Illustration by Christine Wei
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Growing up, there was always a bowl of mixed nuts on the table. Not only when we had company – because then the nuts were accompanied by a spread of cheese, greens and radishes – but on any given day, there was a small bowl of walnuts, almonds and dried cranberries. It was our version of the decorative bowl of lemons. Saffron also made an appearance regularly – mostly in rice, but also in marinades and garnishes. When family or friends visited from Iran, they brought us bags of nuts and containers of saffron. No one received a mug or a decorative spoon.
It was not until I moved out on my own that I realized the cost of these items. I remember standing at the checkout at a Bulk Barn with a bag of walnuts and holding my breath when what seemed like a small amount cost me nearly $20. The tiny container of saffron, not any bigger than an eraser, was $12. I didn’t understand and back then I didn’t want to. Understanding would have required a deep dive into what these items actually represented.
I learned over time that the walnuts on our table were not simply a snack and the saffron was not simply a spice. They were a kind of inheritance – a continuation of a life that existed before ours in Canada. Their presence suggested a world where these things were ordinary enough to appear daily, even if that ordinary life had been interrupted by migration.
On March 20, Iranians around the world marked Nowruz, the Spring equinox. An event that is typically celebrated with gatherings, food, gifts and hope felt very different this year. Nowruz in Farsi means “new day” – and it is the start of a new year, a new season of possibilities. This year, the new day was an uneasy combination of hope and fear.
In wartime Tehran, Iranians find notes of joy for Nowruz
Like many whose parents came to Canada when they were young, or second-generation immigrants, Nowruz always came with mixed feelings. As a child, there were years when I hid the festivities from friends, worried that they would mock me. There were also years when I boasted about taking a day off school and talked about the family celebrations with pride.
My grasp of Nowruz has always been second-hand and somewhat superficial. I went through the motions of setting the Haft Seen, a spread with seven symbolic items that start with the “S” sound in Farsi. Each of the items represents health, love and good wishes for the new year. I watched my mother fry the dough for zoulbia, lacy dough that resembles funnel cake, deep-fried and soaked in a sugary saffron syrup.
I felt as if I was part of something important when I celebrated Nowruz – or simply Eid, as we called it – with my family. It was something I was meant to do, but also something I did not quite appreciate. There was participation without comprehension. These memories of Nowruz are warm and vibrant, and now they are also accompanied by heaviness and sorrow.
The celebrations have changed over the years. I now have cousins who came to Canada in the last decade, and we have children of our own. This year, the sorrow that weaved through our celebration was rooted in the tragic news from Iran, where thousands have been killed for standing up for their rights.
At Ottawa’s Cafe Tehran, Nowruz celebrations are weighed down by war in Iran
As I sat with a heavy hollowness in my chest, I knew my sadness also came from how much I did not know about my cultural background. No matter how much I learn about the history of Iran, the complexities of past and current conflict or the beauty of its traditions, I am left with a sense of distance. As my family gathered, the grief of something I never truly comprehended felt heavier. It is a grief that does not attach to a single memory, but rather to an absence – the awareness that an entire landscape of meaning exists just beyond your reach.
This year, as I’ve done in the past, I arranged a small Haft Seen with my family and I explained why we chose these items. I translated, simplified and inevitably diluted parts of the story of my family. Yet the ritual felt more removed from the experience and meaning, especially when Nowruz competed with the upcoming visit from the Easter bunny.
But the effort is important. What I did not understand as a child grabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl is that culture and tradition live in the foods that appear without explanation, in the spices that find their way into ordinary meals and in the objects that seem unremarkable until you leave home and discover their price. The walnuts on the table and the saffron in the rice were never presented to me as symbols. They were simply part of how life was arranged.
And so, when I place walnuts on the table or sprinkle saffron into rice, I am continuing a small part of a life and world I have never known.
Rana Pishva lives in Ottawa.