On Mom’s Side
My mom has always kept to herself - she has the kindest heart but is a quiet soul; a quality we both share.
We’ve spent many summers in her homeland, and half my childhood still remains in my grandparent’s house. As I have grown, I’ve realised how much I don’t know about my mom, and how disconnected I feel from the very people and places who were once my second home. Recently, she has started recording her story for us; her experiences, hardships and her joys as a daughter, mother and immigrant.
In my journey to better understand my mom and her culture, I have begun an ongoing series of images from over the years to accompany her words through my eyes.
“My name is Tarana, which means melody in Farsi…I was born in an industrial city called Yevlakh.”
“Growing up was not different from average children. We lived in an apartment in a friendly environment.”
“Shura Nene used to take us into the mountains. We would pick fine-leaf thyme, which we then dried and used to brew tea.”
“If she saw a small running waterfall, she would bathe in it and I would cry that a snake may come and bite her. The scenery was fantastic.”
“As she got older her neighbours helped her by baking bread in their tendir oven.”
“I remember a van would be come with all kind of things to sell. There were no shops around. Again, markets were quite a distance away. People used to do farming and mind cattle.”
“Across the road from her house there were cotton fields, and we used to eat on the patio. Sometimes small planes would spread pesticides over them but they would start before the actual fields, and the pesticides would fall on us and our food.”
“My mom’s parents were from Khydyrly village, Agdam, Karabakh region, yes the same Kharabakh.
In Khydyrly we lived at the bottom of the mountains called “Yeddi Khyrman.” The garden had fruits like quince, cornelian cherry, pears, apples, huge mulberry tree, peach, pomegranate and some berries.”
“I liked climbing the mulberry tree and singing.
When I missed my parents I used sit on the tree and watch the road on the horizon to see if dad is coming. He used to drive a white car from his work place.”
“Dad planted white grape vines and a climbing rose plant. The rose would blossom at spring and every morning my dad would pick one rose and would rest it next to my nose.”
“All the above is written for my two girls, whom I love more than anybody. I want them to give value to family, to know their roots. As you get older, you appreciate and cherish your heritage.”
“I wish I made notes while growing up about my family history. There is no one to ask now. Keep that in mind.
Be happy and stay well, your mom.”