Guest
VIEW
In remembrance
Saying farewell to a dear grandmother
SETAREH MARINE JAD is
a computer analyst in the
facilities management
department.
On Aug. 31,1997, die world lost
one of its greatest ladies to old age.
This great lady was my dear and
beloved grandmother, whose real
name was Najmesadat Mohseni
Ghaemmaghiami, but was known to
her 12 grandchildren as “Mamani”.
That was a unique and original nick
name for a unique and original indi
vidual. Our Mamani was quite a spe
wuu giauumouier; sne was not your
typical old grandmother with white
hair. Even though she was old in
appearance, she was truly young at
heart. She was the picture of life
itself. She would have brightened
and revived any room with her pres
ence, her personality, her sometimes
awkward movements and her
absolutely funny words. Although
she was not trying to be funny, this
talent was just in her genes. She
could cheer you up instantly by the
things she said. She was the best
therapist I ever had while growing
up.
Mamani had a deep passion for
life and her family. She had devoted
her entire life to her four daughters
and their families after she was wid
owed in her mid-30s. No one and
nothing else mattered to her as much
as her children.
Mamani was as strong as a
mountain. By far, she was the
strongest person I have known all my
life. She was my role model. When I
was growing up, I admired her
strength, both physical and emotion
al, and wished to grow up to be as
strong as her. I do not know whether
my wish has come true or not,
because luckily, I have not had to
face any of the tragedies that
Mamani encountered in her life as a
young woman: the loss of her hus
band and her three beloved sons.
Life made her a fighter, and after
each tragedy she grew taller and
stronger..
iviamam was ail CAiiaoiumaiy
woman - lively, intelligent, open
minded, frank, strong, compassion
ate, kind, funny and independent
until the end. She had such a great
sense of humor that allowed us to
laugh with and at her. She was not
highly educated, but she didn’t let
that cripple her mind by clinging
onto old traditions and rules. She had
a brilliant mind that would not shy
away from change and breakage of
the old rules. I personally was sur
prised to find her so open-minded
under that chador.
She did not have any easy life,
but Mamani made the best of it
through her positive and cheerful
attitude. She proved that one does
not need to have piles of money to
live a happy life. It is all in one’s atti
tude. One can not buy happiness.
Mamani was a pioneer feminist.
At a time when my mother was
encouraging me to consider mar
riage at the age of 17 and to sacrifice
my independence, Mamani told me
directly and bluntly not to listen to
my mother and pursue my education
first. She strongly believed that a
woman would be at the mercy of
men without an education, and that it
was imperative that I go to college
and get the highest degree I could.
She wanted me to be independent; to
be independent of men for my liveli
hood, to be my own master, to be my
own woman. I have followed her
advice ever since.
One time I asked her why she
kept wishing me to get old by saying,
“Ellahi peer she naneh,” instead of
wishing me to stay young! Now I
know what she was wishing for and
she was right! I remember the big
bulky eyeglasses that had deformed
the sides of her nose. I remember her
cursing when my mother was late
coming home from a party. I remem
ber the position of her hands when
she needed badly to relieve herself
but was too far away from the bath
room. I remember her insisting on
watching TV only to fall asleep after
five minutes. I remember her waking
me at night with her loud snoring! I
remember all the little safety pins
that she always had attached to her
under-garments and clothes. I
remember the collection of her col
orful scarves. I remember the wood
en cabinet in her kitchen that she had
painted over and over again. I
remember the episode in which she
had the old medical ritual of glass,
cotton balls and fire performed on
her back, while leaning on a chair set
up in the middle of her small pool
(“Hoze”) at her house in Zarrin
na’al. I remember her courageously
defending her pantry against contin
uous attacks by her candy-seeking
grandchildren. I remember her con
stantly adjusting the volume of her
nearing aid. l even remember ner
hilarious looks with a clothes pin
attached to the tip of her nose to
prevent it from drooping even far
ther. I remember the way she
walked, tilting to the left and right,
like a duck. I remember her head
covered in a mixture of raw eggs
and cooked chickpeas in order to
prevent further hair loss. I remem
ber her unfulfilled wish of having a
physician among her grandchildren,
who ultimately became artists, engi
neers, and doctors (of the wrong
kind). And above all, I remember
her as my friend.
Mamani was not a great cook,
but I loved the way she fixed this
soup called “Gooshtabeh” and of
course, everybody knew she was the
master of “Halva.” The last time she
made Halva for us was in 1986 in
Ann Arbor, Mich., the last time we
saw her.
My mother, who was at
Mamani’s bedside during her last
48 hours, heard her utter only these
words during a brief period of
semiconsciousness. “Aghdas,
come! Aghdas, come!” Aghdas was
her younger sister who had passed
away fewer than two years before. I
got goose bumps when I heard this
because Mamani is now even closer
to Aghdas than when they were
both alive by sharing the same
small piece ®f earth with her dear
sister. f
My dearest, beloved Mamani, 1
wish you a happy reunion with your
husband, sons, Aghdas and all your
other brothers and sisters who left
you, one by one, over the past 40
years. I am going to miss you terri
bly. Life is not quite the same now
that the jewel of the crown, the
matriarch of our family is gone. It is
the remembrance of your soothing
words that has comforted me over
the years, and will comfort me until I
join you. I wish you knew of your
impact on our lives. Unfortunately,
life and circumstances separated us,
and we, your grandchildren in exile,
never had the opportunity to con
tribute to the happiness of your final
years by visiting and helping you.
Please forgive us.
Rest in peace my friend,
I love you.
Setareh
Alcohol advertising
■ w ^
Contrary to TV commercials, beer is notjood
GREGG MADSEN is a
senior news-editorial
major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist.
Next time you’re hungry, go
ahead and knock off a couple of cold
ones.
Beer, not burgers and fries. What
you need to tame that empty stomach
is a nice, longneck bottle of
Budweiser.
Why not? Beer is a food, you
know. That’s what the esteemed folks
at Anheuser-Busch would have us
believe. Or haven’t you been watch
ing the latest advertisements to grace
our televisions sets lately.
Perhaps you’ve noticed how
almost every sporting event and most
primetime television shows have -
been polluted with a miniature docu
mentary about the long, storied tradi
tion of the Busch dynasty in the beer
business. With gentle sounds of a
piano in the background and soft
ened photos of ages past, the current
generation of Busch’s proceed to tell
America about the prestige and puri
ty of their product.
“Beer is a food,” August Busch
IV announced during the commer
cial.
Something smells. Let’s get down
to brass tacks here.
Beer is not a food. Beer, thanks
to the alcohol inside of it, is much
more qualified to be a drug than a
food. In our society today, beer is
much more of an epidemic than it is
a food. But even worse than label
ing beer a food is the overall tone of
this advertising campaign. By
showing their prestigious beer
making heritage, Anheuser-Busch
is attempting to show us how
respectable and decent its product
is. ’ ,
Don t buy it tor a second.
Maybe the student body at
Louisiana State University could
enlighten us a little on this subject.
Perhaps the family of 20-year-old
Benjamin Wynne, who died of acute
alcohol poisoning recently, would
want to tell us how much of a food
they think beer is. And I’m sure that
for them, the rich tradition of
Anheuser-Busch erases the pain that
alcohol brought to their lives. /
We could ask anyone who has
endured a life marred by the activi
ties of an alcoholic. We could talk to
the battered spouses and children,
and ask them if they realized how
special beer was because of its natur
al ingredients.
Of course, another good source
we could talk to would be the thou
sands of people affected by the care
less actions of drunken drivers.
Maybe they can tell us how much
they appreciate the honest, hard
working folks at Budweiser.
The real question that we should
ask is how beer - and most all alco
hol products - has managed to
remain so accepted in our society?
What about cigarettes? Why
aren’t they considered to be food,
too? R.J Reynolds has just as long
and storied of a tradition as
Anheuser-Busch, so why has the
United States spent millions of dol
lars in the last few years trying to
impose more restrictions upon the
tobacco industry?
Tobacco, the last time I
checked, is a crop, just like the/
hops that are used to make beer are
a crop. Nicotine is addictive, just
as alcohol is addictive. A chain
smoker doesn’t lose control of his
emotions or lose his ability to func
tion because of the minda^ltering
effects of a cigarette. But beer does /
cause its user to lose control. To 1
my knowledge, there is no such I
disorder as acute-tobacco poison- f
ing. We live in a society where tele- V
-vision and radio cigarette adver- ^
tisements are banned but beer |
advertisements aren’t. Why the
inconsistency?
it s clear we need to ask why beer
and other alcohol products are adver
tised - even glorified - on television
and radio. Who can deny the horrify
ing effects of alcohol on the human
body? So why do we still have this
advertising?
Anheuser-Busch is simply trying
to sell its product with this new
advertisement, I realize. But in so
doing they have insulted our intelli
gence. No matter how traditional,
how storied and how prestigious
Anheuser-Busch may be, they are
still producing a mind-numbing,
body-controlling and life-killing
drug. Don’t be fooled into believing
beer is a food. You can’t sugar-coat
that fact, no matter how hungry you
might be.
f V
MattHaney/DN
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