A story by Laleh Chini:
First published at Oct.05.2017
When I was little, I got sick with severe vomiting and diarrhea. My parents took me to the hospital where I was given an IV for a day or so.
After we were released from the hospital, the doctor recommended my parents to give me lots of carrot juice.
I am not sure if carrot juice really helps to stop diarrhea or not, all I knew at the time was that it was my least favorite vegetable. In Iran, carrot juice is served with two big scoops of vanilla ice cream, in ice cream shops. When it was served like that, I loved carrot juice, but the ice cream wasn’t good for my situation and I had to drink the carrot juice plain.
My parents took me to a famous café near the Saadi monument directly from the hospital where they ordered carrot juice for me.
Saadi, who was born in Shiraz in 1210, was one of the most famous poets and literary men of medieval times. He is recognized in many different countries all over the world for the quality of his writings and his social and moral thoughts.
Since I was sick, I was in a bad mood. I was crying endlessly, refusing to drink the carrot juice. My father was holding me while kindly asking me to drink it,
promising to take me home to see my sister if I did. I really wanted to go home to my sister but not at the price of drinking carrot juice.
We were in a huge argument when a chubby policeman with a thick mustache and no hair walked into the cafe. My instincts told me that I should stop crying. I became quiet and he walked toward us while staring directly into my eyes. I was so scared and can’t remember if I was even breathing at all.
When he got closer to us, he looked at my father and said: “What seems to be the problem, sir.” My father responded very seriously like there was a true complaint: “My daughter has diarrhea so the doctor prescribed carrot juice and now she is refusing to drink her juice.”
I was shaking with fear and thought the policeman was going to take me with him. He looked at me and said: “If you drink your carrot juice while I’m watching, I will give you my whistle.” He then whistled and I fell in love with that whistle.
I drank the big glass of carrot juice so fast and looked into the police man’s eyes instantly as if to say “Okay, now hand me my whistle.”
The policeman said: “Good girl,” and walked towards the salesperson. My father waved to the policeman and walked out of the store with a satisfying smile.
Now I started crying for the whistle …
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