گفتگوی شاهنامه‌ای با مهرداد پارسه

به مناسبت چهاردهمین بزرگداشت فردوسی در منچستر برای نام‌نویسی و شرکت رایگان در دیگر برنامه‌های بزرگداشت فردوسی دوستان شاهنامه روی لینک زیر کلیک نمایید. https://www.friendsofshahnameh.com/events/14th-commemoration-day-of-ferdowsi مهرداد پارسه انسان . ایرانی. کورد. دکتری در رشته عمران. چند سالی است که شاهنامه میخوانم و در آموختن آن از هیچ کوششی فروگذار نیستم. از انجا که شاهنامه را هویت راستین انسانی و فرهنگ به آیین ایرانی میدانم در آموزش و گسترش آن می کوشم. در واتس آپ؛ تلگرام و کلاب هاوس برنامه‌های آموزشیِ خواندن و گزارش (شاهنامه؛ گرشاسب نامه؛ بانوگشسب نامه؛ بهمن نامه؛ فرامرزنامه؛ کوشنامه؛ خسرو و شیرین و هفت پیکر) را برگزار کرده‌ام و برخی از این برنامه‌ها هنوز هم ادامه دارند و نیز با گروهی از دوستان دانشور پژوهش‌هایی در چهارچوب کاوشی دانشی از شاهنامه را دنبال میکنم گاهی نیز می نویسم به این گفته ی سخته و سنجیده ی فرزانه فردوسی باوردارم که می فرماید: مياساي از آموختن يک زمان زدانش ميفکن دل اندر گمان چو گويي که وام خرد توختم همه هر چه بايستم آموختم يکي نغز بازي کند روزگار که بنشاندت پيش آموزگار با پوزش از قطع تصویر در بخشی از گفتگو. در گفتگوهای آینده و به پیشنهاد دوستان از اپلیکیشن‌های دیگر برای برقراری ارتباط استفاده خواهد شد

بوی باروت بوی خون

Been here before. Madness on a direct intersection with sheer lunacy. Two governments each worse than the other. The sky is red tonight.

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The U.S. Premiere of "The Legend of Bijan and Manijeh"

The Power of a Lie

https://issuu.com/cultureword/docs/shots_202/s/11266245 The Power of a Lie By: Shahireh Sharif Amongst the familiar and anonymous faces of work colleagues and acquaintances saying their last goodbyes to my father, he was the only one that I recall. That said, if it weren’t for his tight embrace and the genuine-looking tear in his eye as he offered his condolences, I might not have remembered him three days later when I was waiting for a taxi. He pulled over and offered me a lift. I told him I was going to Baharestan which apparently was on his way. His car, a white Peykan Javanan overtaken by the stench of lingered tobacco, had miniature prayer beads dangling from its rear view mirror. He had a tattoo on his upper arm, mostly covered by the short sleeve of his off-white T-shirt. He didn’t seem the type that my father would associate with. I asked him how he knew my father and his response added to the aura of mystery that surrounded him. “We must talk about that, but not now.” He suggested we met up after the seventh day of my father’s departure ceremony. His response to such a simple and basic question didn’t make sense. I don’t normally care for people who make everything more complex than necessary. Any other time I would have made an excuse and walked away. But how could I miss the opportunity of knowing something about one of my late father’s unusual acquaintances. I agreed to meet up. The only information that he offered on that occasion was his name, Majid. Four days later, as I joined the men in the close family and friends circle in the local barber to have our beard – the sign of mourning – shaved, I was still thinking about Majid. I wondered if he should have been included... Read the rest here.