8 Magical Moments I’ve Experienced in Tehran (Part 3)

This summer gave a new definition to the meaning of “hot” in Tehran. I was constantly out and about in the sweltering heat, going from interview to meeting to class. It felt like I was constantly pushing myself and slowly melting away (yet miraculously managing to gain a few lbs) by releasing buckets of sweat in the process. It seemed like I spent the bulk of my time on public transportation which is why, I guess, that’s where my magical moments happened this time- as good a place as any. So here’s part three of my running series of magical moments, little snippets of experiences which are always popping up to remind me why I love Tehran, even if the summer heat all but killed me this year.

Hemmat Highway

Esteghlâl and Persepolis are the two biggest, most popular soccer clubs in Tehran, and when they come head to head, life comes to a standstill. But I had somewhere to be, and I knew the taxi driver was less than thrilled to be taking me when he could be watching the derby. To make up for missing the game, he kept calling his friend, asking for updates on the score. Just as I was thinking to ask him whether he was blue (Esteghlâli) or red (Persepolisi), I got my answer.

As we passed a car with an Esteghlâl flag flapping off the trunk, he honked at the guy and waved. The Esteghlâli guy honked and waved back. I couldn’t help but smile at this exchange. Here was the taxi driver so intent on showing his support that he had to honk. “Gotta support the team.” (Read that in your best David Puddy voice.) And here was this other driver who, without flinching, knew the exact meaning of that honk. And then there was me, still adding, as I learned, to my ever-growing dictionary of the meanings of various honks in Iran.

In a Snapp

Saturday is the Iranian Monday, and it’s just as hard for people here to roll out of bed and get to work. So on one Saturday morning, I got into my Snapp and was greeted by the friendliest, most positive energy driver I could have asked for. “Sobh bekheyr, khânum Fallahi!” (Good morning, Ms. Fallahi!) But he didn’t stop there. “Khubin shomâ? Hame khuban? Khânevâde khuban? Pedar? Mâdar? Kheyli khosh âmadin. Eftekhâr dâdin…,” (How are you? Is everyone good? How’s the family? Father? Mother? Welcome. It’s an honor…”). He seemed so genuine that I started to wonder if I knew him, especially because he was asking about my family. Soaking up his positive vibes, I found myself directing those same questions back at him. Not too shabby having such an uplifting exchange at the start of the workweek. Needless to say, he got 5 stars. 

Teatr-e Shahr metro station

The metro station at Teatr-e Shahr (City Theater) has numerous exits that let out into various BRT stations and different corners of the Valiasr-Enghelab intersection. As you find your exit underground, there’s a huge circle of kiosks selling everything from jewelry and manteau to lavâshak (fruit leather) and châi shomâli (tea from northern Iran). But my purchases that day included two plants that I carried in each hand.

Back on the metro platform, I kept shifting, trying to hold them straight and not bump into anyone. That’s when I heard a voice from behind me. “Khânum…khânum!” I turned to see a woman sitting on the platform selling creme-filled, chocolate-covered piroshkis. She waved for me to come over so she could give me a bag to carry my plants in. I thanked her and said it was fine and that I could carry them as is. “Na azizam, sakhtete. Biâ man ye nâylon behet bedam râhat begiri,” (No, my dear. It’ll be hard for you. Come, let me give you a bag so you can carry them comfortably.) I caved at her kind insistence. She placed my plants in a large bag that had a few streaks of chocolate, indicative of the first batch of piroshkis she had sold. “There you go. It’ll be much easier for you to hold now. And don’t worry. Nothing will happen to the bag!” I thanked her and hopped on the train. 

I feel like what she did was such a motherly thing to do. And it was, in fact, much easier to carry the two plants afterward. Mom’s are always right! Honestly, for a city of something like 15 million people, it’s amazing to me that these small gestures and signs of humanity are still so ubiquitous.

Metro, blue line

The Tehran metro is more of a metro-bazaar because you can find anything you need down there. I love listening to the vendors’ spiels and admire the etiquette they follow and respect they show one another as they take turns giving their respective sales pitches. When they start with, “The price of these bamboo toothbrushes is 25,000 toman in the pharmacy. My colleagues are selling them for 15,000…”, I like to guess what their special rate will be. 10,000? 5,000? And then it comes. “Because I want to finish the last few I have, I’m selling them today only at a discounted rate of 2 for 10,000.” I have to admit, it does increase the sense of urgency to buy. 

One day, a lady was selling socks, and she swore that you couldn’t find that quality for the price she was offering anywhere else in the world. The lady standing next to me chuckled, “Kerâyasho bede, man barât peydâ mikonam,” (Give me the [air]fare, and I’ll find it for you.). I had to laugh at this remark. So typical Iranian to always throw in a little tikeh. 

Metro, yellow line

Often when you buy something in Iran, the salesman doesn’t say “thank you” but rather, “Khodâ bede barekat” (May God give you blessings/God bless). On this particular day on the metro, a lady was selling bras and had taken out all the different colors for the lady buying to see. Since they were right in front of me, I looked on, imagining which color I would select. The woman must have read my mind because she chose the same one. The vendor swiped her debit card to complete the purchase and handed it back to the woman saying, “Inshallah be tandorosti bepushi, azizam,” (May you always wear it in good health).

This was such a sweet and, again, such a typical Iranian thing to say (not just for bras, but for any purchase, big or small. They often say they hope you wear/use it in good health.). Then I imagined how strange it would be in the US if the Victoria’s Secret saleswoman said something like this. It doesn’t quite work in English. But here, I find it very sweet. Did I already say that?

In a Tap30/shared taxi

I’ve mentioned before that my Iranian and American sides conflict when it comes to taarof. On the one hand, I find it unnecessary, but on the other, it seems so wrong not to do it. And at this point when I go back to the US, I’m utterly confused as to what’s Iranian culture and what’s American. Once on a plane in the US, I took out some gum and then felt compelled to offer some to the passenger next to me. He looked at me like I was insane before refusing. Note to self- offering gum, candy, or âjeel (dried fruits and nuts) of any kind to strangers is Iranian culture. How could I have forgotten the way that they beat it into our brains as children in the US to “never take candy from strangers!”

Meanwhile, back in Tehran, on my way to work, my Tap30 driver took a tupperware full of âjeel out of his glove compartment. He pried off the lid while simultaneously controlling the steering wheel and switching gears. Then he reached his arm back and taarofed me some.

A few days later, I was the first passenger to arrive for a shared taxi to Imam Khomeini Square. The driver had just poured himself a glass of tea, and in true Iranian fashion, he taarofed me before taking a sip. Obviously it was insincere, but like I said- it seems so wrong not to do it.

Of course, there have been many other similar instances- the lady sitting next to me on the bench near the Grand Bazaar offering me cookies, the lady sitting next to me on the train offering me sunflower seeds. It’s so normal here… and it’s nice. It seems like in the US, the first reaction is one of suspicion. But in Iran, it’s just good manners! Who’s for adopting this kind of taarof in the US (and elsewhere) as well?

Chamran Highway

One afternoon, we hit a bit of traffic on the highway. Moving traffic, but traffic nonetheless. I suddenly heard a “beep-beep… beep-beep-beep” from behind that made me laugh. A motorcycle was breezing through the cars while honking the tune you hear during celebrations. You have to admire a person who maintains a sense of humor in a situation that tends to get most others all riled up.

Shared taxi to Enghelab Square

You often see cars ask taxis for directions while driving. It’s so common that it doesn’t even phase the drivers. Everyone’s window is down, so it’s not unusual for a car to shimmy up and ask a question, at which point the cars will drive side-by-side until the direction-giving is over. Sometimes, one driver tells the other to follow them. Other times, they’ll give directions, and go about their business, but then as soon as they near to exit, the driver will stick his hand out the window pointing to the exit to make sure the other driver doesn’t miss it. It’s thoughtful how they kind of keep you in the back of their mind.

On the way to Enghelab Square one day, we were at a red light when a pick-up truck stopped next to the taxi. “Âghâ bebakhshid,” (Excuse me, sir) the driver said. More directions, I thought. Only this time the countdown on the traffic signal displayed enough time for the driver to ask his question and any possible follow-ups. “Emruz chandom-e?” (What’s the date today?) Well that was certainly unexpected. My brain still functions on the Gregorian calendar, so I couldn’t think of the right date. The passenger next to me answered. The driver thanked him and took out his notepad to jot something down.

Now, if I had been drinking something at the time, it would have come spewing out of my mouth. Internally, I was cracking up, but on the outside, there was just a huge grin on my face. Perhaps it doesn’t seem so funny to you, but the scenario was entirely too fitting. Iranians (and generally people in this part of the world) are creatures of contact, and the society is a highly verbal one. They love to make chit chat and interact and ask questions. I feel like Americans, on the other hand, go to great lengths to avoid interactions and will take every last measure (Googling something, checking Google maps, texting a friend, etc.) beforehand, and only in a final act of desperation make human contact.

I still notice this characteristic in myself. When someone asks me directions, I help them, but then later think to myself, “Why didn’t they just check Google maps or the metro map?” And in the case of this man, my initial thought was, “Couldn’t he have checked his cell phone?” When I have a question, I resort to my phone and try to figure out the answer myself. But there have been times when even the all-knowing Google proves useless, and the only solution is to ask the nearest person. And you want to know a funny thing? I actually feel much better, happier, and more positive with just that little bit of interaction. 

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