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Diaspora
Dinners
Kamin Mohammadi
Arriving in London in 1979, fresh from the terror of the Iranian Revolution and the dawning of the subsequent Islamic Republic, everything was strange, new, subdued. The weather was dull, the traffic hummed rather than roared, and pedestrians were quiet.
In Iran, everything was vivid. The sky was azure blue, the midday light made you wince, and cars and pedestrians weaved around each other in a cacophony of horns and exclamations.
My family was large and extended. Their love was noisy and easily expressed, their humour raucous, and whenever we gathered, the only thing that ever brought a hush to the room was in the first moments a meal was served.
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