Inja Tehran ast
Sure, streets and traffic lights have changed, but nothing has changed

Shahin Milani
July 28, 2005
iranian.com

After almost eight years, it was finally happening. I was on the Iran Air flight from Amsterdam to my beloved Tehran. The plane was full, and all the passengers that I saw were Iranian. The dude who was sitting next to me was quite a character.A little after I had started the conversation he was telling me about how his female cousin was divorcing her husband because she was caught watching porn and having sex with her husband's sister! I was shocked, of course. I had heard about the spread of lesbianism, but I didn't think I would hear stories about it before I had entered the Iranian airspace. Talking with that dude was fun, and it heralded a fun time.

Before long, we had entered the Iranian airspace. We were over Zanjan when the pilot announced that we are now in Iran. I was glad that I had made it that far. At least, if the plane crashed at that very moment, my remains would have remained in Iran and not some cemetery in the United States.

It was almost midnight when the plane landed in Mehrabad. I looked out the window. I saw the dim lights. I was home. It took me an hour to get through the passport stamping and baggage claim. I went through the green lights at the customs, and I saw a sea of people at the other side, all waiting for their loved ones. I saw my friends at the very end, jumping in the air and waving. I was finally here. I still couldn't believe it. I kept saying "Inja Tehran ast" like they say before radio newscasts.

It took me less than five minutes to shout my first words of profanity. It wasn't my fault. My friends started groping me as soon as I got in the car. I was in the middle in the back seat, and I was flanked by two guys who wanted to remind me how heterosexual guys have no problems groping each other. When I reminded them that due to living in the States I had become sensitive to this, they groped even more just to re-orient me. After a few minutes I lost control and shouted my first obscenity.

Unfortunately, my best friend fiancée was in the car too. They all gasped, and then they burst out laughing. My best friend told me that in the four years that he had been with his fiancée he had never used such foul language. He was laughing hard because I had managed to do it in less than five minutes....What a topsy-turvy world it is that you can easily grope your buddy with impunity but you can't use profane language if you've been subjected to the act.

I stayed in Iran for one month. I spent all of it in Tehran. I didn't have the time to travel. But I managed to do most of the things that I had planned. I got my teeth checked after three years, and I was happy to hear that they were just fine. I went to the former U.S. embassy compound and visited, albeit only from outside, the place that symbolizes Iran's quarter-century conflict with the West.

I went to the Azadi Stadium for the Bahrain game, and I cheered for Iran and shouted some more profane words and hugged my friends and my cousin-in-law when Iran scored. During the fireworks after the match I gazed at the sky in disbelief. I was in the Azadi Stadium, and Iran had reached the World Cup.

I went to the place where our house used to stand. Now in its place stands a big five-story building. I went to my elementary school and my high school. Both were closed. It was a Thursday. I should have known better.

One day I set out to go to Khomeini mausoleum, "Marghade Mottahar". I had always wanted to see it. I took the Tehran metro. According to the map, Marghade Mottahar was the last stop on the red line. But three stops before that, on Shahre Rey, the train stopped and everyone got off. For some reason that I didn't find out, that day the train was only going that far.

I exited the Shahre Rey station just to see how it's like outside. I saw a sign showing the direction to Shah Abdol Azim mosque. Well, that was that. I decided to go there. I walked for 15-20 minutes, and I was there. On the bazaar leading to the shrine, I saw a merchant showing a customer how to tie a necktie. So much for Cravat being a symbol of western decadent lifestyle, I thought. 

While I was in Shahre Rey, I decided to do one of the other things that I had planned. I took a cab to Ebne Babeveyh cemetery, and I paid my respects to Takhti and Dehkhoda. These two men symbolize much of what is great about Iran, and I wanted to thank them personally. The cabbie thought that I was there for my thesis. I told him that all I wanted to do is to show that despite living in another country, and a very materialistic one in that, I have not forgotten our true national heroes and their admirable patriotism.

When I got on the plane for my flight back I was genuinely satisfied. After a month of seeing family and friends, eating chelokabab and playing Gol-Koochik at ungodly hours, I was happy. I had managed to use the Iranian toilet, and I had not had a panic attack caused by the way people drive. I saw Iran reach the World Cup and participated in the event myself. I saw the election campaign.

I saw all this, and it made me happy that I found nothing there that shocked me. I had kept up with developments in Iran over these years, and nothing that I saw over there was particularly surprising. Sure, streets and traffic lights had changed, but nothing had changed that would make me feel I don't belong there.

I think that I can go back and live in Iran . I do not have any immediate or long-term plans to do so, but it was very good to know that if I want, I can. Finding this out was the single most important outcome of my trip. I'm very glad that what I found was in accordance with what I wanted to find. I'm really happy about this.