The Secret Life of Persian Rugs-Kashan

The Secret Life of Persian Rugs-Kashan

The Secret Life Of Persian Rugs

Chapter 1: Kashan

I now lay beautifully sprawled on a living room floor far, far away from where I was born, over 80 years ago.
The Secret Life of Persian Rugs-Kashan
I am a Kashan Persian Rug, my original home was Iran. Kashan is located on the edge of a dessert. A colourful and exotic place where some of the most stunning Persian Rugs are made to this day.

Garden of Paradise 

The Secret Life of Persian Rugs-Kashan Medallion

It took them almost two years to complete me. Woven with superior wool, in tones of vibrant colours, like indigo blue, deep rich reds, and soft subtle ivory, I was made to resemble the "Garden of Paradise". I am supple and lustrous and have only become better with age. With 800 knots per square inch, my design is crisp and clear. My medallion is particularly intricate. I don't mean to brag, but I am an exquisite looking Kashan Rug.
I left my country of Iran and was shipped across the world and arrived somewhere frigidly cold in Canada. The journey went smoothly, eventually landing me in Montreal. Quebec. For such a new Persian Rug, it seemed that destiny had found me a home, and home It was, for some time.
The house was traditional looking, yet cozy. With old wooden french doors and a creaky. thick planked hardwood floor where I would soon be laid out on. I remember being placed on my head, rolled up in a corner and tied with rope just waiting to be laid down permanently.
I was with a lovely family of four, two that seemed to be in charge, and two others who loved to laugh a lot and run around and play on me. They especially liked to trace over my lavish designs, it tickled me as I was still such a young Persian Rug.
There was a whirlwind of activity in that house. Lots of people coming and going, they had some wonderful celebrations and I was often greatly admired. Being the center of attention, I was the focal point in that living room. I was spilled on a few times but quickly tended to. There was a piano in the left-hand corner of the room and each night I was lulled into a deep and restful sleep. The sounds of  Beethoven, Bach and Mozart are still alive in me. 
Over time things became different. Two of the four family members seemed to change and eventually, they left the house. It was much quieter and I often found myself missing their idle chatter, laughter and even their occasional argument. A few times a year they would come to visit, and of course, they never forgot about the plush texture of me that they had grown so fond of. I missed them, as the days seemed longer now. There were no longer parties or celebrations. It was still, the other two had become quiet and could only walk across me so very slowly. 
One day, there was much hustle and bustle in the house. All of the family were there along with countless others. There were boxes upon boxes, and I had never heard so much commotion all my life. In a whirlwind of activity, I was in the middle of chaos. Tugged around and cardboard boxes pushed across me. I mean, I had been vacuumed many times before in my life and quite enjoyed it, but this felt different. I was disoriented, as many hands began to tightly roll me up. It was clear, I was moving. It was all over, after 40 years in the same home, the same familiar creaky floor and the very lovely sounds of the piano, I would miss dearly. 
I was boarded by four men onto a very large truck, it was a very bumpy ride. Young enough though, I was ready for adventure, change and meeting some new friends. I did miss my old home and the people terribly, but I knew that life was a journey. We stopped somewhere finally, I had arrived in a brand new city. Guelph, Ontario.
The calamity finally seemed to be over. My hope was that soon I would become untied and unrolled so that I could breathe freely again, to be spread out in all my glory, and of course, to be admired.
 The day had come when I thought I would finally be unrolled, but once again I was placed in a corner of a spectacular looking room, still rolled up and on my head. There were many voices among me, lots of activity and the scent of fresh paint and pizza in the air.
 Eventually, my day had arrived. I was more than ready for my debut. The paint was dry, paintings were hung, and beautiful vases were meticulously placed. They finally laid me out on a  shiny, dark wooden floor. There was a picture window nearby and I knew that my colours would look brilliant from the warm sunlight. The first few days, I was walked on a lot. Until eventually things seem to quiet down. I began to settle in quite comfortably. They loved me and once again, I was home.
  Not as much activity in this home. There were velvet wing back chairs on top of me, and most nights the sound of brittle pages turning in a book would put me to sleep. Sometimes, I was read aloud to. I knew all the greats, Dickens, Hemingway and Wilde. I was greatly entertained by this and I loved to hear these stories.
  As the years passed, I grew sad. I must admit, I started to show my age. I had never been properly cleaned! My once bright looking and intact fringes were discoloured, I felt dull. I had been walked on, ran on, danced on, spilled on and trampled on. I had felt it all, and seen it all! It started to take a toll. I often wondered if I had lost my brilliant colours and charm. I longed desperately to be whisked away to a place where they could clean me. I needed to be saved!
  One day, much to my surprise there was a visitor. She talked with the couple, admired the large and well-decorated room, and as she lifted to swallow her last sip of tea, the cup fell on top of me. The hot tea was painful. It burned, but I knew the prospect of being cleaned would now shortly come. 
She apologized profusely to the couple and began to help clean me up! She inquired about whether or not I had ever had a professional carpet cleaning. She advised the couple to send me in for a Persian Rug Cleaning. She said she knew of just the perfect place. She meant a long-overdue spa day! She meant giving me, The old Kashan Persian Rug a very thorough professional carpet cleaning!
I was so excited and couldn't wait to be cleaned! Believe it or not, I had never been in for a rug cleaning in all my life! A few days later, I was thrilled to hear the doorbell chime. 
 A gentleman arrived at the door. He said that he was from Rug District and was there to pick up a Persian Rug for Cleaning. He walked into the room where I lived, his eyes instantly lit up. He exclaimed, "this is one of the most, if not THE most beautiful Persian Rugs I have ever laid eyes on"!  I was blushing, after all these years I was going to be washed! Not just any old way either. He explained the whole rug handwashing technique to my owner. I would be gently and carefully hand washed. This knowledgable man was not going to hurt me with poisonous chemicals or a steam cleaner! Thank goodness!
  I was treated like the "fine" rug that I am while I was away at Rug District. I didn't even mind the ride or being rolled up! These people were truly area rug cleaning experts! I was handled with extreme care and caution. While I was drying there were many, many flattering comments made about me. People remarked and marvelled at my design and vivid looking colour. I was relieved, and then I knew for sure, that I was still just as spectacular as the day I was born!
Now I am happily sent off every couple of years to Rug District for a Persian Rug Cleaning. I am happy in my home, can take more pride in my appearance and feel so much more loved! 

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  • Tanya Shea