Today marks my paternal aunt’s chellom, the 40th day after her passing. This day in Persian culture has enormous significance. People generally conclude a long period of mourning by holding a wake to honour the memory of a deceased loved one. I had never known my Ammeh’s accurate age until after her passing. Through some arithmetical gymnastics my father and I were able to deduce that she must have been no older than 15 when she was married off and probably in the range of 15 to 16 when she gave birth to her first child. Her eldest daughter, my cousin, and my father’s niece, childhood friend, and playmate is only a year younger than my father and only 15 years younger than her mother, my aunt.
At a time, when people in my generation and those who are younger capture every memorable and non-memorable moment on their smart phones, from weekends away to weekends out on the town, from dinner parties at home to dinners in posh restaurants, to every stylish outfit in between, I found it very unsettling that her life is almost undocumented. There are no letters, no journal entries, and very few pictures. The fact that my aunt and millions of women like her in many parts of the world leave very little behind to mark their time on this earth, their lives, dreams, and aspirations makes them the epitome of mortal.
So, I started to dig a bit. I talked to my father. I talked to my cousin, her youngest daughter, whom I love very much, to find out a bit more. At face value, my aunt’s life is that of an ordinary house-wife and mother in a dusty provincial town. Yet what’s remarkable is that she contributed six highly skilled daughters to the work-force. Among all the names that I draw inspiration from in the struggle for equality, I never realized, until after her passing that my aunt’s contribution to female equality has not been insignificant. Even though she herself was denied access to higher education unlike her six brothers, she gave to the world, a young army of working women, several teachers, a doctor, and a social worker, several of whom were socially and politically active during the 1979 revolution. Her greatest legacy is the six women that she leaves behind. Each one university educated, and each one earning her way through life.
My Ammeh, like my father and the rest of their family, is fascinating in that she was down-to-earth and practical. I don’t recall ever hearing grand goals, inspirational speeches, or fist-to-the-sky proclamations. Yet her pragmatic and utilitarian approach to life, a formula of hard work, commitment to family, and obsession with education paved the way to equity for the females in her inner circle. Despite not ever having expressed grand visions on female equality she’s the embodiment of “deeds not words”. And although it makes me sad that we know so little from her life, she leaves behind the ultimate gift of proof, a further validation that empowering girls to have access to education and employment opportunities is the most effective form of achieving equality. This, to me, is worthier than any individualistic pursuit of self-documentation and a good lesson to uphold for the next generation.