We bought two goldfish for Persian New Year, but seven years later Dad’s tablespoon caused a family drama

There are things I expect to be difficult when celebrating Persian New Year in Newcastle upon Tyne. Finding specific ingredients, for example, or explaining why we’re celebrating New Year in March when everyone else has only just recovered from Christmas. But buying two goldfish? I thought that would be fairly straightforward. After all, we weren’t looking for anything exotic. Just two ordinary goldfish for our Sofreh Haft Sin.

I was wrong. What started out as a simple shopping trip turned into several visits to a pet shop, an unexpectedly expensive aquarium and seven years of caring for two little orange fish. Their eventual departure from this world would also cause one of the strangest family misunderstandings I’ve ever experienced.

For anyone unfamiliar with Nowruz, it marks the arrival of spring and the beginning of the Persian New Year. At the centre of our celebrations is the Sofreh Haft Sin, a traditional display featuring seven symbolic items beginning with the Persian letter ‘S’. Families often add other objects, including mirrors, candles, painted eggs and goldfish. The goldfish, or mahi, is associated with life, water and new beginnings, making it a common sight on many Persian New Year tables.

In Iran, buying goldfish for Nowruz can be a bit of a different experience. As my husband, H, describes it growing up, sellers had containers full of little orange fish ready for families preparing their Haft Sin displays. The question was less about whether you had a suitable aquarium at home and more along the lines of whether you wanted one scoop or two. One scoop or two! As though you were buying sweets.

Of course, that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily the best arrangement for the fish, but it gives you some idea of the cultural difference that existed back then. In Britain, as we were about to discover, acquiring two goldfish today involves slightly more preparation than just pointing at the ones you fancy.

I’d expected a few challenges celebrating Persian New Year in Britain, but I hadn’t anticipated being defeated by two fish having a nap.

It started innocently enough. We visited a local pet shop in search of goldfish for our Sofreh Haft Sin. I wasn’t expecting anything complicated. After all, pet shops sell fish. We wanted fish. Surely this was one of those rare shopping trips where everyone knew what they were doing and we could be home in time for a cup of tea.

We found the goldfish, admired them and prepared to make our purchase. That was when a member of staff informed us that we couldn’t have them because they were sleeping. Sleeping!

I looked at the little fish, and then I gave the member of staff one of my hard perimenopausal stares. Then I looked back at the fish, presumably enjoying a well-earned rest after a demanding morning of swimming around their tank. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with this information. Were we expected to come back after their nap? Was there a particular time when the fish would be receiving visitors?

Now, I appreciate that fish need rest. As a woman in midlife, I’m hardly going to criticise another living creature for wanting a bit of peace and quiet. In fact, given half the chance, I’d quite happily spend an afternoon floating around undisturbed myself. But I had never encountered a situation in which buying a goldfish depended on whether it had enjoyed sufficient shut-eye.

There was something wonderfully British about the whole exchange. Here I was, attempting to honour an ancient Persian tradition celebrating the arrival of spring, only to discover that the goldfish were unavailable because they were having a nap. Somewhere in Iran, families were preparing their Haft Sin tables, and here in Newcastle I was apparently expected to make an appointment with a fish.

We left empty-handed, with me muttering about the difficulties of celebrating Persian New Year in Britain. I’d expected a few challenges finding traditional Persian ingredients, but I hadn’t anticipated being defeated by two sleeping goldfish.

Undeterred, we returned to the pet shop later. By then, the goldfish had apparently enjoyed sufficient rest and were swimming around their tank again. Excellent, I thought. We could finally buy our fish and get on with preparing for Nowruz.

Unfortunately, the next question was whether we had a suitable aquarium at home. Well, no. Not yet. In my mind, I’d been shopping for two little fish to join our Persian New Year celebrations. I hadn’t appreciated that I was about to embark on a crash course in aquarium ownership. The staff explained that goldfish needed a properly equipped home, with adequate space, filtration and suitable water conditions. The days of assuming that a small glass bowl would do were clearly behind us.

So, instead of coming home with two goldfish, we came home with a £200 biOrb CLASSIC 60 aquarium. Yes, £200. For two fish that hadn’t even made it through the front door. And it wasn’t just any old fish tank. Our biOrb was a 60-litre acrylic aquarium, designed to resemble a traditional round fishbowl but with a full 360-degree view. It measured 50cm across and 52cm high, making it quite a substantial addition to our home. Filled with water, it weighed around 60kg, so finding somewhere sturdy enough to accommodate our new aquatic residence was another consideration.

According to the manufacturer, its acrylic construction was 10 times stronger, 50% lighter and 23% clearer than ordinary glass. It also came with a five-stage filtration system incorporating biological, mechanical and chemical filtration, water stabilisation and oxygenation. There was ceramic media to support beneficial bacteria, an air pump, an air stone, water treatments and a filter cartridge. I’d gone out to buy two goldfish and somehow ended up reading specifications that sounded more appropriate for a piece of laboratory equipment.

Then there was the lighting. Our model came with a remote control offering 16 preset LED colours, adjustable brightness and automatic day-and-night cycles of eight, ten, twelve or fourteen hours. You could even set the colours to fade through the spectrum. I couldn’t help thinking that our goldfish were about to enjoy a more sophisticated lighting arrangement than we had in our living room.

The whole thing looked splendid once assembled. Its rounded design meant you could admire the fish from every angle, and the lighting gave it a slightly futuristic appearance. It was a step up from the little glass bowl I’d originally imagined sitting alongside our Haft Sin decorations.

Of course, buying an aquarium is only the beginning. A new tank needs its water prepared and its biological filtration established before fish can safely be introduced, a process that can take several weeks and takes water testing. I can’t now recall every detail of our original setup, but I do remember that buying the equipment meant another trip home without the fish. We eventually returned to the pet shop yet again to buy the two goldfish we’d originally set out to buy.

By this point, I felt we’d invested so much time and money in the exercise that the fish ought to have come with a certificate of ownership and a small welcome hamper.

Nobody had warned me that a couple of goldfish could turn into such a financial commitment. What began as a modest addition to our Sofreh Haft Sin was rapidly developing into an aquarium project. I’d gone out thinking about Persian culture and the symbolism of spring. I was now thinking about water quality, aquarium maintenance and how much space two goldfish might eventually need.

And then there was the question of what to feed them. While we stood in the pet shop studying packets of goldfish flakes, comparing ingredients and wondering which brand offered the best nutrition, I couldn’t help thinking about H growing up back in Iran, who had simply fed his goldfish naan bread as a child. There we were, practically searching for the caviar of fish food, while H had apparently been running a more relaxed catering operation with the contents of the bread bin.

Of course, naan bread isn’t really suitable food for goldfish, and I wasn’t suggesting we follow his example. But the contrast made me laugh. Here in Britain, we have the RSPCA, animal welfare guidance and pet shop staff asking questions about suitable accommodation and food. H remembered a largely different experience of buying goldfish for Nowruz in Iran.

We’d gone from wanting two little goldfish for our Persian New Year table to scrutinising their dinner with seriousness. I half expected the fish to develop a preference for a specific brand and refuse anything else. Given the amount we’d already spent, nothing would have surprised me.

The fish, meanwhile, remained entirely unconcerned by the financial upheaval taking place on their behalf. They just swam around, sometimes changing direction, without the slightest appreciation of what we’d gone through to accommodate them.

Our experience also made me think more seriously about the goldfish tradition itself. In Iran, goldfish have long been associated with life, water and new beginnings, which makes them a popular sight on many Nowruz tables. But there’s an uncomfortable contradiction in all this. Every spring, demand for these little orange fish rises as families prepare for Persian New Year, yet some end up in overcrowded containers or unsuitable conditions.

A 2025 report by Türkiye Today raised concerns about goldfish sold for Nowruz, including poor water quality, overcrowding and inadequate care. Some die before the celebrations are even over. For a festival that celebrates renewal and the promise of new life, there’s something sad about the creatures chosen to represent those things being treated as disposable decorations.

What makes it worse is that goldfish can live for 10 to 15 years, sometimes longer, when they’re properly cared for. Yet some bought for Nowruz barely survive the celebrations. Crowded bowls, dirty water, poor oxygen levels and unsuitable food can all shorten their lives.

Reports have suggested that large numbers of goldfish die around Nowruz, although reliable figures are difficult to establish. It’s a grim fate for an animal that’s supposed to represent life and renewal. When you think about it, the goldfish should be around to see quite a few Persian New Years, not just the one it was bought for.

Iranian animal welfare campaigners have been raising concerns about the practice for years. Global Voices reported on campaigns encouraging families to celebrate Nowruz without live goldfish, while others have called for better education about the responsibility of keeping fish as pets.

I can see their point. There’s something uncomfortable about buying a living creature to make a table look attractive, when it might spend its short life in a cramped bowl before being forgotten. If you can’t provide a suitable home and care for a goldfish throughout its life, a decorative alternative makes far more sense.

Nowruz is supposed to celebrate life, renewal and the promise of better things to come. Surely the goldfish deserve to be part of that future, rather than forgotten once the festivities are over. If we’re going to include living creatures in our traditions, we have a responsibility to look after them long after the Haft Sin table has been cleared away.

If you’re planning to buy real goldfish for your Sofreh Haft Sin in Britain, I’d strongly recommend doing your homework before heading to the pet shop. I certainly wish we’d known more before our first visit, because what looks like a simple Persian New Year purchase can quickly turn into a long-term commitment.

First, you’ll need a suitably sized aquarium, not a small decorative bowl. Goldfish produce a surprising amount of waste and need plenty of swimming space. The size depends on the type of goldfish and how large they’ll grow, so it’s worth discussing your plans with a knowledgeable aquatics retailer before buying anything. Some varieties eventually need very large aquariums or ponds.

Although our fish lived for seven years in a 60-litre biOrb, I wouldn’t suggest that this makes it the right size for two adult goldfish. Modern fishkeeping guidance places considerable emphasis on swimming space, waste production and the adult size of the particular variety. A beautifully designed aquarium with a sophisticated filtration system isn’t automatically a suitable long-term home for every fish.

You’ll also need an appropriate filter to help maintain water quality, a water conditioner to remove harmful chemicals from tap water and testing kits to monitor ammonia, nitrite and other water conditions. Suitable food, regular maintenance and somewhere appropriate to position the aquarium are also important.

Perhaps most importantly, you can’t just assemble a tank, fill it with tap water and assume it’s ready for fish. A new aquarium needs to go through a process known as fishless cycling, which allows beneficial bacteria to establish themselves in the filtration system. This generally takes several weeks, and the water needs testing before fish can safely be introduced.

The RSPCA’s fish welfare advice and the Ornamental Aquatic Trade Association are useful starting points if you’re considering buying goldfish for the first time.

And remember, you’re not buying fish for a single celebration. You’re taking on animals that can live for many years, long after the hyacinths have wilted and the painted eggs have been cleared away.

What we hadn’t anticipated was just how long those two little goldfish would become part of our family. They lived for seven years in their biOrb, quietly going about their business while life carried on around them. Seven years is a long time. Long enough for countless family celebrations, changes in routine and plenty of opportunities to wonder whether the fish were getting a better diet than the rest of us.

The aquarium itself became a familiar feature of our home. With its rounded acrylic design and colourful lighting, it was more attractive than the basic fish tank I’d originally expected to buy. I could see why the manufacturer described it as a show-stopper, although I still thought £200 was a rather extravagant price to pay for two goldfish.

They became such a familiar presence that I barely thought about how unusual their arrival had been. The sleeping fish, the repeated trips to the pet shop and the unexpected aquarium expenses had become part of our family folklore. Our goldfish were there, swimming around, being fed and attracting attention when someone stopped to look at them.

Our two goldfish had outlasted the original Nowruz decorations. The hyacinths had long since wilted, the painted eggs had been cleared away and the sweets had disappeared within days. But the fish remained, year after year, quite content to keep swimming around while the rest of us got on with our lives.

Until we went to Iran.

We were visiting H’s family in Iran and had left my dad looking after the goldfish while we were away. They needed feeding, Dad was happy to help, and after seven years of fishkeeping I thought we’d managed to cover most eventualities. What I hadn’t accounted for was Dad’s interpretation of how much food two goldfish actually needed.

Apparently, he’d been feeding them a tablespoon of fish food every day. A tablespoon!

After all those years of carefully measuring out their flakes and worrying about the quality of their diet, our poor goldfish had been presented with what amounted to an all-you-can-eat buffet. For two little fish, a tablespoon of food a day was an extraordinary amount, and far more than they needed. Overfeeding can cause serious problems in an aquarium when uneaten food affects water quality, although I can’t say for certain exactly what caused our fish to die.

Then came the phone call. Dad rang while we were in Iran to tell me that the goldfish had died. After seven years, I was genuinely upset. They might only have been fish, but they’d been part of our household for a long time. We’d looked after them, watched them swim around their aquarium and grown used to their quiet presence.

H’s mum, however, didn’t understand what was happening. She could see that I’d received upsetting news from home and naturally assumed something terrible had happened. From my reaction, she thought a member of the family had died. Understandably, she was concerned and wanted to know what was wrong.

Then someone explained that it was the goldfish. The goldfish had died, mord. dead. Her reaction was a little bit different from mine. She laughed. Not because she was being unkind, but because she’d been so relieved to discover that no human member of the family had died. One moment she was fearing the worst, and the next she was being told that the family tragedy involved two little orange fish back in Newcastle.

Realising that I was genuinely upset, she immediately apologised for laughing. But by then the misunderstanding had become so ridiculous that we all ended up laughing together. There I was, mourning two goldfish that had survived seven years of family life only to meet their end while we were on holiday, and H’s mum was trying to explain that she’d thought someone considerably larger and more closely related to us had died.

It was one of those moments when two cultures, a language barrier and a perfectly innocent misunderstanding collided. I was still sad about the fish, of course, but even I could see the funny side.

What happened next gave the whole episode another distinctly Persian twist. H’s mum explained that, in her experience, some people in Iran believed that when a goldfish died while family members were travelling, it could mean the fish had taken misfortune upon themselves. According to this superstition, the fish had died in place of the travellers, somehow protecting them from harm on the road.

It was a belief I’d never encountered before. Here I was, upset that Dad had apparently been feeding our fish enough flakes to sustain a small aquatic army, while H’s mum was explaining that their deaths might traditionally be interpreted as a sign that we’d been protected during our journey.

To this day, I’m not entirely sure whether she genuinely believed that superstition or was just trying to make me feel better. Perhaps it was something she’d grown up hearing, or she’d seen how upset I was and thought it might offer some comfort. Either way, it was a lovely thing to say, even if I wasn’t quite convinced that our two goldfish had sacrificed themselves for the family.

I wasn’t about to argue with her. She’d already spent several uncomfortable moments believing that a human member of our family had died, only to discover that the tragedy involved two goldfish in Newcastle. Then she’d laughed with relief, apologised for laughing and somehow managed to make the rest of us laugh too.

I don’t know whether our goldfish saved us from anything on the road, and I wouldn’t suggest that their deaths had some supernatural purpose. But I loved hearing how differently the same event could be understood. To me, they were two little pets we’d cared for over seven years. To H’s mum, their deaths might also have carried a symbolic meaning, or at least provided a way of making a sad moment feel a little less sad.

Whether she believed it or not, she’d managed to turn an upsetting phone call into one of those family stories that still makes me smile.

Looking back, I never imagined that buying two goldfish for Nowruz would give us quite so much to talk about. There was the pet shop visit when the fish were sleeping, the unexpected £200 biOrb with its mood lighting and filtration system, the search for the caviar of fish food and seven years of watching two little orange creatures swim around our home.

Then came Dad, armed with a tablespoon and the best intentions, and a telephone call from Iran that briefly convinced H’s mum we’d suffered a much greater family tragedy. I still feel sad when I think about the fish dying. Seven years is a long time to have any animal in your home, and we’d grown attached to them. But I can’t help smiling at the memory of H’s mum laughing with relief, apologising for laughing and then explaining that, according to an old belief, the fish might have died to protect us on our travels.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the experience, it’s that goldfish deserve proper care, my dad’s feeding instructions should always be written down and nobody should ever underestimate the amount of trouble two little fish can cause. As for H’s mum’s explanation, perhaps she was right, perhaps our goldfish really did save us from something dreadful on the road.

Have you ever discovered a family superstition that made you wonder whether someone genuinely believed it or was trying to make you feel better? And if you celebrate Nowruz, do you include real goldfish on your Haft Sin table, or have you found another way to honour the tradition?

Occasional stories, experiments, discoveries and questions from Saffron & Cyrus.