Steamy window

I get my tea cup closer to my face and feel good. I usually like to drink hot tea when I arrive home from university in a cold afternoon. I look outside window, people seems are freezing in a bus station front of my building and most of them are hiding themselves behind a concrete platform of station. I like the flowing of small frozen ices in the air and watch their dancing through the turbulent flow of wind. After five minutes room becomes warm enough for taking off my cloth and window is starting steam up. It is a time to paint or write something on it. It is interesting that every time I want to write something nice to improve my handwriting, I end up with this sentence:

“به جهان خرم از آنم که جهان خرم از اوست عاشقم بر همه عالم که همه عالم از اوست”

This means, “I’m cheerful of world because the world has its pleasant from him (God), I’m in love with whole life because whole life belongs to him”. I remember in seventh grade, my language teacher showed us many methods for Persian calligraphy and for making an example he wrote same sentences in different ways. At that time I was so exited to see those writing and since then every time I try to practice my writing I do same. Now I have my own hand-writing, which is not perfect, but it is good enough to amaze some people. Apparently too much steam on the window makes my writing cry to dead from its edges. I take back the tea cup to kitchen and open fridge. Only thing I feel to eat is a sweet nectarine that I bough from market yesterday. I don’t like fruit in ICA (Chain Market in Sweden) most of them are unripe without any test. I come back to window, most people in the bus station are gone as well as my writing on the glass and the nectarine in my hand. It is a time for preparing a meal, there is nothing in my mind to cook and more important nothing left in my fridge either. I can’t see myself as person who goes shopping in this weather so I decide to not think about it and make myself busy with reading and I’m not that hungry after all. I pick a book from Rumi, Masnavi-Manavi. Since I was young I always wanted to read this book because every body were talking about it and still doing it. And most elder people that I know in my life, when they want to say something smart, making wisdom point or being aware of life facts, they refer to one of Rumi’s short stories. So you can see how much that helps me if I actually know those stories and then I can make my own point too. I almost read ten stories until now and most of them are so old believes or knowledge that not relate to modern life and some of them are so general talk which that can be true or not. But it is too soon to judge it, I should finish whole book and then I can come up with better opinion. After reading three more short stories my stomach start complaining about food seriously and it is impossible to ignore it anymore. I go to check the fridge one more time. I think I can do something with present materials in it. I mix an egg, planed potato, salt, oil and black pepper and cook them on hot plate. Test is acceptable and food has high calorie to take care of me whole night. After dinner I come back with second tea cup front of window. Two guys are talking in the bus station and one of them seems is shaking in clod wind. They go behind the platform and start smoking. I don’t know how turning on small cigarette makes you feel warm but apparently it dose because I saw many people that they were doing it when they feel cold. Or you can say, there is something else involves mentally which I don’t know about it. Imagine that if I go there and surprise them with two cups of hot tea, it is stupid thought but it will be funny and who know how they will be react. I’m sure they will not accept it. One thing all of us learned from living in 20^th century that we should not trust stranger easily. These days are quite different from a time and a place that I grew up. When I was kid, the only thing I knew from being grandfather or grandmother in neighborhood, is to have a packet full of candies for kids. Every time Uncle Akbar or Aunt Zohre cross the street, most kids were running to them for getting candies and they were uncle and aunt of everybody. Now you can’t see those people anymore, most of them are prisoner of modern society and even they show up in street, most children are forbidden to accept anything from them or even get close to them. I don’t know what is a problem, either the people are not same people or we can not truth each other anymore. Finally bus comes and that two guys are getting inside. It is time to go to bed, I pick up my book again and I hope that I can read at least two more stories before sleep. I turn off the lamps and turn on an abajour next to bed. Reading in warm bed under soft yellow light is always pleasure. ……

written by Mohammad Hosseini