Social history, unlike political history, examines various aspects of life and culture from a bottom-up perspective—how governmental regulations affect people’s lives and behaviors. It delves into the processes and outcomes of human actions to provide a more complete picture of a period, beyond the achievements of political or intellectual history.
Orhan Pamuk, a Turkish writer, portrays a part of Istanbul’s history by writing the historical novel “The Museum of Innocence,” set in Istanbul, and by collecting objects related to fictional characters and events in the novel, establishing a personal museum in a building in Istanbul. He sees the philosophy behind setting up a museum as overcoming the linear course of time. In his novel, in accordance with Aristotle’s theory, he views time as having two aspects: the timeline (which ends in death) and the present time. According to Pamuk, this timeline connects all objects and moments, but contemplating this temporal course is very painful because it leads towards death. Yet sometimes these moments we call “now” can bring such joy and pleasure that it lasts for a century. The author considers collecting objects related to his lover as preserving these present moments. He believes objects have a soul that preserves and conveys the historical essence of the moment forever. For me, my hometown of Zanjan was akin to Pamuk’s character “Fusun,” his lover, which inspired me to try and document the existing artifacts by collecting objects related to each story and arranging them as a visual record.
This personal interest stemmed from the absence of written sources about cultures, rituals, and stories, and the fear of losing the customs and traditions of a period when my grandparents and parents lived. This led to the collection of stories, events, and the lives of the people of Zanjan from the 1920s to the 1950s, aiming to document a part of Zanjan’s social history.
Human sensory perceptions are one of the most important components in social history studies. The necessity of documenting Zanjan’s social history compelled me to attempt documenting the existing artifacts by collecting objects related to each story and arranging them visually. The result was an exhibition combining photography, literature, and arrangement, allowing viewers to touch, smell, taste the objects in the photos, and listen to the stories they represent.
Alarvadi
Anyone who returned from the courtyard pool, sleeves rolled up and pants wet from the ritual wash, looked pale and unsettled. One by one, they would come back quietly and sit around the room on white-sheeted blankets, saying nothing. Their pupils darted nervously, lips colorless, muttering Ayat al-Kursi repeatedly, though their rigid postures looked as lifeless as withered trees. No one wanted the precious newborn, little Akbar—born after several daughters and with many prayers, holy verses, and charms—to come to any harm. They’d even named the last daughter Kafieh ("Enough"), hoping her name might finally bring the long-awaited boy. The elder women of the family had watched over Batul Khanom and her son for ten days and nights, ensuring nothing happened. Now, on the final night—the tenth—just hours before taking Batul and the baby for the ceremonial bath, fear was high that everything might be lost. Rumor had it that the Aal had pulled women’s headscarves off in the courtyard. Aunt Khaseh even swore she'd seen the Aal’s* shadow on the courtyard wall that night. Aunt Khaseh, the family’s guardian of rituals and traditions, was certain of it. It was only a few months ago that she and Batul’s mother, Zinat, had been at the shrine of Hazrat Zahra, spinning handfuls of cotton in their palms and praying fervently that Batul’s baby would be a boy. Aunt Khaseh had given orders for the spun wicks to be collected from guests and placed in oil lamps set around the shrine, hoping for a miracle—a son. Zinat, Batul’s mother and the boy’s grandmother, claimed that in her youth, she had seen the Aal herself. It crossed her mind that maybe the trouble was with the ritual dish, Doimaj. No man or boy was supposed to see or eat it; perhaps a man had glimpsed it through a doorway crack as it was prepared—saltless bread cooked on the griddle, broken and mixed with syrup rich with saffron and clarified butter. That dish was also shared at the shrine as part of the tradition. According to Zinat, the Aal was a thin, tall woman with hooves instead of feet and a long knife with a blue handle, ready to attack the new mother and tear her heart out to eat it raw. She would take either the mother or the child. The shadow that Aunt Khaseh had seen on the wall tonight was unmistakably that of the Aal, exactly as Zinat had described. They reviewed every precaution. Batul's colostrum had been poured into the well in complete darkness. Before his first nursing, Akbar's mouth had been washed with water and sacred dust from Karbala. None of the women had been allowed to bring any meat or gold into the room, and when guests arrived, Akbar was lifted high so they could pass under him. The only thing easing their worries was the iron rod known as Arsin, set beside Batul and the baby. It had a hook on one end and was used for pulling bread, teapots, or stew pots from the oven. It was believed the Aal feared the Arsin and would not enter the room. Aunt Khaseh eyed the gathered women from the corner of her eye as they straightened the edges of their headscarves, quietly reciting prayers. Suddenly, she spoke loudly, "Recite a blessing for the health of Batul and her baby!" By now, Batul herself was aware of everyone’s concerns. In the middle of the second blessing, there came a cracking sound from the wooden rafters above—a snap, then a mix of screams and gasps. Jamshid, who was cat-like and cunning, had slipped and rolled down from the ceiling onto the floor in the center of the room. He darted up and made for the courtyard. Ever since he’d been denied a taste of the Doimaj, he had borne a grudge and had been planning for days, sneaking around to tug the women’s headscarves in the shadows, yanking them just to see them flutter down onto their heads. As for Aunt Khaseh, she was certain of what she had seen: the shadow of hooves, the towering height, and those impossibly long legs painted starkly on the opposite wall. *Aal: In Iranian folklore, Aal is a mythical demon believed to prey upon new mothers and newborns, often associated with superstitions surrounding childbirth. The Aal is typically described as a tall, thin woman with hooves instead of feet, sometimes carrying a long knife. According to legend, she seeks to harm the mother or child, and families employ protective rituals, such as placing metal objects nearby, to ward her off. This figure represents the community’s deep-rooted fears surrounding birth and early infancy.