Tehran Girl

Tehran was my beautiful ugly city, sprawling at the bottom of so many mountains surrounding it

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Tehran Girl
by Nazy Kaviani
22-Nov-2009
 

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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mohajaf

wonderful

by mohajaf on

Nazy jan,

This is a wonderful piece. I enjoyed it when I heard you read it couple of weeks ago. I enjoyed it again this evening when I read it here. You are a great writer and Tehran makes a vey interesting topic. I am not a Tehrooni kid but I lived there for 8 years and I have so many memories from it. Thanks.


Parchin

I want me some bonab kabab

by Parchin on

Oh isn't this just beautiful. I loved it.


Monda

Nazy jan!

by Monda on

I was studious, loved Andre & Chatanooga plus attended reza shah kabir.  So you go figure.  

Nazy, did you see this documentary BTW ? I just watched it for the 3rd time and thought of you and Jeesh, our super-nostalgic writers of the week: 

//iranian.com/main/blog/monda/fabulous-produc...

 


Nazy Kaviani

Thank you all!

by Nazy Kaviani on

Thank you all very much for your thoughtful and nostalgic participation in my humble piece. Thank you for all your sentiments and memories and for remembering Tehran, like me, with so much love and affection. The beautiful ugly lives and breathes and goes on, keeping old memories and creating new ones all the time.

Long live Tehran!


Nazy Kaviani

آقای جیش دارم عزیز

Nazy Kaviani


ممنون از لطف شما. البته تز همگی بچه درسخوان ها مجموعه ای از دبیرستان های تهران و شمیرانات بود. مال درس نخوان ها و فصل انگوری هایی مثل من عمدتا حول و حوش موبی دیک و آندره چاتانوگا و پیتزا پنتری نوشته شد.


Jeesh Daram

خاطره ای زیبا

Jeesh Daram


چقدر روان و دلنشین بود و آفتاب آمد دلیل آفتاب، که چگونه این خاطره توانست اینچنین شوری در بین خوانندگان ایجاد کند.  هرچند بیشتر تمرکز فکری من و دوستان روی دبیرستان انوشیروان دادگر و بعد دبیرستان دخترانه ارامنه روبروی دببرستان فیروز بهرام بود، ولی بعدا تز اصلی را بر اساس خاطرات دبیرستان نخشب، مهر و صفی نیای شمیران نوشتیم 


Red Wine

امان از دست شما تهرانیها !

Red Wine


امان از دست شما تهرانیها و تهرانی نماها !

آخر هفته خوبی را برایتان آرزو می‌کنم.

 


MEHRNAZ SHAHABI

نازی جان، آناهید عزیز

MEHRNAZ SHAHABI


چه معلمی هایی!  من که خیلی احساس قدر دانی می کنم.  یادشون بخیر.  بیژن اینجا نوشته که توی خواب  به تهران و میدان فوزیه بر می گرده.  من هم همینطور، من هم توی خواب به دروازه شمرون و خیابان ژاله و تهرانپارس بر می گردم.   نازی جان، همشهری، مرسی که خاطره ها رو تازه کردی . بلاگت عالی بود!  آناهید جان مرسی که پرسیدی و بام به گذشته اومدی...   


Anahid Hojjati

مهرناز جان , خیلی ممنون که از تنکابنی برایم نوشتی .

Anahid Hojjati


 

مهرناز عزیز , کامنتت در مورد آقای تنکابنی جالب بود .  ناراحت نباش که شیطنت می کردی .معروفترین معلمی که من داشتم , معلم ورزش من در دوران راهنمائی بود , آقای حیدری ( یادم نیست داوود یا رضا ) ,دو برادر حیدری هر دو داور بین الملی فوتبال در دهه ١٩٧٠بودند.


Nazy Kaviani

علی موسوی گرمارودی

Nazy Kaviani


علی موسوی گرمارودی معلم انشاء کلاس هشتم من بود، کسی که من را به نوشتن تشویق کرد و به من کتابهای غلامحسین ساعدی و جلال آل احمد را معرفی کرد. بعدها زندانی شد وبعد از انقلاب آزاد و عزیز شد.


MEHRNAZ SHAHABI

آناهید - آقای تنکابنی!

MEHRNAZ SHAHABI


آناهید جان، آقای تنکابنی قد خیلی بلندی داشت ، همیشه یک کت و شلوار سیاه می پوشید که از بس پوشیده بود برق افتاده بود.  خیلی جدی بود.  آروم حرف می زد و برای کسانی که شعورشو داشتن معلم خیلی خوبی بود ولی من آنقدر نا آرام و توی خط شیطنت بودم که این چیزها سرم نمی شد و قدرشو نمی دونستم.  ولی این هم بگم که زیاد کنترل کلاس دستش نبود!  یک دفعه یادمه انقدر با دوستم اذیت و سر و صدا کردیم که ما رو از کلاس بیرون کرد.  داشتیم با توپ تخم مرغی زیر میز فوتبال بازی می کردیم. خلاصه ما هم رفتیم پشت  دیوار کلاس رنگ گرفتیم و انگار نه انگار.  بعدا که یه کمی آدم تر شدم خیلی افسوس خوردم و از حماقت و وحشی گری هام خجالت کشیدم.  

یکروز دیگه سر کلاس نیومد و شنیدیم که ساواک گرفتتش و تو زندانه... همسرش توی همون مدرسه معلم ورزش بود و یادمه که چقدر آروم و محزون و خانوم بود.  فکر می کنم این همسرش بود که توجه یاغی و سرگردان منو بدون این که حرفی بزنه جلب کرد و نگاه داشت ... مردی در قفس، ستاره های تیره در شب تار .... یاد دوستم دینا بخیر.  دینا کجایی؟  از همون وقتا بود که سرمون شروع کرد بوی قرمه سبزی گرفتن ..   


Anahid Hojjati

Wow Mehrnaz, How lucky that you had "Tonkaboni" as Teacher

by Anahid Hojjati on

 

Dear Mehrnaz, that is great that "Fereidoon Tonkaboni" was your literature teacher.  Would you please write few lines about how he was as a  teacher? He was one of my favorite writers during late 1970s.


MEHRNAZ SHAHABI

نازی جان - یک دفعه گیج و ویج شدم!

MEHRNAZ SHAHABI


درست می گی، یک دبیرستان به آذین پایین تهرانپارس بود که من اول که آمدیم تهرانپارس اونجا رفتم و دخترها  از بر و بچه های گوهرشاد نزدیک دروازه شمرون موندشون بالاتر بود !  بعد یا  گروه خوارزمی به آذین رو خرید یا خوارزمی یک دبیرستان دخترانه دیگه پایین تهرانپارس تاسیس کرد.  عجیبه که یادم نمی یاد! فردا از خواهرم می پرسم!!  مدیرش خانم پروین اردلان بود ... ولی چیزی که هیچ وقت یادم نمی ره اینه که فریدون تنکابنی معلم ادبیاتم بود و  یادمه که یک مدت دستگیر شده بود و زندان بود ... چه معلم هایی داشتیم.  کاش اینقدر آتش پاره  نبودم و قدرشو بیشتر می دونستم ..  

خاطراتمو خیلی زنده کردی نازی جان

XX

 


Nazy Kaviani

Dear Jahanshah

by Nazy Kaviani on

Thank you for the compliment, Chief! The gathering at the Intersection for the Arts was all the better for your brief appearance. To be sure, Taraneh Hemami's art exhibition affected me and others in very nostalgic ways. Tehrani Girl I am!


Nazy Kaviani

Dear Shirindokht

by Nazy Kaviani on

Coming from you, the compliment means very much to me. You, yourself, are a fantastic writer and a courageous storyteller. You must share some of your work with others on Iranian.com, so they, too, know what I'm talking about.

Thank you for sitting upfront and shaking your head in my support throughout the reading! You are a doll Shirindokht Jan.


Nazy Kaviani

مهرناز عزیز!

Nazy Kaviani


یه بچه محل دیگه! خیلی خیلی خوشحال شدم!

گفتم که، خانهء ما آخر آخر خیابان های آسفالتی بود و بعد از آن بیابان محض بود، و فکر می کنم این شترها از پیرامون محله داخل نمی آمدند.

مهرناز از سگ ها نگو که من هم با آنها قصه های خودم را داشته ام! یک بار هم یکی از آنها دم خانهء مروارید خسروانی مرا گاز گرفت! یادم می آید یک دفعه هم به یک سگ مرده دست زدم و مریض شدم! اما خوب یادم می آید که وقتی می آمدند و سگها را می کشتند چقدر همه مان غصه دار می شدیم!

ماجرایی بود ها! من در تهرانپارس مثل همهء دخترهای دیگر می رفتم مدرسهء استاد خدابخش. پسرها هم می رفتند استاد پورداوود. بعدها دوتا دبیرستان دخترانه در تهرانپارس درست شد، آگاهی و به آذین. البته مدرسهء جام جم هم در ایستگاه حمام روی مرز تهرانپارس و تهران نو بود. دبیرستان خوارزمی که من سر از آنجا در آوردم در تهرانپارس نبود، بلکه در خیابان پهلوی، بین تخت جمشید و شاهرضا، نزدیک بزرگمهر بود. خاطرات دبیرستان خوارزمی من خودش یک کتاب گنده است!

مهرناز جان، از اینکه برگ دیگری به مشترکات روح و ذهن ما اضافه شد خیلی خوشحالم. من از تماشای نبوغ تو باید میدانستم که بچهء تهرانپارسی!

ممنونم!


Nazy Kaviani

Thank you

by Nazy Kaviani on

Dear IRANdokht and Ali Lakani, thank you for the sentiments.

Dear Kharmagas, the reason people don't ride bicycles on Tehran sidewalks is most likely the same reason I could never take a baby on a stroller on a sidewalk: uneven surfaces! Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, more than once I have had to tell Berkeley students to get off their bikes on the sidewalk and to walk it! I guess the temptation is too great worldwide! Kharmagas, when I was a kid, we used to travel to Isfahan all the time to visit a beloved aunt and uncle. I remember feeling scared walking on the narrow sidewalks next to the open sewer system, Maadi. I guess it doesn't exist anymore. I love your city a lot!


Jahanshah Javid

Tehrani Girl

by Jahanshah Javid on

Has anyone asked why not TehranI girl? Beautiful, delightful writing. Your best ever.


Red Wine

...

by Red Wine on

نازی جان، خوب شد و مقبول که شما این مطلب را نوشتید، حالا هر جا بینی‌ در این سایت،فقط تهرانی بینی‌،پناه بر خدا و نور بر قبر آغا!


Setareh Cheshmakzan

kharmagas - They have been since!

by Setareh Cheshmakzan on

"... I did some serious ridding with a Honda 125cc, at the time I saw nobody ridding/driving near me!" They have been since! Now look what you've done, Kharmagas!  Guilty now? ;)


shirindokht

Powerful :)

by shirindokht on

Nazy jaan,

I read your piece and enjoyed it as much as I listened to you reading it last Saturday. It's a very powerful piece, taking one back down the memory lane  and stirring familiar and not-so-familiar emotions. 

From one Tehran girl to another, my hat's off to you. :-)) 


Monda

Nazy aziz, dastet dard nakoneh!

by Monda on

for finding the kiarostami film and the areal images. Oh Man I miss Tehran so strongly! I am saving both for ever. 


kharmagas

OOps! (to Setareh)

by kharmagas on

I just remembered several years ago when I was in Tehran, in addition to serious walking in the sidewalks I did some serious ridding with a Honda 125cc, at the time I saw nobody ridding/driving near me!


Setareh Cheshmakzan

Kharmagas jan - There has been some negative influence already!

by Setareh Cheshmakzan on

There has been some irreversible negative influence already by Esfoonis who came and rode on Tehran's sidewalks.  Now they do that in Tehran too, without having learnt Esfooni's skills in riding motorcycles! 


kharmagas

on a serious note (to IRANdokht)

by kharmagas on

On a serious note, last time I was in Iran, I spent quite a few days in Tehran, walked a lot in the sidewalks and jogged in its suburbs.... what I liked the most about Tehran was the diversity of people. In the same neighborhoods there were Fars, Azari, and  .... people and businesses side by side.

One other less major thing I liked about Tehran was that unlike Esfahan, motorcyclists were not riding in the sidewalks! ...., I must therefore painfully confess that it is us EsvAnis who need some Tehrani cultural influence. 


MEHRNAZ SHAHABI

دختر تهرونی - سلامی چو بوی خوش آشنایی!

MEHRNAZ SHAHABI


نازی جان سلام!  من هم بچه تهرانپارسم و توصیفاتت من رو با خودش برد، برگردوند به همون خیابونای تمیز و خلوت و درخت کاری شده که من توش دو چرخه سواری یاد گرفتم. خونه ما هم روی خط محدوده بود و یک طرفش دشت و بیابون که ما توش فوتبال بازی می کردیم. من شتری ندیدم  (!) ولی پر سگهای ولگرد بود که من  یواشکی با پس مونده های غذا یا نون و پنیر صبحانه خودم توی راه مدرسه بشون غذا می دادم. بخصوص یک سگ بزرگ سیاه و سفید بود که از دست خودم غذا می خورد و همیشه بام تا ایستگاه اتوبوس می اومد و می ایستاد تا من سوار می شدم و دوباره بعد از ظهر دم ایستگاه منتظر می ایستاد تا بر می گشتم و منو تا دم در خونه همراهی می کرد.  خیلی دوستش داشتم.  یک روز وقتی برگشتم دم ایستگاه نبود ...  اومده بودن از شهرداری و "سگ های ولگرد" رو با تفنگ کشته بودن ...  هنوزم جلوی رومه و قلبمو بدرد میاره ...  تو هم دبیرستان خوارزمی نزدیک فلکه اول رفتی؟!  

اون طرف خیابونمون چند تا خونواده پرسنل ارتشی آمریکا بودن که بچه هاشون هر وقت توپشون می افتاد توی حیاط ما بدون اینکه زنگ درو بزنن و اجازه بگیرن می پریدن توی حیاط و توپشونو ور می داشتن!  بعضی چیزها خیلی آشناست!  حالا خوب بود که اقلا بعدش دوباره می رفتن بیرون!!

 کوچه ای هست که در آنجا
پسرانی که به من عاشق بودند هنوز
با همان موهای درهم و گردن های باریک و پاهای لاغر
 به تبسم معصوم دخترکی می اندیشند که یک شب او را باد با خود برد
کوچه ای هست که قلب من آن را
از محله های کودکیم دزدیده ست ...

 مرسی نازی جان 

 


Ali Lakani

Nazy

by Ali Lakani on

Thank you for the memories. For you and all the other Tehranis:

 


Red Wine

...

by Red Wine on

زنانه شد ، شرمنده...

سبز باشید.

 


IRANdokht

Elahi...

by IRANdokht on

ghorbooneh esvoonia beram keh mashalla hichki digaro ghabool nadaran! 

:-P

IRANdokht

PS: Sorry Nazy jan but I had to! :o)


kharmagas

Khanome Irandokht

by kharmagas on

Tehran kheily khobess, albette age shahdaresh ye esvani beshed, beyteram mished!