Shiraz, a city that breathes with our steps; A story of a lasting legacy

Azam Mousavi, a cultural and media activist, wrote in a note: Before cities are built with bricks and cement, they rise with stories, proverbs and the collective memory of their people. Our cultural heritage is not limited to registered monuments; Shiraz is a wandering soul that breathes in the smell of spices in the market, in the motifs of Nasir al-Molk tiles and in the hustle and bustle of the porticoes of the ancient Jame Mosque.

Our main problem today is not the lack of buildings, but the lack of stories for the future generation. It is as if Shiraz is turning into a cold museum for its residents who can only watch it from afar. When the new generation becomes alien to this language, the city will lose its identity. Years ago, in fear of this narrative break, I took my daughter's hand to take her to the heart of this living memory; In order for my daughter not to lose her roots in this city, I brought her back to the city so that we can experience the spirit of Shiraz in the porticoes of the old Jame Mosque, among those strong pillars that seem to breathe.

I wanted him to touch Shiraz not with a book, but with his skin and flesh. I remember how he used to stay in the courtyard of Nasir al-Mulk mosque, staring at the pink tiles and unique motifs, and he used to swim around the pond in front of the porch. She lay on old carpets to feel the dance of colored lights from the sash windows.

Where the light played with color, it was as if the history of Shiraz was placed in the frame of his eyes. He was so young that I took him to Narenjestan, where he pointed the camera in his hand towards the old beds and recorded the moments with the same seriousness as the old photographers. In Hafiziyah, he was not just a child; He was the spirit of the city, running up the stairs and twisting between the candlesticks and seronazes of Hafiziyah, without knowing that this place is the tomb of our memory.

We told and heard stories in the corridors of Vakil Bazaar, intoxicated by the smell of spicy spices, staring at the color of the fabrics hanging from the ceiling and stunned by the elegance of the old ornaments. From the order of carpet sellers, whose every knot was the story of a life, to wandering in the elephant market and the shops around the market; Places that for us were not just a market, but a living museum of the forgotten memories of this city. With his childish curiosity, he was looking for something lost among old objects, and I, in his smile, was worried about the future of this identity.

But now that I look back, I see how small this motherly effort, no matter how romantic, is against the big slap of oblivion. In Shiraz, we are dealing with a heritage that is slowly turning into a dumb language. When we talk about Hafez and Saadi, everyone nods their heads, but it is enough to ask about Abdullah Khafif's tomb, or about Shah Da'iullah, who rests in the heart of one of the noblest neighborhoods of the city, but the dust of ignorance has washed his name from the city's memory.

The fact that today's generation does not recognize these parts of their city's identity is neither their fault nor the failure of a specific institution; Rather, it is perhaps a proof of a failure of cultural education. When the names of places, original Shirazi vocabulary and proverbs are removed from our conversations, we are shrinking the world view of this city.

We watch Shiraz in the frames of Instagram photos, but we fail to recognize its physical and verbal birth certificate. Today, it is not the time to point fingers at each other. To revive this identity, we must reach a national and local synergy. Students must be assigned to talk to family elders or neighborhood residents. School must be a child's link with his home, not a place where history becomes a boring lesson.

Cultural heritage should be transformed from the guardian of bricks to the sponsor of storytelling nights to transform spaces from soulless bodies to living spaces. The revival of culture starts from kitchens and dining rooms. Every family that passes on an idiom, a local custom or a memory of their old neighborhood to their child is saving a part of the city's memory; Just like the experience I tried to create for my daughter. The media should move from event-oriented news to meaning-oriented news.

Instead of reporting the shortcomings, let's write about those who are keeping alive a tradition, a carpet weaving skill or an old shop. Our Shiraz is not a heritage that is locked in museums; Shiraz is a wound that sits on the fabric of our collective memory. Let's tell stories together again before the dust of oblivion covers the names and emblems of our city. Shiraz, more than anything, needs its stories to be heard; Stories that belong to all of us.