This piece was written for an Association of Iranian American Writers’ reading at “One Day: A Collective Narrative of Tehran,” at San Francisco’s Intersection for the Arts. Exhibition runs through January 23, 2009. theintersection.org
I am a Tehran girl. I was born in Tehran’s Amirieh neighborhood, but moved to Tehran Pars with my family before I turned one. The quiet and sleepy suburban neighborhood had all that was ideal about raising children, I guess. The perfect new streets, all straight and numbered, were signs that this was one of the first planned neighborhoods of Tehran. It had amenities no other neighborhood had as yet, a huge playground, a modern public swimming pool, a drive-in cinema, two adjacent elementary schools for girls and boys, and even aspirations for a casino!
Our house was near a stone cutting factory, sang-bori. Everyday at noon, just before hearing the azaan from the mosque nearby, we could hear a siren which announced lunch break for the workers. The paved road leading to our house ended right after our house and the rest was nothing but vast fields, covered in untouched snow during winter months, and covered with wild daisies and brambles during the rest of the year. It feels surreal now to remember that we used to see herds of sheep and camels in our neighborhood all the time. They would come around to graze and rest, from where to where, I do not know. I only know that in the quiet neighborhood, you could never miss the sound of the bells around the camels’ necks, heralding their arrival, creating a frenzy among the children who would run out to stand watch all around the camel herd. I remember my mother offering the man cold water and food sometimes. I also remember riding on the camels occasionally, when the shotorban would let me. I remember the mixed exhilaration and fear of being raised several meters into the air and watching my sisters and my playmates from that height. I remember the nervous and gleeful laughter of us all.
Tehran felt big even when it was a lot smaller, but as I grew up and learned to move about independently, it became less intimidating to navigate. I knew it well in my neighborhood and places I had to go by myself, and slowly, I started to learn it well in other areas, understanding its dimensions and borders, and even something about how to survive in it. I learnt, for example, as a young woman, how to walk straight and alert, with clothing that was not too suggestive, through certain parts of the city in order to make safe passage from men who took liberties with women’s breasts and buttocks in broad day light. I learned to have a sense of humor about their lewd words, matalak, uttered at me and all the other women going by. I learned the bus system, the way catching a taxi worked, and how and where to sit in a taxi cab to avoid the leg of the man to my right or the elbow of the cab driver, eagerly pushing into my left breast and petting my left thigh during each gear shift.
Tehran was my beautiful ugly city, sprawling at the bottom of so many mountains surrounding it, providing nonstop entertainment and fascination to anyone who wanted to know it. I lived side by side of many who had been attracted to it from far away places of the world, living it and loving it. Did Tehran have cemeteries, too? Did it have prisons and torture chambers, too? I didn’t know. The question never occurred to me.
Tehran was the city in which I fell in love for the first time, and all the other times after it. I cried my tears talking to the streams of water running through shallow canals, joob, from North to South, whispering my longings to the trees lining its Pahlavi Avenue. Those same streets saw my wedding motorcade one day, where our old Jian was decorated with flowers and ribbons, followed by friends and families’ better cars, escorting us to our honeymoon.
I was a real Tehran girl.
Leaving Tehran in 1978, the last image of looking back and taking in Mehrabad Airport has remained fresh and at times surreal in my mind. This was an image I had to come back to many, many times, asking myself in desperation whether it was the same city I saw in flames and chaos just a few months later on ABC News. I had left what I had thought was my peaceful and safe city, full of happy friends and family, only to see people who resembled them walking down the same streets of memory and love, chanting slogans of protest, getting beaten up and shot at, with a familiar looking boys’ bloody hand pointed at the camera. In the months to come, I could recognize less and less of the city in the images and even less of the people in it.
I returned to Iran in April, 1980. I managed to catch the last glimpses of the urban utopia Tehran had become to so many people who had become revolutionaries. I remember walking on Shahreza, Enghelab Avenue, across from Tehran University, watching the never-ending rows of books and tapes and newspapers offered by educated, green jacket clad peddlers, feeling inadequate in my ignorance about the left and about Islam. The utopian state didn’t last, for soon I also had to witness the violent crackdown on newspaper girls and the book peddlers. My mind was locked in a perpetual state of fear with news of relatives captured, some executed for being generals in Shah’s army, or for distributing flyers at a rally, the difference never understood.
I remember the day Iraqi missiles hit Mehrabad Airport. I was at work and the distant sound of a blast did little to convey the significance of what was about to come to my inexperienced mind. Witnessing the ensuing curfew and watching pickup trucks carrying gun wielding young men headed for the war front needed months to register and settle in my mind and to convey the reality of what was up ahead, a war. I remember having to learn to stand in lines for fuel, for bread, and for tissue paper and milk. I had to learn to get used to hearing gun shots, too. One day we were having tea on the terrace and the sound of three gun shuts close by had all of us frozen. Some government official had been assassinated steps away in broad daylight.
I left Iran again in 1981, unable to return until 1988. During these years, family and friends had been imprisoned, executed, or forced to flea Iran. My heart was parked in a perpetual state of longing, sadness, and fear for Iran. During these years I finally knew Tehran had cemeteries and prisons.
I returned to Tehran in 1992. My city had changed. Its parks were fenced in, its streets were covered in huge murals, showing images of martyrs and religious leaders, its periphery had grown in reach and population, its air had started to become unbreathable, and its people had changed in appearance and demeanor, somehow seeming shorter, darker, and so much sadder. I remember staying inside the house for several weeks, unable to overcome the fear of facing people I felt I no longer knew. I remember feeling numb as I got dressed properly to leave the house, unable to enjoy any activity, feeling reserved and frightened all the time. What if I said the wrong thing? What if I did the wrong thing? I could get arrested and I wouldn’t know what to say and do to get out. I went to find my childhood home and found the neighborhood changed and deteriorated, ugly, and menacing. Nothing felt familiar, nothing. Where is my city, I wondered more than once.
Gradually, though, Tehran grew on me again. It was like it opened its arms, somehow, and let me in. I started to re-learn its streets and neighborhoods, its inadequate urban transportation system, and to push the scaly exterior aside and put my hand on its soft and velveteen heart. I fell in love with the ugly beauty all over again.
I tried, without much success, to save its last standing trees. I was a determined army of one, on a mission. I learned a lot about corruption and greed, but I was also able to give a few jolts of awareness and resistance to the men carrying the axes and pushing the green parrots and sparrows, gonjishks, out of Tehran forever.
My biggest accomplishment during this time, however, was the two new Tehranis in my family, my sons. Now they had to learn the city and fall head over heels in love with it. Now they had to learn the walk, the talk, and the tension and excitement that lived under the beautiful ugly’s skin. Now they had to learn its new rules, of illegal parties and illegal kisses and illegal longing. Now they had to learn to negotiate their way out of an arrest or how to spend a night in a detention center cell. They are Tehran Boys now.
I watched the June uprising on YouTube this time, trying to make sense of what was happening in Tehran, yet again. Only this time, I had the Tehran Boys nearby, sharing my shock and grief, feeling the excitement and pride, and helping me identify our neighborhoods through the smoke, crowds, rocks, and charging police bikers.
“Is that Vanak’s Shiraz Square?!!” Asked the Tehran Girl.
“Yes, I think I see the sign for “Bonab Kabab,” said one of the Tehran Boys.
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I love Tehran
by IRANdokht on Tue Nov 24, 2009 04:02 PM PSTI enjoyed reading about Tehran Pars, Vanak and Meydoon Shiraz and Shemiran too. As a matter of fact, I have lived in all those neighborhood and have many dear memories of them all.
Thanks for a beautifully written piece about my beloved city too. You described it so well.
IRANdokht
Setareh, Ay Setareh!
by Nazy Kaviani on Tue Nov 24, 2009 03:52 PM PSTDon't you cry! Tehran lives through us and we through it. Thank you for your kind comment and may nostalgia always bring your beautiful heart a galaxy of smiles and good memories always.
Princess Jan
by Nazy Kaviani on Tue Nov 24, 2009 03:44 PM PSTThanks for your comment. Heeh! Taking you to Tehran was nothing compared to your taking the lot of us to Afghanistan! That was some interesting writing and reporting you did my friend. Didn't it become obvious to you that our hearts beat somewhere in that region of the world? I felt the heartbeat in Konya, Turkey, once. Thanks again Princess Jan.
Nazy jan, a sincere thanks ...
by Setareh Cheshmakzan on Tue Nov 24, 2009 03:41 PM PSTI loved this piece. As I read, I saw and heard and touched and smelt my city, my throat swelled and tightened and tears ran down silently inside my eyes, went through my nose and down my throat ... I am at work! "Gradually, though, Tehran grew on me again. It was like it opened its arms, somehow, and let me in. I started to re-learn its streets and neighborhoods, its inadequate urban transportation system, and to push the scaly exterior aside and put my hand on its soft and velveteen heart. I fell in love with the ugly beauty all over again". Yes, I know, me too!
Shifteh Jan
by Nazy Kaviani on Tue Nov 24, 2009 03:47 PM PSTThanks so much for coming and for sharing your own sentiments about the ugly beauty! Heeh! You got it hamshahri! Nothing feels as beautiful as Tehran does, even though whenever you go back, you have to spend days getting used to how it smells!
Speaking of smells, get this: my favorite pastime was walking down residential streets (alleys) and taking in the smell of kitchens at noon! Oh my god! I'd go by one window and smell piaaz daagh, and the next ghormeh sabzi, and the next sholeh zard! It was a constant game of "name that dish" for me! A true treat of nostalgia.
I'm glad you are contemplating going back soon. My trip would have to wait a while yet. Thanks again for your very nice comment Shifteh Jan.
Filled with so much love
by Princess on Tue Nov 24, 2009 11:31 AM PSTNazy jan, This piece has uncovered images, smells and tastes I didn't even know I had burried inside of me. I left Iran as a child, but even I can relate to your Tehran.
Thank you so much for taking us to the Tehran of your childhood.
Dear Nazy jan...
by shifteh on Tue Nov 24, 2009 11:25 AM PSTKheyley ghashang va bitakalof gofty;kheyley be delam neshast!
Whenever i go back; i roam the streets and allies of my childhood. I rarely take a car ride; I walk and walk and walk. Lets face it, Tehran is one of the ugliest cities. Yet, i only see the tall trees that are still majestically lining up the Pahlavi street; and the JOOBS that are lining them. And, i think to myself "this is one of the prettiest roads, ever!"
I used to know every kooche, mahale, and khiaboons of Tehran. I used to know the best short-cuts to get you from Arya-shahr to Tehran-pars. I was better than most taxi-drivers:) Not anymore...I get lost a lot; but, all it takes is to look for mountains and once I see them, I know that I am are heading north... And, the rest is easy...
Thank you for reminding me; i feel restless now, i need to book my tix to the ugliest city in the world and walk in the most polluted air ever, to feel refreshed and alive again;)
پدروی عزیز
Nazy KavianiTue Nov 24, 2009 10:13 AM PST
از یادداشت پر مهر و بسیار نوستالژیک شما ممنونم. بله، شهر فرنگ را یادم می آید:
"شهر، شهر فرنگه، خیلی تماشا داره، خوب تماشا کن....."
//i4.tinypic.com/2pyxj5g.jpg
در سالهای اخیر، یک بار در جمعه بازار تهران یک جعبهء شهر فرنگ را دیدم که به قیمت گزافی به فروش رفت. من یادم هست که وقتی بچه بودیم، بهترین روزهای دنیا روزهایی بودند که شهر فرنگی و چرخ و فلکی میامدند به محلهء ما و ما با خوشحالی می دویدیم و نگاه می کردیم یا سوار چرخ و فلک سیار می شدیم.
از خاطراتت ممنونم .
Nazy khanom'e Gol
by HollyUSA on Tue Nov 24, 2009 10:04 AM PSTWhy sorry?? It didn't make me sad, it stirred...and that is always a good thing when it is for the right reasons :)
I'm glad you didn't stick to the time limit. Some rules are just not productive and are meant to be broken. I'm proud of my Iranian rule-breaking sisters ;)
...
by Red Wine on Tue Nov 24, 2009 09:56 AM PSTنازی جان،در ابتدا از شما سپاس گذارم که وقت گذاشتید،مرحمت فرمودید و مطلب ما را بی جواب نگذاشتید !
همانگونه که قبل گفتیم،ما با شما کاملاً موافقیم ! اما باید متذکر شویم که بد از ۳۰ سال دوری از شهرمان،دلمان آن چنان پر است از زمانه که انگاری از منطق دوریم و دل تنها به احساسات سپرده ایم !
دست خودمان نیست،این چنین بزرگ شده ایم ! آن چنان دلمان را سوخته اند که مظلومانه سر بر هر شانه دوستی گذاریم و آهسته بغض کنیم و شکوه !
نمیدانیم این سفینه دل،تا به کدام درگاه غم ما را کشاند که این چنین زجر کشیم و هر روز بمیریم و هر روز دورتر از خاک خوش بوی شمیرانمان شویم ! ... دلمان پر است و پهنه این سینن پر از خون است ...
شکر خدا را به جای میاوریم که هنوز امری باقیست و امیدی به جا !
دست حضرت خانوم، سرکار علیه نازی خانوم جان را میفشاریم و مجددا تشکر میکنیم.
Monda Jan
by Nazy Kaviani on Tue Nov 24, 2009 09:20 AM PSTThank you for your kind comments. That Fared Shafinury music clip had a very touching effect on me when I first saw it, too. It shows the Tehran of now.
This Kiarostami film, Nan o Koocheh, shows the koocheh-baaghs of Shemiran in 1970:
//www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DGOXDRuVBI
These are aerial images of Tehran in 1959 which is closer to the time we were born:
//www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpkGzl7C-Ts
I will send you something in the mail which you might like to see. Thanks again.
Thank you!
by Nazy Kaviani on Tue Nov 24, 2009 09:04 AM PSTFarshad Jan, how are you baba joon?!! I haven't heard from you in ages! I hope you are well my friend and keeping warm. Thanks for reading my piece.
Jaleh Jan, And where have you been?!! I miss your bubbly presence! It is always a treat to hear from you. Thank you.
Anahid Jan, thank you. You only missed the stammers and stutters! Reading is not easy for me, but I'm working on it.
Nazy the scenes on this clip reminded me of your piece
by Monda on Tue Nov 24, 2009 07:45 AM PSTI'm sure you have seen this many times,
//www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLQvqjiG7_U&feature...
the photo chosen for your blog is very powerful BTW.
Nazy,I agree with Monda. This is your best ever that I have read
by Anahid Hojjati on Tue Nov 24, 2009 06:23 AM PSTDear Nazy, sorry that I missed your reading of this wonderful article. I agree with Monda where she writes:
"Nazy this is my most favorite piece written by you, possibly ever."
Wonderfully touching
by Monda on Tue Nov 24, 2009 05:44 AM PSTNazy this is my most favorite piece written by you, possibly ever. I will save to read it again. Lucky those present at your gathering listening to you reading it for them.
Very sweet Nazy jan!
by Jaleho on Mon Nov 23, 2009 08:19 PM PSTYou expressed the feelings shared by many. Thanks.
Thank you!
by farshadjon on Mon Nov 23, 2009 08:19 PM PSTVery well written article, Nazy khanom!
Thank you.
Holly Jan
by Nazy Kaviani on Mon Nov 23, 2009 08:11 PM PSTI'm sorry if my humble piece made you sad. I didn't write it with sadness.
I was told that each writer had 8 minutes for their piece. I struggled hard to try and squeeze the text into 8 minutes, but I couldn't do it! The shortest time it took to read it was 13 minutes, way over my allotted time! I thought briefly about cutting some paragraphs out of it to make it read faster, but each paragraph would have been one of the times that I went back to Tehran and I couldn't choose which one to take out! My friends were gracious to me and I got to read the whole required 13 minutes! I had to tell the story of the sadness I feel when I'm away from Tehran and how when I'm in it, even catastrophes and wars don't seem to hurt as much as the distance does.
But none of that is sad for me, because I also have tales and sentiments about where I live today, and tales of longing for it when I was away. Such is the life of us emigrants. In the longing and the reflection lies added value and wisdom, patience, and hope. That's what I think my friend. Thanks so much for your kind and poignant comment.
Nazy jan
by HollyUSA on Mon Nov 23, 2009 07:42 PM PSTI tried several times since you posted this, to read the entire text and with work and what not, I kept getting interrupted. I finally sat down to read and finished a few minutes ago.
Although I can't relate much to the extent of your teen and young adulthood years' memories, the parts that described your feelings and observations when you returned after many long years to what seemed unfamiliar had me covering my face with both hands and reading through a narrow opening between my fingers until I finally just let myself cry. It is such an indescribable, undestroyable and illogical love. Where the heck does it come from I always wonder.
I read part of Omid's blog on the feeling of nationalism earlier today. Now I'm hesitant to go and read it in its entirety. I'll have to work my way through this one first.
Thank you for writing. Thank you for writing so beautifully. Thank you for writing so completely.
Dear Vildemose
by Nazy Kaviani on Mon Nov 23, 2009 07:54 PM PSTWhat made you fall in love with the city again?
She asked.
And I read her a poem,
Something old, something I had written before...
Homesick,
for a land that holds my childhood
for a place which saw me through love
for streets that saw my joy
for trees that witnessed my tears
for shops that traded kindness
for shopkeepers who sold wisdom
for friends who gave me love
for old ladies who gave me advice
for children who gave me wonder
for youth who gave me pride
for my parents who were my world
for their graves which beckon my tears and tales
for the people who are strung out
for the time that it was
for the place that it was
for the home that it was
for the home that is no longer
for the hope that rests within,
I am homesick.
//iranian.com/main/blog/nazy-kaviani/home...
Thank you my friend.
Beautiful as always. What
by vildemose on Mon Nov 23, 2009 07:11 PM PSTBeautiful as always. What made you fall in love with the city again?
Dear Rabbi and MPD
by Nazy Kaviani on Mon Nov 23, 2009 07:03 PM PSTThank you for reading and for your comments. I am honored.
شراب جان
Nazy KavianiMon Nov 23, 2009 07:02 PM PST
یادم هست که روزی برای دیدن دوستان در رشت بودم. رفتیم جایی گل بخریم. آقایی که گل می فروخت با لهجهء آبادانی صحبت می کرد. دوستم از او پرسید بچهء آبادان اینجا چکار می کنی؟ گفت که بعد از جنگ آمده و مانده و دیگر نرفته. فقط بافت شمیران نیست دوست من. تمام ایران بافتش زیر و رو شده و آدمها جا به جا شده اند. جا به جا شدن آدمها که خود بخود باعث تخریب نمی شود. مثل این می ماند که غربیها بگویند که از وقتی این ایرانیها آمده اند کشور ما خراب شده. ما که می دانیم ما خراب نکرده ایم. خرابی های بافت قدیمی شهرهای ایران و تخریب محیط زیستشان یکسر مسئولیت قوانین و مجریان قانون در ایران هستند که مسئولیت حفظ میراث طبیعی و تاریخی ایران را به عهده نگرفته اند.
در همان فرانسه و یا ایتالیا، مگر کسی می تواند سرخود یک ساختمان 200 و 300 ساله را بکوبد و جایش یک ساختمان 5 طبقه بنا کند؟ مگر می شود حتی شاخهء یک درخت را همینطوری برید؟ نمیشود بابا جان، چون دولتها قوانینی وضع کرده اند که از منابع طبیعی و تاریخی و برنامه ریزی های کلان شهر ها محافظت کنند.
در کشور ایران همیشه قانون گذاران و مجریان خود را به صورت مسافرانی دیده اند که نمی دانند بلیط خروجشان تاریخش کی است بنابر این تا می توانند با عجله کیسهء خود را پر می کنند و چشم بر هر تخلف و تخریبی می بندند.
بله، درست است که قانون گذاران و مجریان هم مردم ایران هستند و این آنها هستند که تخلفات و تخریب ها را مرتکب می شوند، اما وجود قانون و جریمه در صورت تخلف کاملا لازم است و این بر عهدهء حکومت هاست.
شراب جان، می دانم چقدر غم تخریب شمیران را میخوری، اما بالله همه اش هم تقصیر تهرانی های قدیمی و جدید نیست!
شراب، یادم افتاد که وقتی داشتم فیلم نظام منوچهری را نگاه می کردم، جایی خانهء آبا اجدادی اش را در شمیران نشان می دهد (در اصل در فیلم نامه هایی از تهران ) و آن خانه که هنوز هم سر پا است خیلی زیباست. البته دیگر از قنات و نهرهای آبی که در آن میدویده خبری نیست، اما هنوز سرپاست. عکسش را اینجا برایت می گذارم دوست من.
//iranian.com/main/image/86952
Dear Mehrban Mehrban
by Nazy Kaviani on Mon Nov 23, 2009 06:38 PM PSTThanks so much for reading and for leaving a comment. Yes, I can appreciate that none of the indices of "goodness" might work on Tehran! Its cost of living is high and you don't get many amenities in return. Its police have been busy for 30 years, telling people what to wear, how to wear their hair, and who should or should not be invited to their parties, and all this while traffic laws have been broken and heinous crimes have been taking place which may have been avoided had the police been doing its real job.
Poor Tehran! No city can be a very good place to live or visit if it exists under the rule of a government that doesn't have high regard for human life and respectful treatment of its citizens and visitors.
But what can we do?! We love Tehran just the same! Thanks again Mehraban Jan. It's always a pleasure running into you. You picked your name and avatar very well and consistent with your character.
Nazi khanoom mamnoon.
by pedro on Mon Nov 23, 2009 06:36 PM PSTThank you Nazy for this lovely article
by Multiple Personality Disorder on Wed Nov 25, 2009 12:37 AM PSTI know every time I go back to Tehran I find the city to be changed from the time I saw her before. In our street, construction has never never stopped. One and two story villas are constantly turned into five stories, and with a little bribe and rule bending, even higher.
My parents had saved all their lives; managed to buy three properties. One of them is gone, to feed the need. The other two becoming multiple units; half for the builders, half for us, the land owners. I am talking about two pieces of small parcels. I wonder if I ever get to live there again. Where will I die?
...
by Red Wine on Mon Nov 23, 2009 03:35 PM PSTنازی جان... دوست بسیار عزیز .
این مطلب که شما فرمودید، کاملا درست است،منتهی باید توجه کرد که اگر دهاتیها و شهرستانیها به تهران مهاجرت نمیکردند، شمیران الان به مورد تاخت و تاز نا تهرانیها نبود !
تهران زشت بود ! زشت تر شده است ! هیچ به حساب و کتاب در آنجا رییتی نیست ! آنچه که هم از قدیم به جای بوده است، یا محمد رضا از بین برد و یا خمینی !
در بقیه موارد با شما دوست عزیز موافقم.
Hi! Nazy, This is a very nice piece, I am a Tehran girl too
by Mehrban on Mon Nov 23, 2009 03:48 PM PSTThe mountains are the best thing about the city so close and so formidable. I guess it is the same mountains that do not let the air pollution get out, well we take the good with the bad. The baghs were awesome which have been desomated as you say, what a shame. When I was there last time, there were, large signs throughout the city, emphasizing how one should not lie (go figure).
Just an aside, according to the Economist magazine of 2007, Tehran ranked #9 worst city in the world to live in. Imagine, only 8 other cities in the world including some god awful places in Africa and Asia that were worse than Tehran to live in. Our Tehran! can you believe that?!
//www.therealestatebloggers.com/2007/08/28/the-10-worst-cities-to-live-in-worldwide/
ای مرد مافوق!
Nazy KavianiMon Nov 23, 2009 02:13 PM PST
Thank you for your kind comment, Abarmard. Yes, Tehran is our beautiful ugly, and will always be, no matter in which part of it we grew up. These days, Tehran is so huge, it's hard to fathom going all the way west and driving on a freeway, finding yourself smack in the southernmost parts of Tehran, but that's the way its roads and neighborhoods work now. We could get lost in areas that never existed when we were around!
To my surprise, Tehran is also one of the cleanest big cities I have ever seen. The garbage collection business is still far from ideal, but street surfaces seem awfully clean, thanks to hardworking Shahrdari employees.
Thanks for coming Abarmard Jan. You are Maa fogh!
Beautiful
by Abarmard on Mon Nov 23, 2009 01:59 PM PSTTehran always had that Metropolitan feel.
Thanks for this beautiful writing about my city :)