Happy New Year!

Saba Nowroz ast…
I know I ought to insert some sort of a fancy image here, with fresh grass bound with a red ribbon and two goldfish in a little aquarium and a holy-looking book.
Truth is, Nawroz never was like that for me. Growing up in Afghanistan, Nowroz was about a sleepless night (partly because of henna-bound hands, partly the excitement of wearing fresh clothes and bloating my stomach with dried fruits the next day), a welcome day off from school, an early wake-up and kissing my grandparents hands, and a full sunny day full of mud, melting snow, and colored eggs. Oh yeah, and going to relatives with my father and younger brother, though I can’t say I cared too much for that part.
This is my 10th consecutive Nowroz out of Afghanistan. Those were the good old days. These are nostalgic musings about another time, another age; as the adage in Farsi goes, days that were eaten by a big fat COW…