Embraced by Persian: A Kashmiri’s Journey to Self-Discovery Through Language
How learning Persian reconnected me with my roots, reshaped my worldview, and awakened a forgotten spiritual heritage
In 2019, nestled in my room in the Himalayan valley of Kashmir, I found myself captivated by the verses of Molana Rumi in Reza Arsteh’s Rumi: The Persian, the Sufi. As I gazed at the Zabarwan mountains, a longing stirred within me—not just to read Rumi’s poetry, but to truly understand it in the language he chose: Persian. That moment marked the beginning of a journey that would take me far from home, both geographically and spiritually, to Iran.
Growing up in Indian-administered Kashmir, I often heard stories of Persian as the language of Sufis, scholars, and administrators. Though the direct connection had faded by my time, traces of Persian lingered in our culture and language, echoing a rich history of intellectual and spiritual exchange. Persian was the language of faith, prayer, and love—a spiritual thread woven through Kashmiri identity.
Arriving in Iran, I began Persian classes and quickly discovered that the language’s reputation for poetry was only the beginning. Persian’s fluidity, gentleness, and rhythm revealed why so much of Kashmiri culture is steeped in poetic metaphor and Sufi imagery. The language’s cadence is inherently lyrical, and its softness—where even the hardest consonants are cushioned by vowels—invites tenderness and expressiveness.
As a polyglot, I speak several languages, but none has captivated me like Persian. Its musicality is matched by its refinement and emotional depth. Persian is not just a means of communication; it is an instrument for unveiling human tenderness and spiritual insight. The language is a living archive of Iran’s cultural and historical tapestry, reflecting vibrant traditions, deep spirituality, and intricate social customs.
Unlike many literary traditions confined to academia, Persian poetry is alive in everyday Iranian life. The works of poets like Hafez are not only read but consulted for spiritual guidance—a tradition known as faal-e-Hafez. Persian, for me, became a mirror of the Iranian soul: spiritual, subtle, and sophisticated.
One of Persian’s most remarkable features is its efficiency in expressing profound meaning with few words. This is why Muhammad Iqbal, the renowned philosopher-poet, chose Persian for much of his spiritual poetry, believing it could better capture the complexity of his ideas than Urdu.
Persian’s emotional range is also striking. Expressions that might seem dramatic in other cultures—like “Delam barat tang shodeh” (“My heart has grown narrow for you”) or “Barat mimiram” (“I would die for you”)—are part of daily conversation, reflecting a culture where emotions are openly valued and expressed.
Persian is unique among classical languages for its continuous survival into the modern era, thanks in large part to poets like Ferdowsi. His epic, the Shahnameh, preserved the language and its cultural heritage through centuries of upheaval. Ferdowsi’s dedication ensured that Persian would remain a living, breathing language, celebrated today on National Persian Language Day.
By embracing Persian, I found more than a language of poetry and beauty—I discovered an emotional landscape shaped by centuries of mysticism and philosophy. Persian opened a window to a worldview where beauty and introspection are central, and it helped me reconnect with a part of my soul that had long been waiting to be heard.
Learning Persian has been a journey of self-discovery, a return to something ancient within me. It is as if I have reunited with a part of myself that speaks Persian, and the conversation continues.
Humaira Ahad is a journalist and researcher from Indian-administered Kashmir, currently based in Tehran, Iran.
Source: PressTv