do not understand the tradition, but it is something that my mother keeps telling me is very important. Ok, it’s not that she tells me but more the way she sneers at me if I don’t bring enough soghati. Chap chap negah kardan never had a better companion than my own mother (looking at someone sideways – as if to stare them down in disapproval).
When I was a little girl, my dad would bring me lots of soghati whenever he went on his business trips. Snoopy magnets, Barbie dolls, Hello Kitty pencil cases, Spiderman nighties, and all the chocolate in the world. It was heaven. These days, just hearing the word soghati, gives me a stomach ulcer.
Every year, I go to Iran to visit my parents, and relatives. As luck has it, our wonderful culture distinguishes between aunts on the mother’s side (khaleh) and aunts on the father’s side (ammeh). Not to mention my mother’s brother (da-ee) and then all of my dad’s brothers (amoo). This sort of linguistical clarity only creates a bigger rift in the family as it helps my parents keep a scorecard of whose family is more scandalous or plain stupid. Usually my dad wins the arguments, although my pesar amoo’s (son of my uncle on my dad’s side) have come really close to shifting the vote in my mom’s favor.
With so many trips under my belt, I have developed a good eye for what works and what does not work as a qualifying “soghati”. Regardless of what I buy, I always bring all my old clothes to Iran to give to charity. So instead of running them down to the Red Cross or the Salvation Army, I take them home. My brilliant mother invented this system as she says it diverts the attention of the customs people to mix old clothes with new clothes. They will surely leave me alone, if I do this, she says. They have never once opened my bags.
The old clothes also work great as a backup system for soghati, because there might be clothes that I have either never worn, or that still look pretty new and can be given away to the unexpected dokhtar khaleh (daughter of aunt on mother’s side) at any moment. Also, clothes somehow look different, newer, in Iran. I am not sure why. Did I mention my mother has an undying urge to give anyone who comes over gifts? Did I also mention that she is the queen of re-gifting? This of course can be the catalyst for the most embarrassing moments in life.
One time, a respected author and well-known playwright, who is our neighbor, came over. I, of course, had not brought anything for him. After some “cheshmetoon roshan” and kisses, we sat down for some cha-ee and shirini. He had graciously brought over a manuscript from his latest work for me to read. As I was oohing and aahing over his latest creation, my mother waltzed in with a travel bag from Swiss Air and presented it to him as a soghati I had brought him! Yes – this was the kind they give away for free, with the towel-y socks and the plastic hair comb and the sometimes-useful plastic shoehorn! I could not believe my eyes. If I can turn red, at that moment, I must have been a laboo.
My neighbor, a classy and sophisticated artist who travels often I am sure, gracefully took the gift, opened it up, and pretended to be amused with it's usefulness. He then thanked me profusely for the “thoughtful gift”. I don’t know what was worse – the gift or the elaborate thanking. At that moment, I decided that unless I make a permanent list of every single person with their dress size, shoe size, head size and favorite topics in life, I would never be free of my mother's wrath! This of course wasn't the only incident. A few years before, when I received a big bonus at work, I went to David Jones and bought a really subtle and elegant Escada suit for my mom. It cost me around $2000. She never wore it.
The good news is that there are gifts that work and this has nothing to do with my taste and everything to do with my mother’s psyche. First, the soghatis that she likes are mostly very bright or eye-catching glittery clothes that she thinks may appear more expensive to the unsuspecting visitor. I am convinced she would permanently tattoo sequins to her forehead if the procedure were medically available. The more sparkle, and shine, the better. On her shirts, on her shoes, on her sandals, even on her bags. Many a Sunday, I have pondered buying that glue gun from the infomercials that does exactly that. Secondly, my whole family seems to be in complete denial about their weight and their age. Last time my mom came for a visit, I took her to the mall and in every store, she would naturally gravitate towards the teenage prom sections, displaying pink or aqua sequin dresses. She really thinks she is still 16, going on 69. Weight is another issue. If my mother reports my khaleh Maheen to be a size 14, I will buy a size 16 – as I have discovered through very expensive trial and error that my relatives don’t want to admit they have gained weight.
Iranian fashion is never subtle and always full of surprises. If you asked my uncle what he regards as a quality brand, he will predictably say Pierre Cardin or some outdated label you have never heard of. Among the most prevalent “recognized” brands in Iran: Givenchy, Chanel, Dior, Cardin, Louis Vuitton, and Fendi. I don't know if your family is like this but mine is stuck in a time machine, taking a stroll down “Shanzeh Leezeh” with their pockets stuffed full of francs. Of course, I have found plenty of Pierre Cardin shirts in outlet malls and when I do, I buy them in gobs.
Inevitably though this tradition of giving soghati has left me bankrupt before every trip. I have 7 aunts and 5 uncles. Each has at least 2 kids. These kids are now getting married and having more children. Then there are our neighbors, friends, parents' colleagues, mechanic (Ali Agha), gardener (Hosseini), housekeeper (Robabeh), roadkeeper (Mashti), and my grandparents. You do the math! Unfortunately, because of the experiences I have had and the sheer size of the clan, I end up buying really tacky, cheap clothes, so that 1. they will like it and 2. I can afford it. Don't get me wrong. I try and buy a few select nice things for my parents. But who is kidding who? My bag is mostly filled with scarves, vitamins, advil, tylenol, dayquil, nyquil, prescription drugs, Quality Street chocolates, CD's, and about 100 sequin tops in all different colors and sizes. (Last year my uncle asked for viagra!) I also load up on men’s button-down shirts, socks, and t-shirts.
After all, you never know - if Ali Agha fixed your mom’s Peugeot last winter, doesn't he deserve a nice Pierre Cardin?
Thx Mahnaz jan ;) .