So, the next time you see a Kurdish friend, colleague, or neighbor—whether they have passed an exam, moved into a new flat, or simply made it through a difficult winter—look them in the eye, place your hand on your heart, and say:

When a baby is born, the first thing a Kurdish grandparent says is Mubarakan . This carries a specific weight: it acknowledges the survival of the family line. For a historically oppressed people without a formal state, every child is a political act of resistance and continuity. Saying Mubarakan here is akin to saying, "Thank God our nation grows."

She narrowed her eyes and pinched both their cheeks. "Mubarakan to both of you," she whispered in broken English, a nod to the Bollywood films she loved. "But if you try to switch places for the dowry ceremony, I’ll tell your father." The twins laughed, the music of the

A Kurdish wedding lasts anywhere from three to seven days. During the Dawlê (drum) and Zurna (oboe) performances, every elder will approach the groom, kiss his forehead, and say "Zewac Mubarakan." The bride receives a separate blessing: "Axiret mubarak be" – a wish that her afterlife (meaning her married life) is prosperous.