I arrived at my gate in Dubai eager for my first look at a real gathering of Iranians. It wasn’t an earth shattering sight: there were mostly sleepy businessmen, waiting for the early morning shuttle flight up to Tehran. What struck me however was that there were a large number of Asians waiting to board the flight as well. These weren’t the ubiquitous tourists we see at Yale’s campus and around monuments across the world. No, these were businessmen. From what I could discern between East Asian ethnicities, there were a varied mix of Chinese, Koreans and Japanese. Clearly for them, it’s business as usual with Iran.
As I was driven down the highway from the airport (which was thoroughly modern), I looked eagerly for the differences. I expected a barrage of anachronisms and oddities which never came: the highway looked much as any airport road in Asia – clean, wide, and fast-moving. I could have been in Shanghai, Kuala Lumpur, or Delhi. The highway itself was carefully tree-lined, but beyond it, there was nothing but scrub as far as the eye could see; we were still around 30 kilometers south of Tehran.
The embargo made its presence felt as all the cars we passed on the nearly empty highway were dated Peugeots and Renaults from the early 90s. There were also a fair number of Paykans – boxy late-70s affairs manufactured locally. The few newer models that I saw were all Japanese and Korean – Hyundais and Toyotas.
We raced past a billboard with a stern image of Ayatollah Khamenei, the supreme leader of Iran. We were moving too fast for me to read the Farsi, but I assumed it appealed for national solidarity and religious observance. The billboard was followed by an ad for a Hyundai Tuscon and Tissot Watches.
Western decedance
Tehran is situated at the base of the towering Alborz Mountains. The city clings to the feet of the massive chain which rises suddenly out of the scrub. I could discern vestiges of snow near the caps of the Alborz, and bright blue skies beyond. On approach, the city seemed to take on a sandy hue; the buildings were all awash with this light brown color which I had always associated with the Middle East. It was quite a contrast from the light grey, pink and blue buildings which I was used to in Bombay. As we got deeper into the city, more greenery appeared, and as we finally exited the highway, I found myself on the lush tree-lined Valie-Asr Avenue, one of the main thoroughfares of the city. Valie-Asr was already crawling with traffic as the Friday afternoon holiday brought all the Tehranians into the streets in their cars.
My apartment is in the northern part of the city – in Shemiran, as it is called. The neighborhoods crawl up along the feet of the Alborz, with imposing mansions rising up alongside the winding roads. It sort of reminded me of the Hollywood hills. This particular area of North Tehran is actually home to many higher-level government officials and employees. Thus, there are intimidating guards and militiamen at many of the buildings. There banners with the faces of Khameni and Khomenei (the founder of the Islamic Republic) here. My landlord of course saw fit to charge me at rates equivalent to that in New York for my 6 week stay. As he showed me where the tea was keps, he also expressly forbade me from bringing any girlfriends home.
In the evening, I took a walk down to the main road, and caught a shared taxi – the easiest and cheapest way to get around the city. I directed him to Tajrish square, the nearest shopping and eating area. It was madness: there were barely any stoplights and barely any rules at the intersection. Cars swerved around each other, jostling each other at the squares congested round-about. Pedestrians nimbly negotiated between all this, crossing the road fearlessly, and of course adding another layer to the chaos. I had hear much about Tehran traffic, and I must confess that I was not nearly as shocked as I might have been had I not grown up in Bombay – where the traffic is just as bad, and the pedestrians just as brazen.
A view of the Alborz from Tajrish Square
The bazaar behind Tajrish
Quite of few of the stores were closed, since it was Friday, but most of the restaurants were open. Tehran, for some inexplicable reason has a massive amount of “supermarkets” – small convenience stores stacked to the ceilings with imported foods and toiletries. Every third store on the street is a supermarket. They were all open on Friday, like the restaurants, so I stocked up on cereal, milk, and juice for the morning.
The streets were well kept and clean and most surprising to me – coming from Bombay – there were no beggars at all. All afternoon, I saw only one person begging on the street. Instead, the streets are filled with fashionable - and very good looking people - of all ages. The women in particular are intriguing. After 24 hours in Tehran, I was deftly able to classify Tehrani women into two categories: the “modern” woman, and the “old” woman. The “old” women - the vast majority of whom are older than middle aged, cover themselves zealously in black cloaks – hijabs. They make up around 30% of the women I see in the streets. The rest – the “modern” women – would not be out of place in the streets of New York, save for their precariously perched headscarves. Their colorfully decorated headscarves are pushed back as far as possible, exposing extravagantly highlighted hair. Without fail, each “modern” woman also wears an expensive looking pair of sunglasses – lavishly decorated with bling along the sides and edges. Not to mention the generous makeup that each “modern” woman wears.
It felt as if these few elements, the scarves, the hair, the sunglasses, and makeup, were the expressions of identity for these women. As they are more constrained in their dress, they saturate their faces with extravagant accessories and colors. Their dresses are far from an afterthought however: the women wear richly colored tunics tightly wrapped around their bodies with fashionable buckles and clasps. Skinny jeans have hit Tehran, and the beautiful women - radiating confidence - wear them with style. The streets are packed with these young to middle-aged “modern women”. The older ones - businesswomen and housewives - comfortably negotiate the traffic in their old-model Peugeots. The younger generation of boys and girls gaily walk down the street in small groups, gossiping and shopping, stopping in to eat at one of the many juice and ice-cream parlors dotting Tajirish square.
Interestingly, the shared taxis are also a haven of interaction between the sexes. Men and women who are complete strangers comfortably crowd into small cars together without a second thought. They chat gregariously with one another. As far as I can tell, by looking through into their windows, the buses are more conservative places. Men and women do not sit together and often times, they congregate on opposite ends of the bus.
