Did Scheherazade give Aladdin’s carpet the power of flight?
Did he even have a carpet or was it all the inspiration of Walt Disney?
I can’t remember, it is many years since I have read the
tales told on one thousand and one nights by a Persian princess to delay her
execution. I do know that from the very first moment you lay eyes on a genuine handmade carpet from this part of the world; whether it is a rustic one made by tribal nomads or the most perfect example in silk originating from the city of Qom, they are all certainly endowed with magical qualities.
My introduction to carpets, other than the wall to wall variety,
was during my first visit to England when I was about 21 and I stayed with my
Great-Aunt Joan in London. Being an artist she was slightly eccentric. The
memories she recollected, of her life before and during her marriage to my
Grandfather’s youngest brother Robert, certainly rivaled the tales of
Scheherazade. The difference being, A.J’s stories were true, if slightly
embellished for the benefit of her 40 or so great nephews and nieces!
On the floor of her apartment she had 2 massive Persian carpets.
They were purchase in Persia in the days when the name Iran was not even a
dream. At the time she and Robert were married (she in a gold dress carrying
long stemmed dark red roses) her Godfather was the British Ambassador in
Tehran. Where better to honeymoon? I can’t remember all the details. Apparently
it was Uncle Robert who became the carpet fanatic and I like to think that I
have inherited, if not the carpets, his passion for these beautiful works of
art.
Since arriving in Pakistan I have resisted the urge to buy
every carpet I see. I keep telling myself I am here for at least a year; I have
time to look around. On Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago we headed out to a
well known traditional furniture warehouse. We took a ‘quick’ stop at our
regular shawl dealers which turned into several hours because, this visit, I
went upstairs.
Upstairs is the carpet show room. Piles of folded and rolled
carpets, up to the ceiling. Wool and silk, kilims or knotted, rustic or
refined; whatever your hearts’ desire, and desire my heart did!
As the sales assistants cover the floor with each carpet we
show an interest in and the owner keeps up a running commentary of history and
qualities we realise that this is the magic of the carpet. They are alive with
glowing colours, the stories contained within the patterns and the lives of the
people who have spent at least one if not more years producing such amazing
pieces.
Each one is more beautiful than the last and soon it is
difficult to remember what we first saw. After several cups of green tea and
much deliberation I settle on one that will fill the area of bare cold tiles in
my bedroom.
Against one wall there is a pile of rolled carpets. They
must be at least 3 metres wide and 5-6 metres long. I have been looking at the
pattern on two of them. I turn to the owner ‘You know I am not going to buy any
more today but would it be possible to look at those two?’
‘Madam’ he says ‘you have a taste for the most beautiful
things’
As each one is rolled out we all fall silent. They are so,
so beautiful. Words can never describe them. I feel tears pricking at the back
of my eyes. They are both about 70 years old, I put my bare foot out to touch
and it is like walking on – well, yes – silk. Maybe if I save really hard,
resist buying shawls and kameez, but really, how would I ever get it home?
So, as my friend Tara commented when I wrote that I had made
my first purchase, my slippery slope of carpet buying has started.
I can’t remember which cousin inherited the carpets when Aunt Joan died. What I do know is that I have 5 nieces, 2 nephews and 4 Godchildren so I have the joy of 10 more carpet purchases to look forward to so when their children and grandchildren ask ‘where did that carpet come from’ they will be able to tell tales of the adventures of their eccentric Auntie Cath.
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