| Cheghadr
chaagh shodi!
(my how you have gained weight)
Most ancient put-down of Iranian ladies
By: Niki Tehranchi
I knew it was too good to be true. I should have had my guard up.
I should have known better. But once again, I entered the lion's
den with a sunny optimism and glowing self-confidence.
It was a gorgeous Sunday morning; 95 degree-temperature
in January! For a Canadian transplant, it was simply heaven. Once
again, I felt so good about having made the move to California.
I wore a new dress that was feminine, flirty, a
real girl's dress. I had bought it shortly after my honeymoon but
this was the first occasion when I felt like wearing it. It reflected
my cheery disposition at starting this beautiful day.
When my husband and I arrived at the party, my feelings
of joy continued. Children were roaming free and laughing. Fresh
fruit and gourmet cheese was set out for eager nibblers. "Rengui"
Iranian music put a smile on all our faces. I felt so happy and
content.
Then of course it happened.
-- "Bah bahÖ Niki KhaanoomÖ Ezdevaaj
kheeeeeeeyyyyylllliii behett saakhtehÖ"
 |
I looked up at the
"lady" sitting on the couch facing me, who had uttered
these words. I hardly knew her but since she was elderly, I
always showed the utmost civility. The comment kind of came
out of the blue but as a newlywed, I am used to people making
nosy comments about my private life such as :"How's married
life treating you?", "Is your husband being nice to
you?", or "Are you pregnant yet?" It's funny
no one would ever think of asking a divorced person: "So
how's divorced life treating you?" Or a single gal: "So,
when's the last time you got some?" But I digress. |
Now, my knowledge of zaboon-e farsi ( Farsi language)
is limited. But it gets even worse when Iranian ladies talk to me
in farsi because they have a sub-language of their own: The language
of "neesh", a snake's nest of double-entendres, subtle
put-downs, and double-edged swords as cutting as that ginsu knife
set from the late night infomercials.
What the "lady" in question said to me
roughly translates as "My my, marriage becomes you." (I
think). Dumb-ass that I am, I initially thought well, maybe she
is giving me a compliment.
I nodded half-smiling at the "lady" who had uttered what
I thought to be charming words to me. She kept nodding at me also,
as if she was waiting for an expression on my face to materialize
but it never did. So she figured out that I needed the point driven
more forcefully. She repeated:
“BaaallleehhhÖ Khoob ezdejvaaj behett saakhtehÖ"
and then she added the kick to the groin: "Khoob chaagh shodi!"
( how you have gained weight )
At what must have been my decrepit facial expression,
my nemesis smiled widely with satisfaction. Her job was done and
well-done at that. I sighed with admiration at her skill in handling
one of the most ancient and famous put-downs of Iranian ladies in
the world. "CHEGHADR CHAAGH SHODI!”
It is the most classic, the most cited. It rolls
off the tongue of Iranian ladies more poetically than a Shakepearean
sonnet. The funniest part is it is always uttered by the fattest
blob in the room. My case was no exception. That "lady"
had the lardiest ass in the vicinity and she had the gall to comment
about my size 8 figure
Iranian ladies are a real mystery to me. One minute,
they are criticizing your fat intake, the next they are trying to
shove food in your mouth by saying Bokhor bokhor maamaan jaan, kabaab
khoobeh bokhor! (eat dearest; eat some kebab)
It was really naïve of me to think an Iranian
lady could give me a compliment.
I mean when is the last time I got a compliment from one of these
harpies? It's always criticism. When I was studying, it was "Heyvouni
doost pessar balad nisst begeereh.”
( she can't find a boyfriend)When I went out on a date, "Bah
Digeh darss marssam tamoom shod, gozaashte kenaar, rafte donbaale
pessar baazi!" (she's put aside the book and is chasing boys).
When I graduated, it was "In hameh darss, taazeh kaaram nemitooneh
peyda koneh!" (her school has been over and she can't find
a job).
When I started working, "Khob maamaan jaan akheh in hameh zahmat
mikhay bekeshi ke zood peer beshi?" (dearest, shy do you struggle
so, you want to age before your time?).On and on and ON AND ON.
I went home early that day from the party and put
the dress I was so proud of back in the closet.
I don't know when I am going to get the nerve to wear it again. |