Tag: Zoroastrianism

I joined Instagram in late May, following a visit to the ASHA Centre, where I had met a group of young Zoroastrians of diverse views and backgrounds. Shortly after I came across an account endorsed by the ZTFE (Zoroastrian Trust Funds of Europe) named ‘Two Flames, One Fire’. It had started posting in mid-May, promising an event in the near future without revealing much about it. At the time, most of the hashtags below the posts were unfamiliar to me, meaning, I did not yet know how to read #youngzoroastrians, #ukyzs or #yzs.

As details were gradually released by the account, the scope and themes of the event started to become clear, moving towards the account’s motto: ‘Bringing together the UK Parsi and Iranian Zoroastrian communities’ — perhaps through a business networking fair coupled with a fashion show. When they asked for volunteers to participate in a fashion show, vanity took hold of my otherwise cerebral identity; I admit that I spent some time in front of a mirror trying to imagine myself in a dugli, the traditional attire for Parsi men. How exciting! The perfect opportunity to wear one without cultural appropriation. (Please let me know if you know an app that allows you to view yourself in a virtual dugli!) This must have been a premonition of the ‘Dugli Dudes’, who offered some of the cheekiest moves to enthusiastic cheers and support from the audience. By this time, Kainaz Contractor, the organiser of the event, had, I imagine, captured the imagination of the ‘ZoroVerse’, to borrow the terminology of a Zoroastrianism-themed podcast.

The final event, though, held on 3 October, went beyond all my expectations. The evening opened with Mobedyar Mahshad Khosraviani and Kamand Faramarzi as the hosts, entering the stage to an Iranian song, setting the course of the night for many more surprises. As the evening progressed, we witnessed poetry composed by Kainaz; songs sung by community members; a humorous and heartfelt narration in two voices—Parsi by Faramarzi and Iranian by the expectant Khosraviani—of the most recognisable parenting habits (familiar to all of us); a narrative of home, migration and longing; a British pub quiz that the table where I sat should have won but did not; a fashion show highlighting various community, ethnic and historical clothing; a display of royal grandeur; and finally, the aforementioned roguish group called ‘Dugli Dudes’ dancing on stage and among the audience.

Before continuing, I would like to share a few questions I asked Kainaz:

Where did the idea for this event come from?

The idea for the event came from conversations surrounding the cultural gap and differences between Iranian and Parsi Zoroastrians, as well as the desire to educate the community on our cultural attire through a fashion show.
I had organised a few similar cultural events and multicultural fashion shows in my first two years at University (University of York, studying BA Business of the Creative Industries). Within these events, I wished that there was more Zoroastrian representation outside of myself, and decided to curate the ‘Two Flames, One Fire’ event in a similar format to showcase our own community.

Do you feel there is a need to bring the two communities together?

I definitely feel that the two communities should be brought together more. Growing up in the Zoroastrian Centre, I was taught a lot regarding the religion, but not much about Iranian vs Parsi traditions and culture – mainly because not many Iranians would be present. I believe over recent years, there has been an increasing amount of Iranian Zoroastrians attending events in the centre, but I do still feel that they are underrepresented. Bringing the communities together through ‘Two Flames, One Fire’ allowed me to explore the similarities and differences between the cultures and diasporas – from cuisine and language to religious festivals like Mehregan.

Did you organise the event mostly yourself? To what extent were the UK.YZs involved in the conception or planning stages?

I led the organisation of the event, curating the programme, writing the eponymous poem and even liaising with the WZCC and other contacts for the entrepreneurial and creative showcase. There were a variety of community members who helped the programme to take place – from the ZTFE managing committee assisting with the logistical and financial operations (e.g., subsidising new spotlights for the centre), to the performers (who even helped to set up the decoration at the centre after the dress rehearsal), and my family members too. The UK YZs showed support in the closer lead up to the event also, offering backstage help and support.

Sentimental question: What does Iran mean to you?

Iran to me is a hiraeth – a place that I have never been, yet feel oddly nostalgic about, and somewhere I yearn to visit. I have grown up learning of great Persian Kings and cities like Persepolis, and the more I read about Iran and Ancient Persia, the more I feel a connection to it.
On an adjacent note, I have more recently been more interested in pre-revolutionary Iranian Cinema specifically, which I am hoping to make my upcoming dissertation subject as I finish my undergraduate degree!

Kainaz also commented that she had ‘learned a lot about Iranian cultural clothing and the differences between clothing in different eras through the event planning!’. In saying so, she identifies an important cultural shortcoming among Iranians of all backgrounds: namely, that we often do not wear our traditional attire when attending events such as Navroze—in sharp contrast to Parsi, Indian and other Zoroastrian customs.

At no event, Zoroastrian or otherwise, have I seen such a joyful and effortlessly balanced programme. A week later, I still feel a ray of warmth when remembering the Iranian and Indian music, including a performance of کیش مهر accompanied by daf—not to mention the comedic highlight, which was undoubtedly the ‘Dugli Dudes’.

The evening was not about framing the community solely as religion; nor was it about framing a living, lived tradition in terms of academic supremacy of one ancient or late antique text over another. This was a community celebrating itself and its unity through its legacies and divergences. It painted in wonderfully subtle colours the many facets of religion as cultural identity, a unifying factor that reached far beyond just Parsi, Irani or Zoroastrian labels. At the same time, the two flames painted, in bright and bold colours, an affirmative vision of a future community growing beyond and defining its own borders.

At the event, a number of Persian poems demanded immediate attention. But before I launch into a recitation, one line by Amir-Houshang Ebtehaj—which I cite on every possible occasion—feels particularly relevant and inspirational:

آبی که بر آسود زمینش بخورد زود
 دریا شود آن رود که پیوسته روان است

The water that rests is swiftly swallowed by the ground,
that river becomes the sea, that flows without cease.

For me, there was another lesson here too: be it Sanaya of the WZYLF, or Kainaz, be it the moderators of the programme, or many of the owners and managers of the businesses showcased, women were at the centre, actively participating, leading and shaping the identity of the community. This is no surprise; merely an observation that those who were not present ought to note.

And if I may say, ‘Two Flames, One Fire’ encapsulates, in the best way possible, the simple affirmation that each Zoroastrian speaks several times a day and ought to live:

xšnaōϑra. ahurahe. mazdā̊.
For the satisfaction of Ahura Mazda!

How you model the strife (kōxšišn) for the satisfaction of Ohrmazd is up to the individual, as long as it remains a celebration of this, our life on this earth (gētīy).

Heartfelt congratulations to Kainaz for her vision. May there be more! Congratulations also to the ZTFE for enabling and supporting this event; to the hosts for the warmth and joy of the evening; to the participants for their performances; and to the community for their joie de vivre. Special thanks go to Nawaz, who always radiates warmth and wisdom, for baking 380 cake yazdi (کیک یزدی) that brought back memories of childhood escapades in Tehran with one of my favourite baked goods.

Addendum: Speaking of Tehran

I recently brought tears to the eyes of two Parsi friends simply by talking to them about Iran. Asking one if she had ever been to Iran made her visibly emotional; with the other, sharing Iranian music evoked a similar response. Kainaz’s answer is not far off. Having reached the end of this blog, let us take a moment without too many words to reflect on what home means to all of us, and how we share that ‘longing’ and ‘yearning’ (used by my friends) for a part of ourselves we seem to have left behind: whether we departed a millennium ago or only recently. Iran is one of the first things we pack when we leave, be it in the shape of a rosewater sprinkler and Mount Hara, or a handful of earth (خاک) that we protect like gold dust.

I promise never to ask a Parsi about Iran again, and to fight my tears if they cry.

Jonathan Galton held the second Shapoorji Pallonji Artist-in-Residence fellowship (2025/26), which culminated in a beautiful musical evening on 29 May 2026 at Kings Place, London:

Manashni, Gavashni, Kunashni
A musical journey into Zoroastrian identity

The Artist in Residence Fellowship at the SOAS Shapoorji Pallonji Institute of Zoroastrian Studies (SSPIZS) is Mariano Errichiello’s innovation. As Co-Chair, Executive Director, and the driving force behind Jonathan’s residency, Mariano writes in the concert brochure (see the PDF at the end of this post) that the core academic question was how music has shaped Zoroastrian identity.

With the exception of The Banner of Kaveh—a spoken-word piece accompanied by Fra Rustumji on the viola—the music in the first part of the evening was not Zoroastrian, though performed mostly by Parsi artists. Here, it was at times difficult to see the Zoroastrian character in the compositions and performances.

The second part is perhaps best described as a musical cadence towards the question of what constitutes music and musicality in Zoroastrianism. This section opened with a conversation between Jonathan, the resident artist, and Raiomond Mirza—a Parsi musician and composer whom I had never had the pleasure of meeting, but who played a crucial role at the start of my own academic life. The illuminating conversation was followed by Raiomond’s composition based on the Ashem Vohu prayer, which was in turn followed by Prayer, a piece inspired by the same prayer and performed by Fra Rustumji and Jonathan Galton (as Jonathan humorously assured us, no post-colonial rules were harmed in the making of the piece). The performances concluded with the world premiere of Manashni, Gavashni, Kunashni, composed by Kahan Taraporevala, before ending with an audience rendition of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody.

Organised by a British artist and academic—Jonathan is a lecturer in sociology at UCL—this concert evening constituted a collaborative approach to Zoroastrian and Parsi musical and stage art, rather than an exploration of Parsi or Zoroastrian music itself. This is not a criticism. Zoroastrianism, in both its Iranian and Parsi varieties, has historically been reluctant to embrace and develop traceable artistic traditions. This is not to deny the existence of Zoroastrian art or artists, but is rather an assessment of the religion’s hesitance to develop distinctly artistic expressions of religious devotion.

There may be various reasons for this. One could argue, for instance, that Iran’s courtly music, commonly referred to as traditional Iranian music (موسیقی سنتی), preserves vestiges of pre-Islamic music, which in turn can be argued to be Zoroastrian—though I prefer ‘Iranian’. Farhad Fakhreddini‘s musical engagement with this tradition stands out. Alternatively, one could view those vestiges as remnants or post-Sasanian romanticisations of pre-Islamic Iranian music. Yet another alternative is to look towards Iranian chants of the holy prayers, or to examine music among Zoroastrians living in more rural settings and their performances at ritual gatherings. Be that as it may, if we leave aside liturgical chanting and the melodic recitation of prayers by individual priests, Zoroastrianism as it is practised today is often seen as lacking a distinct musical tradition.

Here, Jonathan took a different route from his predecessor, Karl Singporewala, who interpreted and engaged with his own heritage in free form rather than through an exploration of traditional arts. Jonathan chose to examine the lack of a musical tradition among—and here one must specify—the Parsis, in his conversation with Raiomond Mirza. This is not to claim that Iranian Zoroastrians possess a complete musical culture of their own; it is simply a corrective to note that the evening mostly focused on Parsi traditions.

Jonathan Galton, Mariano Errichiello and the SOAS Shapoorji Pallonji Institute of Zoroastrian Studies are all to be congratulated on this courageous undertaking. Who is to say what Zoroastrian music is to be? I can define Yazdi Zoroastrian music through specific examples, but this is London in 2026. It is a new dawn, perhaps even the opening dawn of Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra, a work referenced during the concert. This time, though, without the problematic racial notions associated with it in the past. This was a musical evening by young Parsi musicians and composers, with music written for their own generation.

Let us capture the names of those who carried the evening so wonderfully with their voice, wit and the sound of their instruments (in the order of the brochure): Nina Wadia OBE, Kahan Taraporevala, Ervad Frazan Adil Kotwal, Fra Rustumji, Firoze Madon, Amir Massoumian, Raiomond Mirza, Natasha Dalal Lord, and the Ava Choir. And with this, perhaps we can also bestow the xwarrah of Iranianness on Jonathan for creating a musical evening in collaboration with musicians from the cultural sphere of Zoroastrianism.

We should not forget that Zoroastrianism is a young religion. Its three and a half millennia are just a start, a prelude to many more to come, in which the Good Religion will have to define and redefine itself many times over. Zoroastrianism was born in Asia, matured in Iran, and thrived in India; perhaps its future now lies on a global stage as a religion for the ages. The various groups of young Zoroastrians with whom I interacted over the past months will forge new paths into a broader future we should all look forward to: one built collaboratively by Parsis and Iranians, whether Zoroastrian or not.

I had the pleasure of attending the third World Zoroastrian Youth Leaders Forum to speak about the legends of the life of Zardušt to a group of young Zoroastrians, but I ended up gaining far more than I gave.

Set in the most beautiful and serene of locations, this was a transformative experience for me (I know! I can only imagine how incredible it must have been for the attendees). I rarely connect to a location as strongly as I did with the ASHA Centre. While the calm and beauty of the surroundings were impactful, it was the warmth with which the organisers and the attendees received me that made me feel at home.

I gladly stayed longer than I usually do, and went back home with a truly meaningful experience at a significant time in my own life. I not only received biscuits to sweeten the day and books by Zerbanoo to contemplate, but also a Tandorosti prayer on a piece of birch bark, alongside prayers and thoughtful good wishes of support that meant more than I could have ever imagined.

There was something about this group and place that I do not quite understand. The inquisitiveness of the founder of the ASHA Centre, the amazing Zerbanoo Gifford; the vision of Sanaya Master, the founder of the WZYLF; the gentleness of Art, who invited me; the powerful and resonating Jashan performed by a dedicated group of Mobads; but perhaps above all, the positive energy of the young people involved all seemed to point towards a bright future. And in these trying times, those rays of light carried a significance—a message, almost—far beyond what I had anticipated.

You can read a summary of the gathering in this report on Parsi Khabar:

Young Zarathushti Leaders Gather at ASHA for 3rd WZYLF

A Global Gathering of Young Zarathushti Leaders

As scholars studying Zoroastrianism, we must ask this question more often: What is the subject of our academic gaze, and whose is the subject of our study? We must ask, not to confront, but to challenge ourselves and our enquiries. We must ask and debate, lest our tools become blunt and rusty.

Brought up in a philological tradition and working on antique and late antique contexts, I am not convinced that we ask these types of questions often enough in our discipline. As a happy philologist, I find that we are taught to interrogate the texts far more than the nature of our own inquisitiveness. If philosophers can write about The Failures of Philosophy, why should we not be more watchful? After all, most institutions have a watchdog. Unlike others, however, we are in the best position to investigate ourselves, to critique our approach, and to push boundaries.¹

The impetus for this very brief rumination on my own trade is the exhibition Cosmos, Memory, Scale by Karl Singporewala hosted at the SOAS Gallery, which describes it:

The 2025 SOAS Artist-in-Residence Fellowship of the Shapoorji Pallonji Institute of Zoroastrian Studies presents a new major solo exhibition of Karl Singporewala’s sculptural interpretations of Zoroastrian symbolism. The exhibition features large-scale installations and new and past artworks from his catalogue which explore his heritage through art and architectural form. It will also showcase historic objects on loan from cultural institutions and private collectors.

The description is certainly accurate. Confronted with the artworks—not massive when we stand before them, yet immense once we consider the tiny figurines representing humans built into each piece—I found myself encouraged to reflect on my own place and position in the stream of the tradition I study. Karl’s interpretations of his own heritage challenge us to think in novel ways about what we do as scholars, and more specifically as philologists! The challenge is not explicit! It emerges from the synergy of Karl’s art and the location of the exhibition. SOAS, as a university, has contributed more than any other institution to the study of Zoroastrianism in the past century and continues to do so. The achievement of both Karl and the exhibition is to reflect on Zoroastrianism outside of the scholarly approach, yet present the result within an academic setting. Karl’s work made me realise what I should already know (but perhaps only pretend to know): Zoroastrianism is a living and lived religion, continuously re-interpreted, lived and owned by its followers. The exhibition clearly demonstrates that no religion consists solely of textual or practised theology. Each religion is a cultural tradition and an important part of an identity, even if one is not practising the Good Religion. These reflections might sound benign or even banal to some readers, but in Zoroastrianism, and still more among the philologists of Zoroastrianism, we too easily forget these dimensions of a religious tradition.

I was delighted to to meet Karl after taking a quick tour of the exhibition with Mariano. I felt humbled by his approach to Zoroastrianism. His art speaks through a manner of simplicity that reaches the observer without recourse to grandeur as an intermediary. For me, Fire Worshipper, a piece from 2025, exemplifies Karl’s directness and playful incisiveness best:

A catalogue, with a piece by Mariano Errichiello, places the exhibition in a broader context. The yet larger context is that the Artist-in-Residence Fellowship of the Shapoorji Pallonji Institute of Zoroastrian Studies continues with Jonathan Galton, who will bring musical interpretations to the study of Zoroastrianism. I am much looking forward to his work as well. And I hope that these fellowships continue not only as artistic endeavours but also as contributions that challenge scholarly convictions.

1. I have previously reflected on the scope of the philological enquiry and methodology in Towards a Manifesto for Middle Iranian Philology (2023). In a lecture entitled Forgetting and Over-Remembering Iran, delivered in January 2024 at the Institute of Iranian Studies, Freie Universität Berlin, I extended these questions to Walter Benjamin’s approach to history (paper forthcoming). I will close the cycle with a forthcoming lecture that examines similar questions within a field of tensions shaped by the forces of Husserl, Heidegger, José Ortega y Gasset, Lakoff and Harman. ↩︎

On 31 May, a workshop took place at SOAS on Zoroastrianism, Esotericism and Race. Convened by Mariano Errichiello (SOAS) and Afshin Marashi (Oklahoma), this closed-door workshop aimed to explore ideas around esotericism in modernity, which remains an understudied topic within Zoroastrianism.

Six papers, arranged across three panels, addressed themes spanning the 19th to the 21st century in Iran, India and the diaspora. Modern-day gurus, eugenics, conversion, innovation, and priesthood were among the subjects discussed. The workshop concluded with a paper presenting an insider perspective, an innovative and welcome approach seeking to widen the scope of academic inquiry.

All papers engaged with fascinating topics, bearing various degrees of relevance to my own research on late antique Zoroastrianism. Although the workshop primarily focused on modernity, what emerged for me was a perspective on the religion in the longue durée. I have remained interested in esotericism in Zoroastrianism ever since I wrote The king in the mirror of the Zand: Secrecy in Sasanian Iran, which was my first engagement with the subject inspired by Shaked’s pioneering 1969 study, Esoteric Trends in Zoroastrianism.

I continue to explore esotericism in late antique Zoroastrianism, with a partial outcome discussed in a forthcoming article on frahang. Both the workshop and my own investigations suggest that a theoretical framework for what might constitute esotericism in Zoroastrianism, whether modern or ancient, remains a desideratum.

Reference

Shaked, Shaul. 1969. Esoteric trends in Zoroastrianism. In Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities 3(7). 175-221.

Zeini, Arash. 2018. The king in the mirror of the Zand: Secrecy in Sasanian Iran. In Touraj Daryaee (ed.), Sasanian Iran in the context of late antiquity: The Bahari lecture series at the University of Oxford (Ancient Iran Series 6), 149–162. Jordan Center for Persian Studies.