It is 11:30 PM in Palermo. It is raining, my apartment radiator is making a sound like a dying cat, and my Italian roommate, Giovanni, is wearing a scarf inside the kitchen. He is drinking hot chocolate like a rational human being who understands thermodynamics.
And then there is me.
I am sitting at the table in a t-shirt, shivering, slicing into a giant, cold, watery Hendune (watermelon).
Giovanni looks at me with genuine concern. “Elyar,” he says, “Ma sei pazzo? È inverno.” (Are you crazy? It’s winter.)
I look him dead in the eye, a piece of red fruit dripping onto the table, my teeth slightly chattering. “You don’t understand, Gio. This is for my health. This is for Shab-e Yalda.”
He walks away shaking his head. He thinks I have lost my mind. But you and I know the truth: I haven’t lost my mind. I have just surrendered to the logic of the Iranian calendar, where we celebrate the arrival of winter by eating the coldest fruit known to man.
Why Do We Eat Cold Fruit on Yalda Night?
If you try to explain the traditions of Yalda to a foreigner using logic, you will fail.
“So,” they ask, “you celebrate the longest night of the year?” “Yes.” “By staying up all night?” “Yes.” “And eating summer fruits to lower your body temperature? For Yalda?” “Exactly.”
The myth we were all told by our grandmothers is specific and terrifying. They told us: “Age emshab hendune bokhori, dige ta aakhar-e zemestoon sarma nemikhori.” (If you eat watermelon tonight, you won’t catch a cold for the rest of winter.)
Let’s look at the facts. It is December. The watermelon has been in the fridge. You are eating 2 kilos of it to properly celebrate Yalda.
Medically speaking, you are introducing a hypothermic agent into your stomach. But culturally, you are building immunity. This is the Yalda paradox. We trade physical comfort for spiritual insurance. We accept the Larz zadan (shivering) tonight so we can be strong tomorrow. (Spoiler: You will wake up with a sore throat anyway).
Your Yalda Night Vocabulary List
Since we are already freezing, let’s learn the words you need to describe your suffering on Yalda night properly. If you are going to complain, do it in Farsi.
- Shab-e Chelleh (شب چله) This is the OG name for Yalda. Chell comes from “forty.” It marks the first forty days of winter. If you want to sound like a dusty history professor (or my grandfather), use this word. If you want to be cool, stick to Yalda.
- Korsi (کرسی) The greatest invention in Persian history. It is a low table with a heater underneath and a blanket over it. In Italy, I do not have a Korsi. I have a blanket I stole from the airline and a laptop that overheats. It is basically the same thing and my only defense against the Yalda cold.
- Ajeel (آجیل) This means “nuts” or “trail mix,” but on Shab-e Yalda, it is a currency indicator. There is a hierarchy here. If your host serves you mostly Pesteh (pistachios), they are rich. If the bowl is 90% Nokhodchi (chickpeas) and raisins, the economy is bad. Do not comment on the ratio. Just eat the raisins and stay silent.
- Fal-e Hafez (فال حافظ) The “Fortune of Hafez.” This is when your aunt opens a book of poetry at random to predict your future on Yalda night. The poem will be about wine, a candle, and a moth. Your aunt will interpret this to mean you are getting married in March. You will interpret this to mean you are failing your midterms. Hafez is just a Rorschach test for Iranian families.
The Red Stain Anxiety of Yalda
There is another danger on Yalda besides the cold. It is the Anaar (pomegranate).
I have ruined three white shirts in my life because of this fruit. Eating a pomegranate is not a snack. It is a surgical operation. You have to extract the seeds (the Dooneh) without looking like you just committed a crime.
In Tehran, my mom would peel them perfectly into a crystal bowl, sprinkled with Golpar (Angelica powder) and salt. Here in Sicily, I am hacking at a pomegranate with a steak knife like a barbarian. The juice hits the wall. Giovanni comes back in, sees the red splatter, and leaves again. Faster this time.
Why Celebrating Yalda Abroad Matters
Look, I know I sound cynical. I am shivering in a cold kitchen in Palermo, eating fruit that costs 4 Euros a kilo, pretending I am having a great time celebrating Yalda alone.
But here is the thing: If I didn’t celebrate Shab-e Yalda, I wouldn’t feel like myself.
Living abroad, whether you are in Toronto, London, or Sicily, means you have to fight to keep these things alive. It is easy to just go to sleep at 11 PM. It is easy to drink hot chocolate like Giovanni.
But we choose the hard way. We choose the expensive nuts, the confusing poetry, and the frozen watermelon. We do it because for one night, even if we are alone in a dorm room, we are connected to millions of other Iranians who are also shivering and pretending it’s for their health.
So, Happy Yalda. Go eat your watermelon. If you catch a cold, don’t blame me. Blame your ancestors.
Want to learn how to explain your weird cultural habits to your foreign roommate without sounding crazy?
