I find myself missing you deeply, Professor—your steady gaze and the calmness in your voice that always called my name gently. Whenever I was overwhelmed or anxious, you would say to me: “Stay calm, my daughter.”
Every daughter is blessed with two fathers if she’s lucky: one who gives her life, and another who teaches her how to live. You were that second father to me.
I will never forget my first conference. I told you I was nervous about presenting. You advised me, “Look just two centimeters above the last person’s head and slowly sweep your eyes from left to right. Everyone will feel you’re looking right at them.” Whenever I see someone anxious about public speaking, I share this advice proudly, reminding them it came from my teacher. Just this noon, I gave that same advice again.
I will never forget the day I spoke at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Seeing my trembling hands, you leaned down gently and whispered: “Calm down, my daughter… we are here with you.”
The watch I’ve worn for fifteen years—the one I bought with the sixty thousand tomans you gave me as payment for a paper—is a precious reminder. Back then, I was just a second-year student, a quiet voice amid the chaos. Whenever I’m tired or worn out, I touch that watch and lost in memories, I tell myself: “Stay calm, my daughter.”
Today, when Meysam sent me the message about your passing, I was left in shock—bewildered at how a university could ever be emptied of your blessed presence. I found myself remembering those hard days—the ones when I couldn’t write, when my heart had turned away from the field. And in those moments, it was your calm and steady voice that told me:
“You are gifted, my daughter. Try to become rich in life and surround yourself with people who are rich – rich in ethics and rich in material.”
And how hard I tried to become that kind of rich… for myself, and for the sake of your advice.
I don’t know how I will bring myself to step again into Beheshti’s history department hallway; where your office was behind the first door; where, after I knocked, you would always say: “Come in, my daughter. Welcome!”
Today, the Iranian history community is in disbelief. It has lost Karim Soleimani Dehkordi—one of its most honorable and wise professors.
Since this afternoon, I’ve received several missed calls and messages from old classmates, asking if the news of your passing is true. I’ve lost count. I don’t have the strength to respond. Even now, as I write these words, I can barely hold back my tears.
I already miss you, Professor—miss the way you gently called my name and said:
“Hello, my daughter.”
Dr. Karim Soleimani was a faculty member and professor of history at Shahid Beheshti University. He passed away on Sunday, August 4, 2025. Born in 1957, he held a Ph.D. in Iranian Studies from the University of Bamberg in Germany.
