My mother, realizing my nervousness that night, decided to recite an age-old bedtime story for my brother and me. That night, my mother and grandmother gathered us in our room to put us to sleep, since we had school the next day. As a child I was horrified and restless at the thought of having a country so close to us experience such an incident. There is something about the delicateness of the language as it rolls off the tongue.ĭuring the Indian Ocean Tsunami incident of 2004, I happened to pass by the living room one evening where all the adults were gathered around the television watching the news, which was reporting the effects of the tsunami on the neighboring country of Oman. I also remember listening to Moein in the car on my way to school every morning, and practicing Farsi sentences in the evening to improve my pronunciation. From lugaimat to crispy pakora and velvety abgoosht stew, every culture gets a respectable nod during our nightly feasts.

Nothing beats indulging in some kashk on a warm afternoon, pretending it’s a jawbreaker like the ones from my favorite cartoon network show, “Ed, Edd n Eddy.” And don’t get me started on our Ramadan spreads, which were nothing short of flavor. On the longest night of the year, we would gather on the cold marble floored talar of my grandparents’ place and cut open a fresh watermelon, signaling the start of spring. When guests come for a visit, we would serve a selection of beverages, from gahwa to karak to red tea with a side of sugar cubes, or ghand, and Persian saffron infused rock candy, or nabat. This has meant talking in dialect Persian with my grandparents, greeting and conversing with guests in Arabic, chatting away with friends in English and discussing matters with our help in Hindi. As a Persian- Khaleeji who has grown up in the Gulf, I have been accustomed to blending different cultures in my day-to-day life.

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