Person B: “Nah merci, nemikham, taarof nadaram.”
A: “Narahat meesham ageh var nadaree”
B: “Narahat nasho, seeram.”
A: “Vardar!”
B: “Na, merci, khoobam.”
A: “Deh yeki var dar, digeh!”
B: “Bashe, bashe, var midaram.”
Translation:
A: “Don’t taarof! Take one.”
B: “No thanks, I don’t want one, I’m not taarof-ing.”
A: “I’ll be upset if you don’t take one.”
B: “Don’t get upset, I’m full.”
A: “Take one!”
B: “No thanks, I’m good.”
A: “Ugh just take one, already!”
B: “Ok, ok, I’ll take one.”
These quotes are a typical part of “taarof,” a uniquely
Persian term for a uniquely Persian custom. The closest thing to “taarof” in the
Western world is when two people argue over who will pay the restaurant bill.
Taarof is essentially a polite refusal-and-later-taking system
in which usually at least one party is concealing his true intentions – at least
initially.
For instance, in the example above, Person B really does
want whatever food is being offered, but doesn’t want to be bold and accept the
host’s first offer. So, he refuses twice, and on the third offer, it becomes
socially acceptable for him to accept the food.
“The Art of Taarof” page at the Persian Mirror site (http://www.persianmirror.com/culture/distinct/distinct.cfm)
describes this tradition more eloquently than I can:
“Good Persian culture is peppered with politeness and a
pretense at least of being humble. Iranians have a complicated list of things
that are considered good and polite in social situations, and not different
from those of other cultures. Generally, you want your child to marry into a
good family. You want the families to be educated and wealthy and you want your
children to be upstanding and polite. You also want to be looked upon by
family, friends, and neighbors alike as a gracious, hospitable and welcoming
host. “Taarof” has deep roots in the Iranian tradition of treating your guests
better than your own family and being great hosts. Taarof is a verbal dance
between an offerer and an acceptor until one of them agrees. It is a cultural
phenomenon that consists of refusing something that has been offered to you
even though you want it, out of politeness. On the giving end, it is offering
something that may cost a lot in order to be polite, but not really wanting to
give it away for free.
Some examples may clarify taarof. You go over to your aunt’s
place and she makes a great Ghormeh Sabzi dish for lunch, which is your
favorite. You help yourself to a healthy serving and at the end of it find that
you are still hungry. Your kind, loving aunt will offer you another serving and
you politely refuse. In this case you are taarof’ing because you would really
like to eat more but you are too polite to say yes. But, alas, the Iranians
have a solution for this. Your aunt will offer the food a second time and you refuse
and then on the third try you can accept without looking like a glutton.
Iranians tend to be very sensitive of what others will think of them so this
sort of behaviour is expected, although annoying and perhaps antiquated, it is
an inherent part of the culture.
Another example is when you go to buy a dress at the store
and ask for the price. If it is a small boutique in Iran, the shopkeeper will
inevitably, out of politeness, say it is worth nothing. What he is trying to
say is that you are worth so much more than the dress and have put him to shame
for asking. In reality, he would like to be paid for the dress and is just
being polite. After a second or third inquiry, the shopkeeper will probably
give you the correct price and offer to accept payment.
The art of taarof in the end becomes a ritual or a game that
both participants are aware of playing. Some find it annoying, stupid, and a
waste of time, asking the guest not to Taarof (“Taarof Nakonid”) when he
refuses something. This is a double-edged sword because maybe the offerer is
taarofing himself. This is where taarof can be misleading and land you in very
sticky social situations. You never know the true intention of either party and
you may not be sure if they really want to offer/take something or not. For
example, if you are full and your aunt thinks you are taarofing, you are left
having to eat the second serving of her food. And if you don’t eat it, you may
insult her and her cooking.
Some of us wish we could do away with this tradition entirely
and just be more like Germans, but then again what would our mothers think?
Generally though, taarof at parties and social gatherings can be very charming,
fun and completely harmless. It is truly one of the greatest distinctly Persian
social behaviours that we can think of and is worth experiencing first hand" (Persian Mirror, “The Art of Taarof”).
I prefer directness to all of these mind games. If I want a
cookie, I should be able to take it on the first offer. If I don’t want a
cookie, I should be able to refuse it without having to worry about hurting the
other person’s feelings.
One thing I’ve noticed is that taarof isn’t really alive at
all amongst close relatives, at least in my own case. There’s no taarofing at
my aunt’s house, for instance. If I want something, I can take it, if I don’t
want something, I don’t take it. The more distant a person is, the more likely
it is that taarof will come into play.
The shopkeeper example that Persian Mirror gave is a bit
different in my experience – typically, if you ask how much an item is a small
boutique, the shopkeeper will say “ghabelee nadaree” (“it is worth nothing”)
once and then tell you the price. You don’t have to ask two or three times.
I haven’t come across hard and heavy taarof while here, just
casual taarof. This could be due to a number of elements – I haven’t been
around too many distant relatives and no casual friends.
However, even though I think taarof wastes time, I do
understand that’s an important and distinct part of Persian culture. For the
life of me, I can’t remember where I read this, but it went something like this
(I don’t know to what extent this is true, but it makes sense): Persians became
an indirect people because they had too. Ancient Persia was invaded by
different people throughout different historical periods, and people had to
learn how to conceal their true intentions if they wanted to survive.
And… look, I found the article! It’s a piece by Marguerite
Del Giudice for National Geographic Magazine called “Persia: Ancient Soul of
Iran” (http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/print/2008/08/iran-archaeology/del-giudice-text)
published in August 2008.
She writes, “Being smooth and seeming sincere while hiding
your true feelings—artful pretending—is considered the height of taarof and an
enormous social asset. ‘You never show your intention or your real
identity," said a former Iranian political prisoner now living in France.
"You're making sure you're not exposing yourself to danger, because
throughout our history there has been a lot of danger there.’” The reason for
this danger, she writes, is because of geography: “Indeed, the long course of
Iranian history is saturated with wars, invasions, and martyrs, including the
teenage boys during the Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s who carried plastic keys to
heaven while clearing minefields by walking bravely across them. The underlying
reason for all the drama is: location. If you draw lines from the Mediterranean
to Beijing or Beijing to Cairo or Paris to Delhi, they all pass through Iran,
which straddles a region where East meets West. Over 26 centuries, a blending
of the hemispheres has been going on here—trade, cultural interchange,
friction—with Iran smack in the middle.”
Taarof is ingrained in me too, whether I like or not. I’ve
learned that taarof doesn’t work back in the States, however. But even back home, I will admit that I guess, in a way, I expect those of Iranian origin to partake in taarof, or at least try to... although here, I’ve
found myself saying, “taarofee nistam” (“I’m not taarof-y). I understand the
cultural and historical reasons for taarof, even though I don’t view it as
efficient and do participate in it myself.
And for that, I will not miss taarof in Iran.
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