It’s come to my attention after 30something years of living in America that the English language is lacking. In hindsight, ESL did us a disservice, because when it comes to language, Persian is way more expressive and rich. We don’t simply say “I love you.” We say “God willing I get sacrificed for your face.” We don’t just announce “I hate her.” We say “May she be buried and covered with dirt.” And if we ever “disrespect” someone by sitting with our back towards them (like at a concert or restaurant or some other place where you have to do so), we artfully apologize, and in response we don’t get an “It’s okay.” We get “Please, flowers don’t have a back or front.”
When it comes to being immoderately loving, intensely angry and spiteful, or just unduly polite, we don’t fuck around.
But let’s start with some everyday terms English speakers can adopt to season your otherwise bland, watery conversations.
Bekar (bee-car)
Literally translates to “without work.” But what it actually means is “this person has absolutely nothing better to do with their life and the only way to fill that void of uselessness is to make others miserable by creating petty, time-consuming problems that should not exist in the first place.” That’s the more accurate description. In a sense, whoever is bekar has a lot of time on their hands that they’re misusing.
For example, some would say Machine Gun Kelly and Megan Fox drink each other’s blood because they’re super bekar. Or Kirk Cameron–maybe if he was still acting and wasn’t so bekar, he’d stop pushing homeschooling on everyone. No one has time for that.
That one word tells you all you need to know about a person. No further elaboration required.
But sometimes you need bekar people in your life. Let’s say you’re at an HOA meeting (this is very hypothetical because I’d never do such a thing) and everyone is fighting over whether we should heat the pool by one more degree or not. You get emails and texts about this. You wonder if it’s really worth anyone’s time and say to yourself Jesus Christ these people are really bekar. How much can one degree affect anything?
But then that one person fighting to heat the pool by a whopping one degree turns out to be absolutely correct and I will forever love her for it.
This just goes to show you, in life you need bekar people to help get things done that you would never attempt because when I’m bekar, I’m watching 30 Rock reruns and having epiphanies about why Liz Lemon pretends she’s so unattractive when literally every single boyfriend is hot? (Jon Hamm? Matt Damon? The All State mayhem guy?)
But then again, if I created a show about myself, starring myself, I’d one thousand percent cast Henry Cavill to be my sex slave. So no shade there.
Hos (ho-sssss)
“Hos” is short for “hoseleh.” It’s not pronounced “hoes.” It’s more like the first syllable of “hostess.” There is no literal translation, but I would say this is one of the most important Persian terms to learn. It basically means “I have neither the desire, the emotional or physical strength, nor the capacity it takes to do [fill in blank].” The word is so true to itself that no one even has the hos to say the whole word “hoseleh.”
On the surface, it sounds like it just means “I don’t feel like it.” But it’s more than that. It encapsulates the deep, soul-crushing adversity of having to EVER do that thing, call that person, clean that mess, or just general living. It’s not simply “I don’t want to go to that party.” It’s more like “I have no hos for this party because I absolutely do not care for anything that is associated with this event and I never want to have it mentioned it in my presence again.” It doesn’t have to always be this melodramatic, but it probably will be because Persians by default are melodramatic.
You can apply this term to anything from small daily chores; i.e. I have zero hos to fold this laundry that’s been sitting in the middle of my bedroom indefinitely. Or more consequential things, like your friend or your cousin is going to have a baby and your first reaction is I literally have zero hos for this baby.
Tarof (ta-roef)
This one annoys the shit out of non-Iranians, especially waiters or cashiers at restaurants who just want you to pay the bill and leave, but instead have to stand there awkwardly while you try to convince them to take your credit card over your friend’s, citing–falsely–that it’s their birthday. Then your friend body slams you to the side, insisting to pay while citing–also very falsely–that you passed the BAR exam or just came back from a Mars expedition and have to be treated to a meal.
To tarof means to show extreme, usually disingenuous, courtesy. God help any of you who are about to get into the elevator with two Persian men. Hope you packed some snacks, because you’re not going anywhere. These two grown ass Middle Eastern men can’t get into the elevator until one of them agrees to go first.
After you.
No, please after you.
Please, I insist, after you.
I’m your slave, please, you first.
If you’re really in a rush, your best bet is to push them both in at the same time.
It’s not just extreme courtesy, though. Persians also tarof a lot when offered something, like food or an invitation to dance. It’s seen as polite to demurely refuse the first fifty times they ask, and then you reluctantly get up and as soon as you hit the dance floor you act like it’s your Broadway debut.
For those of us Persians who are pretty much American, this backfires a lot. One, I don’t refuse food if I want it, and sometimes I feel like it’s taboo that I take 3 baklavas the first time they’re offered. Then again, when I really don’t want to dance, or eat another serving, or hold someone’s baby, they insist I stop tarofing and next thing you know I’m standing there with a piece of chicken in my mouth, holding a baby on the dance floor.
It takes a lot of hos to be Persian.
Yopes (yo-ps)
I love this one. Literally means constipated. Okay, not literally–it describes a person who is extremely lacking in personality or straight-up has a stick up their butt, either temporarily or forever as their brand. It’s someone whose existence is neutral and indifferent at best, and purely toxic at worst. It can go a lot of ways.
Let’s say one of your friends doesn’t want to go to Disneyland with you and a bunch of 7-year-olds. She claims (rightfully) that she’s not tarofing and that she literally has no hos for Disneyland or children (including her own). You say, “stop being so yopes and come.” There’s no guarantee that insulting your friend will work, but you never know until you try.
Or you can say it about a complete stranger you’ve never met but feel every right to judge. Like there’s a mom at my son’s school that never ever talks to me or acknowledges my existence (which is weird because clearly I’m delightful). But I don’t take it personally because I assume she’s just yopes.
Oghdeh (oh-gh-deh)
Most of you can’t pronounce this word. It’s not the “gh” sound like “ghost.” It’s the “gh” sound that comes from deep down in your throat, like you’re gargling salt water. Oghdeh means having a big void in your soul that is causing you to act a fool in order to fill it. We don’t always know what the void is, but we know that person is trying really hard to compensate. (i.e. Tucker Carlson. Maybe he wasn’t loved and no one listened to him and now he’s found his people. Who knows. But he definitely has oghdeh.)
First person that comes to mind is Britney Spears’ boyfriend, Sam Asghari. I watched enough YouTube videos to know that he used to be overweight and that’s still really weighing on him. (Ha! Get it?) He’s desperate to be attractive and macho, so his default is flexing, doing that sexy pouty face, and vowing to protect Britney at all costs (I don’t know how he thinks his muscles will heal all her emotional damage, but OK). Someone who has oghdeh has something to prove. Sam has a lot of it. And that never ends well for those around them.
This concludes our first Persian lesson. (Yes, it’s “Persian,” not “Farsi.” Do not get me started on this.)
