Talash: A search for God

Act 1

Scene 3


It’s Sunday night, and Ahmad is having dinner at Sara’s. He is dressed up unlike his normal self. Everybody is seated at the dining table having a classic style three-course dinner. There are occasional bursts of laughter following those punch lines that Ahmad cracks, usually forced and pretentious, to fill the awkward silences. Sara’s parent Mr. and Ms. Ahmadinejad are trying their best to make Ahmad feel at home and Ahmad is beginning to ease up.


Mr. Ahmadinejad: So Ahmad, I heard that you are completing your marketing degree from The University of Calgary soon, what are you planning next?


Ahmad: (straightening up, fixing his tie) Yes, sir, I will be done with my Marketing degree by this June. I am searching for a job these days, some firm that offers a decent wage and is challenging to work for.


Mr. Ahmadinejad: (taking a bite of his Kateh*): Hmmmm… Interesting! So is there a motive behind your choice of Marketing as a Major degree?


Ahmad: Oh yes, I have always been interested in Media and business. And I believe Marketing is a perfect blend of both. Then I have come to realize that the Western world is literally being led by media and I believe, it’s gradually taking over the East as well.


Mr. Ahmadinejad: That is a very accurate observation.  In fact in the recent years, it has been wild. E-mails, and Google and that website..Umm.. Faxbook?


Sara: (smiling) Facebook, dad, Facebook.


Mr. Ahmadinejad: Yeah.. That! I mean what happened to the good old style....


Ms Ahmadinejad: Okay, now don’t get started Hedayat, I think all of us have had enough of the praise-for-the-old-times speech. Give this boy some air to breath rather than forcing your perspectives on to him. You’ll have a lot of time to discuss about the good old days in Iran after dinner. Let’s keep it light hearted here, if you don’t mind.

Mr. Ahmadinejad: As you say, my lady. So Ahmad, have you ever had Iranian food before?

Ahmad: Umm.. Not really, like I have been to some local Iranian restaurants with Sa..

Sara: Ahem.. (coughs and glares at Ahmad)

Ahmad: (looks towards Sara and gives an understanding look) with Saleem, he is my friend from the university.  But usually I prefer fast food or some good old fashioned home-made Afghani food. Huhh.. Nothing like that I must say.

Ms. Ahmadinejad: Home-made Afghani food ‘eh? Hmm... So I assume that you know how to cook. That is an extra-ordinary quality for a man your age.

 Sara: You wish mom! Ahmed can’t even boil an egg. I mean seriously.. All you have to do is put the egg in the water! How hard is that?

Ahmad: You know what Sara? Thanks for being so inconsiderate! Thanks really. I am sure you are not aware how disastrous boiling an egg can be. I mean I was trying to do that once and I dropped the egg in the hot water and the water splashed... Man I could have gotten burnt. Thanks to my reflexes I immediately took a step back.

Ms. Ahmadinejad: Oh well, I don’t blame you, pesar*. Men from the East, they think that cooking is a sin. It’s a woman’s thing, they say.

Ahmad: Not really, I live alone in an apartment and most of the times I have to cook food for myself. Although I can’t replace a woman’s craft with my messed up cooking but it keeps me alive. Noodles and microwave food, that's what I eat!

Ms. Ahmadinejad: Oh poor boy. All you have to do is call me if you are craving for a good home-made meal or just come over for dinner. We would love it.

Ahmad: I eat a lot already. I don't need more spoiling (smiles) Every second day I am at my parent’s place having good old Afghani food and kahwa.

Mr. Ahmadinejad: You have family here Ahmad? You never mentioned.

Sara: Dad, didn’t I tell you already about the family where Ahmad wa..

Ahmad: Oh, it’s okay Sara. I’ll explain. (he looks at her and smiles then turns to Mr. Ahmadinejad) I have a wonderful family here. The most loving mom, dad and a brother. 


Mr. Ahmadinejad: MashAllah. Nice to know! So when did you guys move from Afghanistan? Was it during the war?


Ahmad: My family is not from Afghanistan. Only I am.


Mr.Ahmadinejad: (confused) I am sorry, I didn't understand what you are trying to say.


Ahmad: I was born in Afghanistan. My actual mom and dad were born there too.  My dad died when I was four-year old. He was a part of the Mujahedeen*  fighting against the Soviets during the nine-year long Soviet Afghanistan conflict. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know where his body’s buried; I don’t even know how he died. (takes a sip of his water to swallow the lump in his throat) but I guess…I guess, I am kinda glad for that. I don’t think I would have been able to live had I seen his injured body with my own eyes or heard about his sufferings 'cos of the war.

Ms. Ahmadinejad:  I am very sorry to hear about that Ahmad. I am sure God would not overlook your father’s sacrifice for his nation. I am sure, your father was on the right path to heaven.

Sara stirs in her chair.

Ahmad: (taking another sip of water from his cup) Although sometimes, I wonder if that is what God wanted, to take my dad away from me.


Mr and Ms. Ahmadinejad exchange puzzled looks

Sara: Ahmad I am sure that is not so. Why would God want to harm you? Look, no one has control over such things. We can’t control death.

Ahmad: Yes, I understand. As I was saying those were bad times, no one was safe... Not that anyone is safe now… (pauses) I was young back then… way too young to hold on to memories but I have vague vague memories of my mom wailing and hitting herself with extreme intensity…(he is staring at something distant) I guess, a part of her died that day, that day when the Mujahedeen* came to our door to deliver the very last of my dad’s belongings from the war,his Kalashnikov, his watch, his vest... and since that day (his voice now turning teary) the remaining fragment of my mom's soul rotted away till she finally died.


Mr. Ahmadinejad's lips part as if to give voice to his thoughts but he quickly seals them again.


Ms. Ahmadinejad: (gets up from her chair and walks to Ahmad sitting across the table) Ahmad jan*… My pesar… (takes a seat beside Ahmad and gently squeezes his shoulder) Do you think your mom would have liked seeing you cry like that? Would that let her soul rest in peace? Knowing that her child is crying for her? Ahmad, she has moved on, to the other world and I am sure watching you cry would hurt her. You have a new family, people who love you. Don't shed a single tear pesar.

Sara: Ahmad… (She looks towards him tentatively)

Ahmad: I am fine… It’s just that sometimes I lose myself.

Mr. Ahmadinejad: Be strong lad! Be strong, God puts us through pain so that we can feel the essence of joy when He sends it towards us. Be strong.

Ahmad: Yeahhh… I am sorry… I seriously didn’t mean to be carried away like that.

Ms. Ahmadinejad: Oh don’t you dare apologize. Now... wipe those tears and tell me, how was the dinner? Better than the Iranian restaurants that you go to ‘eh?

Ahmad: (smiling) I must say, it certainly was.

Sara: I cooked half of it (grins)

Mr. Ahmadinejad: Really Sara? Then why is it that I didn’t see you in the kitchen even once?
Sara: Oh… I did help. You know, the mint over your Kateh? It didn’t get there on it’s own.

Ahmad: I don’t think putting mint over the Kateh should be called half of the cooking (smiles wryly)

Sara: (Narrows her eyes) You know, I don’t complain but it would be nice to be supported and appreciated once in a blue moon. 

Mr. Ahmadinejad chuckles.

Ms. Ahmadinejad: Oh dear, I almost forgot. Who is ready for the desert? (turns to Sara) Can you help me clean up azizam*?  


Sara: Yes, of course.. Oh my God! We have Baqlawas for dessert. I love Baqlawas!


Ahmad: (wiping his hands with the napkin) Me too..

Sara and Ms. Ahmadinejad walk out of the room. Ahmad and Mr.Ahmadinejad move to the living room to listen to music, the rubab and the flute, and discuss their views on modern day world; something men of the East have always enjoyed.

Kateh: A type of Caspian rice eaten in Iran that has a dense flavour due to addition of butter or oil.

Pesar: Persian for boy.

Mujahedeen: Muslim soldiers who fought the Soviet war in Afghanistan.

Jan and Azizam: Dear

Baqlawa: Is a rich, sweet pastry made of layers of filo pastry filled with chopped nuts and sweetened with syrup or honey.

The Mujahedeen of Afghanistan

Photo Credits: Steve McCurry