My mother's name is Mahjabeen.
Mahjabeen means moon-like radiance and it's translated from Persian. My mother was not Persian but she does have a history as wild as her name.
"Mahj," I'd say. "Like a spoonerism of Taj Mahal."
There is a picture of my parents in front of the Taj Mahal in our basement and my mother's black mane is blowing crazily in the wind. She's wearing a wine-coloured sari and my dad is wearing acid washed jeans and shaggy blonde hair and a grey windbreaker and glasses like Hunter S. Thompson.
Mahj. A strange sound in some mouths.
At work in Toronto she went by Marina. People would call the house and ask for Marina and people from her office would call her Marina and her friends would call her Marina and I wondered who this other lady was at first.
She told me once that she started going by Marina because her name sounded too foreign to be taken seriously for any worthwhile opportunity.
For her it was nothing but a strategic move, one that worked quite well.
