Pari Aba Solati 

Journalist & chief editor of Etelaat Banovan & Rahe Zendegi Magazines

In Everlasting Memory

Lila Kasra was a young teenage girl when she started to work with the magazine Ettelaateh Bannouan at the start, only her short poems were published in the magazine. A few years later when I became the editor of the magazine, knowing that she was familiar with the English language I asked her to translate some short passages. Eventually, each week she would translate a short and heartwarming story, which attracted a lot of attention. 

Little by little, she started to work as a songwriter, which caught the attention of musicians and singers. Her collaborations with Haydee and other singers and musicians increased the extent of her fame. 

Our weekly meeting, and monthly dinners with our colleagues cultivated a strong friendship between us.

Our last meeting in Iran took place at her house when I found out that she was sick. I was very upset, but I tried my best to give her hope. In America, whether in San Francisco or Los Angeles, at home, in a restaurant or in a hospital, these meetings continued. Our last phone conversation was up to the point when she was still able to talk. 

Her beautiful and kind face is instilled in my memory, and her everlasting songs will keep her memory alive for those who continue to love her. 

Fataneh Kasra

Lilas Kasra's friend

The eagle that escaped at dawn

At the same time as the 1979 revolution, I immigrated from Iran and settled in America with my spouse and my two daughters, first in Sacramento and later in Los Angeles. As with the other Iranian immigrants who had left their comfortable living conditions in the hope of finding freedom and tranquility while embracing a completely new and unfamiliar environment, I began to work in a newly established record company so that I could help build a new life. After a while, having gained some experience I began to work in a record company called Taraneh. This company was founded by Vartan Avanissian who along with Jahangir Tabarayi initially began to remake and publish songs sung by artists in Pre-Revolutionary Iran, and after a gradual migration of some artists to the United States, he began recording and publishing their new work. 

I was very active in this field and worked hard to advance the art of Iranian music and help those who were involved. Through this endeavor, I managed to get to know Iranian singers, composers, and songwriters. I knew some of of them closely, and some I knew only by their names and through their art. Lila Kasra was part of the second group. I had never met her before, but I had heard her beautiful poems a lot and liked them very much. I had written many articles about the richness of her poetry and poetic power, which had been published in publications such as “Youth.” I knew she was a very capable and talented songwriter. I also knew that she lived in Northern California in a small town called Petaluma and that she was also struggling with a severe illness.

 One day I much to my surprise received a phone call and heard the poet’s voice on the other side of the line. She seemed to know that I worked for Taraneh and was quite familiar with my expertise in advertiseming and public relations for music artists. I was also delighted to hear her voice. She expressed interest in meeting me. Along with her husband Ekandar Afshar, she came to Los Angeles from Northern California. I visited her at the hotel where she was staying. She was an extremely beautiful woman and not even cancer and numerous chemotherapy sessions had managed to diminish her beauty. She was tall and slemder. While she was very serene, she was in full control of herself and the environment around her. 

We talked for a long time. She had read the articles I had written about her and acknowledged them in her conversations with me. We gradually became close. Leila wanted me to be with her all the time. I liked her too and tried to use my professional expertise in a manner that best fitted her and supported the advancement of her career. 

Leila quickly and seriously pursued her work. The singers insisted on performing her songs, and Lila, who was unfamiliar with the atmosphere and artistic environment of the city consulted with me and did not agree to give a song to any singer without seeking my opinion first. In that period, she wrote about sixty songs. She worked with numerous composers and singers, most of whom were and still are the most well-known and popular artists of the time. Leila’s songs were a great boost to the popularity and fame of most singers of her time. Most of these were written at the time of her illness and before her numerous surgeries and hospitalization

The singer Haydee was Lila’s close friend, and her voice was Lila’s favorite. She was truly taken by Hayedeh’s voice. She wrote her most beautiful poems for Hayedeh. Leila’s poems culminate in the transcendence and richness of Hayedeh’s voice.

The first time I talked to Leila, she told me the story of how she wrote her first poem. As she said “I was a noisy and restless girl who studied hard, and this restlessness led me to get bad grades in the seventh grade while attending Anoushirvan Dadgar High School. As a result, I was banned from attending the class for two days. I wrote a few bits of poetry on the blackboard that I cannot recall now. But the theme, which had been written with a rhyme was sufficient to convince me that I had talent and that I did not need good grades and should not be ashamed of being a bad scholar.

Lila’s father Colonel Mahmoud Kasra, also known as Mahmoud Mirza, was one of the descendants of Fathali Shah Qajar. The emblem of the monarchy in this family was hereditary, and today it is in the possession of her brother (my husband) Anushirvan Kasra. Lila really was a princess. She dressed, talked, and vowed her audience. Her beautiful face, the way she carried herself and her general persona would envite people to listen and respect her. Her husband Eskandar loved her and tried in every way to make her wishes come through. I believe Leila was more in love with Eskandar than he was in love with her. Eskandar was the lover and the object of affection in all of Lila’s love songs 

In the final months of her life, Leila was heart-broken and depressed. She was very tired and annoyed with everyone and everything. There were times where I felt as if the spirit of life was escaping in her eyes. She wanted me to throw a large party after her death and to invite all her acquaintances so that they could rejoice her life. She always asked people to take care of her kids. She was especially always worried about her youngest Alidad, who was young and more vulnerable than her other sons Pasha and Johnny. 

The last time she was admitted to UCLA, I was asked to go and visit her, which I quickly did. When she saw me for the last time, she said excitedly:

“Come on, look, my father’s here.” 

And one by one she called on her acquaintances that she would see around her.

“Fataneh, did you say hello to my father?” 

And I responded:

“Hello, Mr. Kasra…”

I could not hold back my tears. I left the room while crying uncontrollably.  Outside the room, the doctor told Eskandar and Anoushirvan that this would be the last night of her life and it would be better for her to spend these last hours at home surrounded by her loved ones. 

She was very alert and aware. I couldn’t fathom that this was the last night of her life. She told me that Pasha’s daughter would be born the next day and to call her “Lila.” 

Pasha’s daughter Lexi was born the next day.

That night they brought Lila home. Those close to her were waiting for her, including her beloved Aunt Molouk, myself, and a pious woman who was an acquaintance of Lila and whom Leila loved very much. She laid down on the couch, and I put a pillow under his head. Upstairs, Eskandar, Anoushirvan, and the children watched television. She asked everyone to come down. All the family members gathered around her. She told Eskandar, “I’m dying, and I have a request, bury me like a Muslim, throw me a party, but don’t mourn. But if you want to mourn me, try to throw a large and well- organized celebration of my life get together. Then as if she was tired, she closed her eyes and went to sleep. 

I was sitting on the floor next to her, holding her hand, my head next to her on the couch and together we went to sleep. 

Suddenly, I woke up feeling cold and terrified of this unusual coldness. Layla’s hand was frozen, crumpled and numb in my hand. Cold Cold…oh, so cold.

Mehdi Zokaei asked me to an write an article as Lila’s obituary for youth magazine and I wrote the following: 

“The eagle that escaped at dawn…”

Parivn Norouzian  

Lilas Kasra's friend

She wrote poetry, She loved, and she suffered!

My name is Parvin Norouzian, a close friend of Lila Kasra. I came to the United States at age the age of 18. My father was a physician who sent all his kids to the Unites States. And I got married in this country. My first marriage did not work out and sometime later I married for the second time to Kamran, who was the nephew of Iskandar Afshar (Lila Kasra’s husband) and it was through this marriage that I got to know Lila. Lila had a very upscale life- style along with a large and luxurious house. She had three sons who were taken care of with the help of a Filipino lady who also taught them English. 

The first time I met Lila was in 1977 this was the day she came along with Iskandar to his mother’s house. Iskandar’s mother was also my husband’s grandmother. It was obvious that Lila, who was a well-known poet at the time and happened to be the daughter in law of this family, was socially, culturally, and educationally more distinguished than those around her. I remember that it was on this day that she told the family that the very day she was leaving for the United Kingdom where she would seek treatment for breast cancer. 

Lila went to the United Kingdom and went through an operation in London. Unfortunately, the operation was unsuccessful and non-conclusive, and Lila came back to Iran. Later, I got to know Lila better in the United States and became closer to her. I was pregnant the first time I went to meet her. I was very sad; we discussed my problems to which she was very familiar. I also had two sons that were playmates to Pasha & Johnny since they were very close in age. They played together and had fun with horses and motorcycles on the large piece of land and farm that belonged to the Afshar family. 

I had problems in my life with my husband from the beginning because we did not think alike, we had different upbringings, and cultural differences. Constant heartbreaks and problems prevented me from living a peaceful life. 

At that time Lila was very a big help to me. We had common problems and understood each other without having to say a word about it. Lila was very bright, aware, educated, powerful, wise, and above it all pure, honest, and intimate. Among all Iranians that I have met during my long life, I have never met anybody like Lila when it comes to being trueful and honest. She suffered a lot in the artistic community which caused her heartbreaks, especially when it came to making and the recording her last album with the voices of the famous singers. She suffered a lot because of the dishonest and disingenuous way they treated her. 

During out time in Petaluma, I got really close to Lila. We spent a lot of time together. Sometimes I felt as if she was not feeling well. I could see that she was a mess, and struggling. Then, without saying a word, she would pick up a pen and a piece of paper climb up in the nearby hills. I would not see her for a few hours after which she would appear excited and happy and say, “Parvin come so that I can read you this new poem.” 

The key to Lila’s existence was the love she had for her children and her passion for poetry. Writing and reciting poetry was the greatest source of happiness and peace for her. It was the air that made her heart beat and brought joy to her soul. 

During the last year of her life and filled with sickness and powerlessness, she was eager to see her close relative Aunt Molouk. She asked me to go to Turkey to help Aunt Molouk arrange her visit to America. She bought me a ticket and gave me some money to buy some jewelry for a girl that Pasha liked. In those days it was very difficult for folks to get visas from the American Embassy in Turkey. Those who sought visas had to wait for weeks in long lines. I am somewhat familiar with the Turkish language so when we went to the American embassy. I spoke to one of the guards outside the embassy telling him the reason behind our request, and with his help we managed to enter the embassy. I proceeded to explain the extent of Lila’s disease and Aunt Molouk’s role to the consul and very quickly, on the same day we got an American visa for Aunt Molouk and brought her to Lila’s side within a few days. The image of her happy and incredulous face the moment she saw her aunt, holding onto her and crying from joy, is still very clear in my mind. I believe that at that moment the last wish of her life had been granted. 

The Afshar family lived in Petaluma, and we lived in Berkley. In those days a famous musician named Farid Zaland, who played the piano, had come to Petaluma. The very famous and memorable song called “Harab”, performed by Haydee with the music by Farid Zaland, was created at this time. Nobody was able to hear this song and its music and not be taken by it. After all these years, and the passing of both Lila and Haydee, it still feels as if this poem was written today and Haydee is singing it right now.. Let us keep their memory dear in our hearts!

Lila wrote poems, and famous singers, such as Haydee, Ebi, Sattar, and Moin and others wanted her to write songs for them. At one point when she felt better and saw improvements in her health Lila told me that she felt as if her disease had regressed, she had made a pact with God that after her recovery she would stop writing poetry and end her career as a poet. Unfortunately, the disease did not let go of her. Ten years later, she still carried the heavy burden, and she continued to write her poems until her very last dying breath. She loved and suffered. 

Constant back and forth from northern California to Los Angeles, where she was forced to go for treatment, led to the family finding an apartment in the Los Aneles area and they started living there. At this time, despite her disease, she entered head on in the artistic world and the Iranian community in Los Angeles. The agony due to conflicts, competitions, and pains coming from this environment and society added even more to Lila’s previous sufferings. 

She was very serious in everything she did. Every word of what she wrote was part of her life, and when it came to her poems, she embodied them with all the feelings and existence she had within her.  She did not write poetry so that she could gain fame and did not  involve herself in anything to do with competition, jealousy, and disingenuousness. 

Despite her physical weakness, she continued her work. I remember when ithe time came to produce her last album, she worked uninterrupted for 20 straight hours until she had finished did what she set out to do. During Lila’s life, I knew and socialized with her friends and acquaintances. After Lila’s death, I did socialize with any of them. I was aware of Lila’s pains and sufferings, and I did not want to have anything to do with those who had disturbed her peace 

As time went by, Lila became infirm and feeble. She had lost all her energy. The wretched cancer would not leave her alone, and she became very ill. I travelled from Berkley to Los Angeles on any occasion I could to see her. The last time I visited, with tears in her eyes, she begged me not to leave her side and to delay my return. Unfortunately, I could not stay and had to get back home. After all these years, I still regret that decision. I regret and will never forgive myself. Two days later Pasha called and gave me the bad news: Aunt Parvin, Mom passed away!

Only God knows how I felt then and under what psychological pain and sorrow did I go to see her. That day was the most bitter day of my life. It was the first time that I participated in the preparation of a burial of a human being. Nahid, Anoush’s first wife, and another friend were also there. 

Death is certain and natural. We will all die and go. But Lila’s death was hard for me, very hard. She was a great woman and a true lady. She was very humane. I returned to Berkley a week after the ceremony.

The memory of Lila is always alive for me. I have never suffered this degree of pain in my life. I have never had a sister. Lila and I were like sisters. She was an exceptional woman. She was honorable and virtuous, she never lied, she never bad mouthed anyone, and she was never disingenuous with people. Lila was very intelligent. She understood everything, and consequently she suffered a lot.

Her disease and the depression it caused, her regret for being away from Iran, and the unhealthy and disingenuous professional atmosphere, took away all her strength and her passion for life. Unfortunately, she left this world too early. She died young and took away with her all the passion and poetry and the restlessness of a soul and loving heartbeats of her kind heart, 

I have always carried the burden and sorrow of having to go on without her and only having to hold unto our memorize close to my heart. 

Maryam Sadri

Lila's Familt Member

Lila was beautiful both inside & out

For me to talk about my deep relationship with Lila, I first must provide the readers with a little background about my own life. I grew up in England and spent most of my early life in a Boarding School before going to the United States in the pursuit of a higher-level education. Going back to Iran after all the years being away and not having a full knowledge of the customs, the language, and the rich literature of our culture was already difficult, and it became even more difficult when I married into the Kasra family. 

My husband Massoud, much like his sister Lila, was enthralled with poetry and loved to participate in the get togethers Leila had at her house in which many of the famous poets and singers of the time participated. At these gatherings, poets would recite their poetry and singers would sing their songs through to the early hours of the morning. Imagine me, barely able to speak the language, yet alone understand the meaning of the poetry sitting in these “bazm” sessions for hours on end. I would be at a loss of what to do to hold myself from falling asleep!

Eventually my husband Massoud, who understood the difficult situation I was in, decided to teach me to understand and interpret the deep feeling expressed through poetry in the recited poems. We would sit in the middle of our bed for hours going line by line through different poems, especially Lila’s, until I understood the full meaning of what they intended to convey. Thus began my appreciation of poetry and my love for Lila and her poems.

The feelings she conveyed in her poems really touched my heart. She conveyed her own deep feelings through her poems, and once I began to understand them, we grew closer together. I remember asking her how she came to write her first poem, she said she was in the shower and looking at the soap suds going down the drain inspired her to write what came to her mind on paper and that is where it all began. 

Lila and Eskandar had a beautiful villa near the Caspian Sea. They loved getting the family together there. Our children grew up having wonderful memories of these visits in which Leila showered us with her love, wonderful food, and lots of good times. She was always a very giving person, always wanting to share what she had with everyone. 

I remember the night we went to dinner with Fereydoun Khoshnoud, who was the first person with whom Lila collaborated when it came to brining her lyrics to the music scene and to having her songs performed by famous singers of the time. Seeing the excitement in Leila’s eyes was something I will never forget! It was as if she finally realized her worth and the knowledge that the world wanted to hear her poems and be serenaded through her songs.

We were all excited to go to this fancy party that was hosted by a very well-known Iranian family in Iran. We prepared by getting new dresses, shoes, bags, and did our hair and makeup, ready to have a ball. When Lila came to put on her dress, she suddenly felt the lump in her breast, this was devastating for her. She called, distraught and frightened. We ended up not going to the party and spending the night trying to console her and reassuring her that it was probably nothing to be concerned about and that all would end well. I wish that was the case. It was the beginning of a nightmare for her and for all that loved her.

We hugged and cried together so many times before she left for England to pursue her treatment of this terrible cancer.

The next time I saw Lila was in the United States when she was undergoing treatment at UCLA and lived in an apartment in Los Angeles with her entire family. We were both so excited to see each other again after all those years. She continued to recite her poems, and our friendship continued until she became too sick to be at able to stay home and was admitted to UCLA.

I visited her often, but as sick as she was, she insisted that I call before visiting her because she wanted me to see her made up and looking pretty and elegant! 

She was always beautiful both inside and out. she had a very pure soul that only wanted to help the people in need and to share whatever she had with the people that she loved. She was also quick to forgive, many had done her wrong throughout her life, but she strived to show them she was who she was and that forgiveness was part of her being. 

Her death was a big blow not only to us and to her family but to the entire population of Iran who were deprived of one their most talented poets who was able to bring out her emotions through her words and to turn those word into beautiful songs that touched one’s soul.

My love will always be with her and her children,

Ali Reza Kasra

Lila's Familt Member

Poetry was the Greatest Source of Happiness & Peace for Lila

I never had a chance to really know my late aunt Lila Kasra. What I know of her I have heard and learned from other family members. She was the oldest sister of my father, Massoud Kasra. They had other sisters and brothers but these two were the ones that had the gift of poetry. 

I have some memories of my aunt from my childhood before her departure from Iran in 1977.  I clearly remember her home in Tehran and her villa in northern Iran by the Caspian Sea. I loved the times all our families would come together at the villa. She was such a gracious host and always gave us the best time possible.

 I saw her again a few times in Los Angeles in the fall of 1988 after I too came to the United States. At that time, she was living with her family in Woodland Hills. By that time her disease had progressed, and she was very sick. She died in May 1989. As her friend Parvin writes in her statement, “Writing and reciting poetry was the greatest source of happiness and peace for Lila. It was the air that made her heartbeat and brought joy to her soul.” This is something she had in common with my father. 

My father also had a great love for Iranian poetry, particularly when it came to the works of classical poets like Rumi, Hafez, and Saa’di. But he also appreciated the works of modern poets such as Mirzadeh Eshghi & Fereydoun Moshiri. He too was the happiest when he was reciting, or discussing, the works of these great poets. 

In the early 1980’s we were at my grandmother Ghamar’s house in Iran one night when Lila called from America and had a long conversation with my dad about a poem she had recently written. 

Her poem was inspired by: 

“  “ 

which is the famous work of the legendary poet Rudaki. This poem expressed her unhappiness about the course of events in Iran and for her being away from her country. In her poem, she makes references to Imam Ali and Hafez which I am sure made it more appealing to my father.  

After the call my father sat down at the dining table and tried to console her by writing a response to what she had written. Later, he mailed it to her; she was surprised and loved the way he was able to integrate her piece into his poetry. 

This is a great example of their closeness as brother and sister and their mutual love for poetry.  

Unfortunately, the brother and sister never had the chance to meet again. I would have liked to share with you what he wrote that night, but I do not have it in my possession. But this is what she had written:

I am sure that now, even in the heavens, they are still exchanging poetry and enjoying each other’s company!

May they both rest in peace.

Eskandar Afshar

Lila's Husband

Lila was an exceptional lady, full of emotions and sensitivity.

Lila was an exceptional lady, full of emotions and sensitivity. 

I often speak to Eskandar Afshar, Lila’s husband, he returned to Iran after Leila’s passing and now lives in Tehran. Recently, they went on a short trip to northern Iran. Azar is Eskandar’s second wife. As was the case with Eskandar, Azar also lost her spouse after his long struggle with Cancer. They live together sharing the burden of their pasts and individual losses in their hearts. 

One late fall night in Los Angeles we managed to connect with them in a city in northern Iran by phone.

 I had heard from Pasha about Azar’s serenity, her affability, and her kindness and empathy towards Eskandar’s three children. 

Eskandar Afshar, Lila’s husband and the man who lived with her for more than 30 years, was not only the main admirer of her beautiful and loving songs, but he was also a source of her escapism from the pain caused by her terrible disease. 

Eskandar struggles to have a conversation. He insists he has amnesia and has memory loss and says that he is now 90 years old and has forgotten everything for quite some time now. I will try to speak to him and draw him into a conversation about how he met Lila. 

My eldest brother was initially a colleague of Lila’s father in the Iranian army, and later they became friends. I met Lila during a family gathering with the Kasra’s. This acquaintance eventually led to a strong relationship and an intense love between us which resulted in our marriage. It was the same typical story of acquaintance, love, and marriage. 

Lila was an exceptional lady and a very good person. She had very reverential qualities. Her greatest qualities were her soulfulness and her softheartedness. In fact, you might say, she was too emotional. I am unable to recall an unpleasant quality in her. She was good in every way, and I was committed to her and loved her. We got married, and our three boys were the result of our life together. We had a romantic life and were happy until this deadly disease slowly ravaged her body and eventually took her life. 

At the start, we tried to find a cure for her in Iran and relied on the best disease specialists available at the time. But they found the disease uncurable and did not manage to find a cure. It had a been a year and half since the revolution. At the time, Lila’s aunt lived in England, and we made the decision to travel and continue the pursue of a cure in England. Thus, Lila went through treatment in London for a while. She also went through an unsuccessful surgery with no positive outcome which made us even more skeptical. 

Lila’s bother Anoushirvan Kasra, lived in the United States, he shared the specifics of her illness with renowned specialists in America, and according to the advice he received and upon his recommendation, Lila and I traveled to the United States along with our children. 

I cannot recall precisely, but I imagine that Lila was under constant treatment for about 12 to 13 years in America. She endured several surgeries and struggled with illness, pain, and suffering and ultimately succumbed to the disease.

It was impossible for me to continue living in that environment after Lila’s passing. I came back to Iran and stayed here. My kids were young then. My oldest son Pasha was 23 at the time. 

Ultimately, Lila was gentle minded and full of emotions. She wrote love poems that had lots of enthusiasts and fans. I was not of the same mind set as her as far as her mental and emotional state when it came to her poems and thus did not interfere in these matters. I would read her poems or listen to them. But I did not express my opinion when it came to these things. I am a farmer. The truth of it is that I am a peasant, and I am not familiar at all with poems and poetry. Following my return to Iran, I managed to get back some of the lands that we owned, and even at this age I still farm. My only problem is my memory loss. I am not even able to recall the date of my own birth. I also cannot deal with speaking on the phone. If Azar does not help me, I would not be able to manage anything. 

Lila wrote lots of love poems. She believed she had written them all for me. I also really loved her. I was much more in love with her than she was in love with me There was a true mutual love between us. 

Lila was a very good wife for me and was an extraordinary mother to our children. She was very soft hearted and full of affection. She was basically a very kind and honest lady who was praised and admired everywhere. She liked to help people. If she felt somebody needed her help, she never had any doubts about going and helping that person. She was loveable 

I miss Lila tremendously, and I cannot describe how empty her absence is in my life. She is always with me. I have spent all the moments of my life, whether they were before or after her death, with Lila Today, 30 years has passed since she left me, but it is as if she is still always by my side and in part of my being. 

 Her entire life is dear memory for me. Her manner of speaking, her laughter, her sadness and gestures, her walk, the way she sat and and stood up are all vivid in my memory. 

I am away from my children. I love them more than my eyes. They are busy with their own work and life, and I am here, in Iran. This was our destiny and sadly, there is no way to escape from what was meant to be.

ALIDAD AFSHAR

Lila's Son

“My Mother Was Made of Love”

We actually didn’t have a traditional family life. My mother was very sick for most of my life and that combined with being a well known poet and lyricist, she was very busy.  She was always in touch with a great number of artists, singers, musicians, arrangers and a lot of friends and fans. My brothers and I  grew up like wild flowers because my parents were so occupied with battling my mother’s cancer and their careers. We had to take care of ourselves and find our ways in life, from school affairs and everything else that we needed in life. It felt like we were all on our own. 

When she was not dealing with hospitals, recording studios, or meeting with friends; her warm embrace was the safest place in the world for me when I was a young boy. I loved and admired her greatly. I admired her character.  When my friends were not around, I followed her everywhere. While among our American friends and their families, who were used to their “All American” ways of life in the small community of Petaluma, California, our parent’s style of life was more in vogue with Persian immigrants, aristocratic.  That would embarrass me when I was young. Later in life, I learned that what used to embarrass me was actually a gift and I should have embraced being different as I do now.

I was much younger than my brothers Pasha and Johnny, and couldn’t have as much time to myself. Therefore I had more time with her. I would go to recording studios, sit in a corner on the floor, and spend my time day dreaming, playing or doing whatever I could to pass the time.  At times I felt like I was wasting my time. I was also around when her friends would gather in our house or in parties she attended in their houses.

I loved cars as far back as I can remember, and especially remote control cars were my favorites as a child. When she had to go somewhere that I couldn’t accompany her, she would leave me with some friends in Petaluma. When we moved to Los Angeles she would leave me at the remote control race track in Northridge.  I was about 14 when I wanted a dirt bike and she decided it wasn’t safe. So she took me to a toy store and asked me to choose something for myself. I chose this Clod Buster Tamiya RC car, a big four wheel drive remote control truck. She paid $500 for that truck back in the 80s.  It was an expensive toy, but she never hesitated to spend money, and it’s a trait that I have inherited from her.

I will never forget the happiness I felt that day. I played with the truck for a while and competed with my friends, but I soon realized the large body of that truck caused me to lose a lot of competitions. She knew the reason for my annoyance was that other kids had smaller, faster cars and were winning all the races.  So she went right ahead and bought me a smaller, faster car, again of my own choosing. That day I felt like I had hit the biggest jackpot in the world. I was beyond myself. My happiness had no boundaries. Later on, I was able to own many more toys and many real cars, but I still have saved those two cars like a precious memento of the precious days of my life. 

Much later, I bought a 1980 Chevrolet 4×4 truck and was able to convert it into the exact replica of the remote control toy truck that my mother had bought me that day. I had to explain to others many times that I had actually converted the 1980 Chevrolet 4×4 truck to replicate my toy, and not the other way around. Because my friends had thought I had bought a toy truck to look like my real truck.

Later on, racing cars became the biggest part of my life. I became a professional race car driver for Subaru of America and set many world records.  I love racing and started when I was young doing illegal street racing and unfortunately have been arrested five times, but then I went pro and all was good!  I have won many races since 2001 and have won 18 championships and have the fastest Subaru in the world as well as my own “Ali Afshar Signature Series” Subaru vehicles sold directly thru Subaru dealers across the country.

In the years when I lived with the family, I was used to a house full of so much noise, many people who played music, recited poetry and argued about everything. They would get together, have dinner, light candles, and recite poetry. Many years passed till I realized what passionate moments they had in those friendly nights around each other. Hayedeh, Moein, Cheshmazar, Farid Zolond, Andranik, Mahasti, Mohammad Heydari, Andy and Kouros and many more.

I remember one night when they were all sitting around the dinner table, and Hayedeh started singing with her strong voice. I was not old enough to understand all that art, and was totally oblivious of all that talent and great voice. I could feel the walls of the house were trembling and felt like they may crumble down.

Our American friends would watch these gatherings with astonishment. My brothers and I didn’t realize at the time that these people were all the biggest stars of the Iranian music industry. Stars that were irreplaceable. 

I was very young when she passed away. My father handed me over to a couple who were his close friends promising to come back “in three months” from his trip to Iran. I had a remote control car in my right hand and a small suitcase in my left hand. Those three months became years. I was transferred from that friend’s house to another friend’s place and then again to another, until I joined my brothers.

Our Los Angeles house was gone. Our Aunt Molook who took care of my brothers after my mother’s death had gone back to Iran. We now we lived in a house that Pasha had rented with a group of his young friends. Pasha’s daughter, Lexy also lived with us. We had no money, not even enough to eat. Unfortunately, many times, we actually had to steal food.  But truly, I still don’t know how we managed to survive.

My mother was made of love. One could hear her heart beating in her poems. Passion was prevalent in her life, and was the brightest and liveliest characteristic of her life. All her life, in health or illness, in happy times and in sad times, in fortitude and in restless times, love and passion were burning in her soul. Lila and love, meant one and the same.

Today I believe that spending my youth with her and her emotional spirit has had a strong effect on me. It helped me enter a life of art professionally and to have a much better understanding of myself and the world around me. I feel like many of her emotional attachments, her personal and behavioral characteristics, and also her way of life have had a great effect on my life and my outlook, and even the way I conduct my life.

I believe my love of cinema, acting and producing movies is a direct aftermath of her strong traits that have nestled in me. When I produced a movie, and during all the interviews I had after its premier and in different Iranian and non-Iranian radio and TV programs, I always felt my mother’s presence. Especially when I produced a movie about a young Iranian and it was screened in America for the first time and it showed a good, positive character instead of a terrorist and corrupt person. I always felt her presence next to me after each one of these successes and I felt she was alive in my heart and in my soul.

I have a very bright and vivid memory of my mother. Pasha had gone to a studio in Hollywood to take a role in a movie. We were going there to pick him up. She entered the studio while I stayed in the yard where there was a basketball hoop and started playing. Then I noticed she came out of the building head ing to the car, in her elegant dress and high heels. She then suddenly began running towards me, took the ball out of my hands and ran to the basket. In one swoop, she dunked the basketball through the hoop. Then she walked to the car laughing and with a victorious look on her face. That is also an everlasting memory of my mother in my mind.

I have lived in America since I was very young. I believe this is a land of opportunity. One can try as hard as one can, and succeed. I feel happy about life in this country, while in the meantime, I believe we belong to a generation who became victims of the Iranian Revolution. We never had a normal life. We have set roots in this land, but we are not Americans. I never feel myself as an American, but I don’t feel at home in Iran either. I can speak Farsi just enough to get by, but cannot read or write whatsoever. However I can understand my mother’s poetry. It’s funny, I am both Iranian and American and at the same time I am neither. I am Iranian but I listen to American country music and rock and roll and I love it. It seems to me that my mother’s poetry is very similar to certain concepts of country music. You can hear cries of love and passion in those songs just like hers.

My heart has stopped, my dear,

I can’t breathe anymore

Ah, this land and this Earth

Is not but a cage for me

But a cage for me.

During our first years in America, my father bought 200 acres of land in Petaluma, in Sonoma County, in the wine country by Napa and just north of San Francisco. After a couple of years, he divided it into five parcels. The County asked us to designate a name for the street. We named the street after my mother, Lila Lane. She was still alive at the time.

Many years after the ranch was sold, we moved in Los Angeles, she eventually passed away, and our father returned back to Iran. And so begins the struggling and the hard years still to come for my brothers and I. When I could afford a better life, the most valuable asset that I could acquire was buying back my family ranch. This was 35 years after it had been sold originally by my father. I bought the property back because I wanted our family ranch to stay with us. I renovated the house and had a gift of a large portrait of her made by my friend, Mojgan Gomroki, which is hung on the wall along with this piece from one of her poems:

Oh, my dearest

Stay here and protect me

Be a kind support,

Be my traveling companion.

JAHANSHAH AFSHAR

Lila's Son

When My Mother Would Write Poetry
“She Would Take Flight & Would be Free of This World”

I was born in Tehran, and have been living in Phoenix, Arizona, with my wife and our children. We have two sons; James Eskandar, whom I have named after my father, and Shaun, the youngest.

I don’t remember much of my childhood. I know all was okay and at the same time, not so okay. We travelled from Iran to England, and finally to America. The haziest image of my life is of my mother. She was always sick as far back as I can remember. All my memories of her are related to her illness; either in the hospital, or in bed at home.

The passion of her life was poetry. Poetry and music would make her happy, and as the illness intensified, her only piece of mind was to lose herself in her craft. I was seven or eight years old when I found out about her cancer. I think of that moment like the very first memories of my life. It seems to me that I do not remember anything before that.

I think it was around 1978/1979 when I realized she was a poet, and that’s when we were living in London. Then slowly I got to know more about what she did and loved to do till the last moment of her life. She always had company, and she would read her poems for others all the time. Many singers were among her friends and acquaintances. They would come and go would sing her poems. She would ride with me in my car, and she would write, while I drove. I felt like she takes flight when she wrote a poem and would become free of this world. I was always very close to my mother. My teen years and youth were full of ups and downs. 

I remember one day in London, I was playing basketball with Alidad. Pasha was standing there watching us. Suddenly my mom showed up, took the ball away from us and started playing with us with such athleticism that shocked us all.

The long hours that she spent with musicians and singers to arrange her songs, on the one hand, and her illness on the other, caused problems between our mother and father. Her illness caused so anxiety, emotional stress and mental pressure on both of them. 

I have always had a good relationship with my brothers. There are so many common characteristics and attachments Pasha and I. I am very close to Alidad also and we speak all the time. Unfortunately I live far away from them both and can’t meet up with them as often as we all would like.

My mother was not always a happy woman, but she had a great sense of humor. Her passion and energy  would carry on to others around her and made them happy. She was in love with life. Cancer made her sad, and subsequently anxiety would replace her joy. As far as I can remember she battled with cancer for 13 years, which finally took her away from us.

After her death, our world was in disarray, and it felt like we had all lost our minds. My father returned to Iran and made it his home. My brothers and I were left alone and had to grow up fast. We tried to live our lives the best we could and we pushed each other forward. We grew up on a daily basis, without anybody around us to show us how to deal with everything. We didn’t know what to do and how to survive. Somehow, however, life went on, while it felt like we had actually lost both of our parents. But I know that my mother’s presence will never leave us.

PASHA AFSHAR

alidad-lila-kasra-05

I Descibe My Mother “As an Angel”

The description, in my view, is a bright and expressive image of a woman whose very life meant nothing but love, sacrifice and compassion. You would think she was a spirit from above.

When she left us, I was about twenty three years old and I well understood the death’s inevitability in life, notwithstanding I believed she was going to live forever. I simply believed her love and her support would be with us as long as we live.

All I remember of my mother is her love for anything and everything good, gentle and noble in life, however I didn’t fully understand the meaning of these words. 

Today when I recall my childhood, I see my mother woven into all that is beautiful. She didn’t know evil, and she couldn’t tolerate people’s pain, suffering and deprivation. 

I remember her riding in my father’s Pontiac, full of clothes and food to donate to the poor neighborhoods of Tehran. I was just six or seven years old. I would sit next to her and watch the people who would run after our car to receive the donations. One of those days, I recall a five or six year old girl with dirty blonde hair and green eyes who caught my attention. It was probably the first time I had been mesmerized by a girl’s stare. We were staring at each other; maybe for just a few seconds which felt like a lifetime. She then ran to get food from my mother. 

This green magical gaze had a lasting impression in my mind, and every time I see someone with green eyes, I remember her. I have thought of that day many times. Back then I couldn’t fully grasp the highs and lows of life and recognize the fact that life is full of injustices. 

Years passed and I reached a period in my life when providing the minimum for survival was a great wish demanding a greater will. How interesting that life took such a turn when we went from the days of riding along in the car with my parents handing out food and goods to the needy to struggling for food and necessities for ourselves. Life plays such strange game.

My mom was educated in London, England and knew that city very well. After graduating, she returned to Iran and got a job at the Petrochemical Company of Iran. Soon after she married my father, a high ranking officer of the National Bank of Iran, whom she loved passionately. They were made of totally different and even contrasting materials. Dad was the firstborn son in a traditional family belonging to the Afshar tribe. 

He was brought up in a noble feudal system and his word was an order to be carried out with no ifs, ands or buts. If he was day, my mother was night. She was gentle and caring; she was vulnerable and knew what pain meant. She was compassionate and had a deep understanding of love. My mother’s art was not just poetry, it was lyrics of love, compassion, and as spiritual as one could be.

My dad’s love for sport hunting came to a pinnacle point on this one trip alongside my mother.  He randomly saw a deer and capitalized on a quick chance for the hunt. My mother’s love for all things and life itself was not one who could witness or allow a killing. So all the begging and pleading did not suffice and she threatened that she would leave my father if he killed the deer. The trigger was pulled, the deer was killed, and she was gone. But the separation didn’t last long. Dad was remorseful and tried hard to repair the damage. I am their first child and I have two brothers, Jahanshah and Alidad.

I remember well when she found out about her illness. I was eleven, and I was standing next to her when she was putting on a dress and felt this gland in her breast and touched it. This image is left in my mind vividly. I didn’t understand what a gland was and never had heard of cancer. Much later, I realized what she had gone through that day. She was thirty nine and Alidad had just been born. I will never forget the sudden pain and the fear emanating from her face in that moment. 

My youth passed with her illness. Her dealing with the illness was followed with my dad’s misfortune with the consequences of the Iranian Revolution. Many of his colleagues and friends were arrested with different accusations, and had to go through unknown fates. He was able to acquire entry visas for us into England; the country where my mother believed had the best cancer research laboratories.

While she was going through the nightmare of her illness, my brothers and I were having a good time in London. She had her treatment work cut out for her, while we were touring the city.   She was like a tour guide and showed us all the sights that she was familiar with. She showed us the apartment she lived in while she was a student. She took us to her favorite restaurants, shops, parks and city’s attractions. It was truly a dream.

We had a good life in Iran. Due to my parent’s jobs which took a lot of their time, we didn’t enjoy the traditional family affairs with parents who would spend their time with the children. There were relatives, aunts and nannies who took care of our daily needs. We were growing up under their direct supervision, but now here in London, we were with our parents full time.

This was when my mother underwent a failed surgery and its consequences. My uncle, Anoosh Kasra, who lived in the U.S. suggested the we move to America and we can all stay with him until we can get our feet on the ground and follow the next chapter.

My mother’s treatments continued in America until her death. Her illness, homesickness, distance from her family, the tumultuous relationship with her husband, and an immigrants life in a foreign land, all had a heavy toll on her emotions. The evidence of such pain is written in her lyrics, evident in her poetry, and ultimately the reason for some of her best work. 

She had gained fame with the song “Dawn’s Prayer” and was approached by many great singers who wanted to perform her songs. I remember well the presence of all those singers and composers in our house, who would gather around to discuss many issues in loud voices, and would play music. My brothers and I would become friends with all the artist’s children.

She tried hard to separate family life with her physical ailments. She had over a dozen surgeries in total along with trying to keep the family affairs and her artistic life endeavors. All those good and bad days, all those friendships, all the ups and downs; that’s how life went for us. 

The most vivid  image in my mind of all those years is of her with a notebook and a pen which she carried with her constantly. The lyrics would come to her at any moment, under any circumstance, and had to immediately be written down. She would spend many hours with singers and composers in recording studios, arguing with them over everything, and would come back home late.

I was with her often. When a singer’s voice would hit the wrong tone, my mother or the composers would stop the recording and start again, stop again and start all over again, until the song was perfected. I would get bored out of my mind and couldn’t wait for the night to be over. My dad had his own way of dealing with these hard times and had many arguments with her. Their life together was a roller coaster at best, with no seeming end to the ride.

My brothers and I  were growing up fast, and my mom was slowly melting like a candle. Her physical problems bit by bit reached a point when she couldn’t even drink or eat anything, and she needed help to breath…and pain…pain…pain. She had so much pain. In her last days, she was losing her eyesight.  During her last moments, my dad, my Aunt Molouk, her close friend Fattaneh Kasra, Afsar Adle, and my brothers and I were with her.

After her death, the world was not the same for us anymore. My youngest brother Ali moved in with a high school friend and his family in Northern California.  My brother Johnny and I stayed at our house in Los Angeles, accompanied by our Aunt Molouk. We had no idea what life would be like, had no worries about tomorrow, and had no fear of what was going on around us. You can fathom the result. Aunt Molouk went back to Iran; the bank foreclosed and took over the house, and we were left out. We rented a small house in Reseda, in the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles, and started living life with a few friends who were left fending for themselves just like us. And that was our life. 

I had a girlfriend at the time and my daughter Lexy, who coincidentally was born within 24 hours of my mother’s burial. 

I was the only single dad so I took a room of the house to ourselves. The others were scattered in the rest of the house. We had many troubled friends who would spend time with us. Youthful events and many stories…as you would probably imagine. We would scrape $900 a month to pay the rent. But for the rest of our needs, we would do anything and everything necessary to survive and to make ends meet. All those days have melted together now but a memory.

Today, when I think back to our past, I strongly believe that my mother’s overlooking and guidance from the beyond saved and directed us for things to end well. In my opinion, at least I,  should have been dead or arrested many times. 

Other than her personal belongings, what was left of mother, was a box full of her writings. But I didn’t have a velar understating of what they all were since they were written in Farsi. I had no knowledge of Persian poetry, and didn’t understand the value of what I had in my hand. 

In those days of need, when hunger and poverty had their tolls on me, and I didn’t see any  other way to make money, and thinking that my mother’s poetry were the only assets left to us, I decided to sell them. So I talked to one of my mom’s close friend Ando, a renowned composer, who strongly advised me against it. He believed publishing her work in  those turbulent times, would harm her name. So I left the box in a corner, never forgetting about it, but keeping it out of mind. I took it with me as I moved around for over 30 years.

I accidentally I came upon an interview in a website, and learned that in the Mexican culture, they have a special way of looking at the reality of “Death”. They believe every human has 3 stages of death. 

First is the moment in childhood when the person understands that the human is a mortal being and death is imminent. The second level of death is when death actually happens. And the third and last level of death is when your name has been spoken for the last time by a person.

After listening to this interview, I was left in deep thought for a while. I was wondering if my mother was done with? Was she finished? Has she reached her last stage of death?

I didn’t want whom I thought was immortal in my mind to ever die. I was an adult and I knew death is unavoidable, but I wanted her legacy to live on forever. What I heard on that day told me I could keep her legacy alive and I had to do something about it. Are we reaching the end when no one will utter the name Lila Kasra again? Is the end near? I had her writings. 

Oh, Sky, your ax is broken

I am going to stay on my feet

I will stay in my songs

Even if you take me away from my body

If the life is so full of pain

If it’s a buble over the water

I will laugh at my tears

I say it’s all a dream…

Then I started to make plans to reach my goal. I went to the shed and pulled out the box of her writings. It had been safely kept in hiding for over 30 years. To decide to open the box in itself was not an easy task or endeavor. 

To release and set free her writings to the world seemed to be an immense project. So my friend Behnaz Saranj opened the box and took out it’s contents. After a short moment, she was amazed by her findings. She insisted I organize the writings and find a publisher. I had no idea how I would do something like that. I didn’t know what to do, and where to begin. 

She told me the only person who could help and guide me through the task is the Iranian writer and journalist, Homa Sarshar. So I contacted her and asked for her help and what the next step would be. Thus Homa Sarshar referred me to Jila Mirafshar and consequently Ali Shirdel to help me package, organize, publish, build a website and to find the future journey of this book. And this is the beginning of the findings within the dust covered box in my storage shed for over 30 years.