The Iran Diary

My  marriage had got fixed to a tall,  handsome, budding architect who was working in Iran. Mine was a typical Maharashtrian arranged marriage; a complete " kaande- pohe " setting, hands trembling behind the curtain before making my grand entry type. I knew therefore that I would be settling in Iran post marriage. Soon after the wedding, he left for Iran and I was to join him a couple of months later as soon as all the formalities were done with, as is the norm.
I had just turned twenty-one, young, excited and apprehensive all rolled into one,on the days prior to my departure. I had carried all the stuff  a newly wed would carry to set up the house.
Amidst emotional farewells of the entire family who were present in full strength, I boarded the aircraft, took my seat, fastened my seat belt and was all set to fly.  As Mark Twain rightly quoted " the secret of getting ahead was to get started." So here I was on the verge of embarking on a journey unknown.
I remember nervously clutching my handbag as I disembarked at Tehran airport. This was my first stint abroad and there were a myriad of emotions flitting across my mind as I made my way towards the lounge. Everything seemed so alien that I had a compelling urge to take the next flight back home. Feeling homesick at that moment was at its all time peak.I heaved a sigh of relief as I spotted my husband frantically waving out. He was surrounded by a motley group of friends who had accompanied him to welcome me into the fold.
I looked around me and was dumbstruck by the abundant beauty around. Every Iranian woman that I set my eyes on was so beautiful, with peaches and cream complexions and the style quotient so high that they looked as if they had stepped out of a Vogue magazine.
We lived in the outskirts of Isfahan, one of the major cities in Iran. We began to set  up and decorate our house together in the process of which we started to gradually get to know each other as well. I tried to adapt, observe and soak in the surroundings and people around. The language for me was a major hurdle to begin with. Initially after a lot of goof ups in handling currency and venturing out solo into the local markets and nearly getting lost on a couple of occasions, I managed to wade thru the hurdles bit by bit.I wanted to impress upon my husband as to how bold and smart I was and how well I could manoeuvre over things entirely on my own, when actually I did not feel anything remotely close to that and was scared stiff as hell. Youth does that, makes you think from the heart rather than the head, only to feel sheepish later. I eventually overcame my doubts and fears and eased into a more or less comfortable routine.
Throwing conventional wisdom outside the window was not such a wise thing after all and I decided to get acquainted to at least a smattering of the language which would be enough to get by.
Life here on was a dream. Everyday was a new beginning, a new learning. We were footloose and fancy free and had a great set of friends. There was a lot of picnic culture and the roads of Isfahan were clean and wide with little streams running along them.We followed their custom of trudging out with barbecue trays, marinated foodstuff and all the picnic gear in tow. There was always an air of joyous camaraderie wherever we went.We never got to hear of burglaries taking place nor got jostled in a crowd. It felt like being in a kind of paradise, a safe haven of sorts. 
I sampled the staple diet which comprised of luscious greens, cottage cheese and " chello-kababs which were something to die for. Perfectly skewered meat pieces served on a bed of long grain rice , cooked just right and delicately laced with butter. In Iran, drink tea like the Iranians do. Roll the sugar cube in a corner of the mouth and deftly swivel the rich black brew taking a part of it with each sip.It took awhile to cultivate the habit but once it was done, there was no looking back.
We got to enjoy the snowy winters too.
My husband's bachelor friends were the perfect guinea pigs to savouring all the kitchen disasters my early culinary skills imparted. Over the time I mastered the art of roasting, broiling, baking, steaming , and whatever trivia associated with cooking and transformed into a reasonably good chef. I felt privileged to learn fine dining skills by mere observation. Spoke less and listened more which stood me in good stead till I acquired  small talk skills to break the ice. I believe when you are thrown into situations you learn how to swim.
The markets were stashed with dry fruits, fresh vegetables, fruits and tons of brass and copperware and hence my penchant of collecting small curios originated from here.. We loved listening to the distinct ,unique tonal quality of  the legendary singer Ghugoosh. Music cuts across all barriers and not fully figuring out the lyrics and meaning did not take away its glory in any way. The rhythm and beats always struck a chord.
We mingled a lot with Americans, Europeans & Iranians as well. I always wore a sari for formal parties and  the women drooled over the drape, fascinated by the designs and textures. I promised them that I would get them saris when I next visited India. I felt very proud of showcasing saris, to emphasize my Indianness, and particularly my collection, a modest one, but nonetheless special as it was personally handpicked by me.I went on to acquire a couple of smart outfits in tune with the crowd. Fine feathers indeed make fine birds I discovered, and my confidence grew in leaps and bounds.
We went for long drives through the promenades and boulevards, visiting malls, clubs and casinos .The metro cities had a massive western influence. We visited the small towns too. Little cottages with a spartan ambience kept scrupulously clean. The Iranian women were very house proud.
We serenaded through all the glorious cities of Iran from Shiraz to Kermanshehr to Persepolis to name a few.We were fascinated by the art, architecture and culture of Iran, rich and vibrant in its heritage and something they held close to their hearts and were proud of. The breezy spiralling drive to Caspian Sea was mesmerizing to say the least and till date happens to be one of my all time favourite trips ever.
During this time we miraculously survived a near fatal accident after which we recouped in a span of two months, and got back on our feet with the tremendous support of our friends...Honestly when away from home, the friends are the true pillars of unconditional support.
Life was on a roll once more. My husband had landed with a plum job with a prestigious company, I was pregnant with my first child and things couldn't have been better. Away from home socializing is the mainstay of expat life.We were both artistically inclined and our house was all set, complete with all the comforts and gadgets of that era. We started making plans for our distant future pondering over the possibility of settling in Iran .
Then the rumblings started. Sporadic at first, but snowballing into a movement which gained momentum with every passing day. The revolution took the country by storm and the entire fabric underwent an unbelievable change.We were able to go out but no longer with the gay abandon that we had got accustomed to.There was a sort of friction in the atmosphere and a sense of eerie calm gripped all of us. A lull before the storm as we soon found out.
We were no-one to judge as to why the things unfolded the way they did.We realized albeit reluctantly that it was time to snap out of the denial, and face the reality that this place which we had grown to love and wanted to settle for the longest time, was no longer a place to live happily ever after. Just when you think you are settling into some kind of idyllic bliss, you are rudely jolted out of that comfort zone, feeling totally lost, bereft and uprooted. A reminder that sometimes the best laid out plans can go awry , that uncertainty in life is certain and that nothing lasts forever.
We drove around the city for the last time, taking in all the favourite jaunts, the memories and bypassing streets where the firing sounds could be heard.We had no contact with our family barring a few letters which were exchanged when someone travelled to India back and forth.
We gathered all our belongings, formed a group and were all packed and ready.We drove down to Tehran and camped with a doctor friend. A stroke of good luck given the condition I was in. Since I was ordered to take rest, everyone took turns to try their luck at the ticketing counters, as tickets were getting hard to come by. Flights getting unceremoniously cancelled was a daily occurance. After almost a month we finally got them, albeit on different airlines, but nonetheless grabbed them without complaining as it was the need of the hour and thank God for small mercies that we availed of them.  The airport apparently shut down indefinately the next day onwards. I shudder to think what would have happened had we not taken those flights.
When we reached the airport, I was totally aghast at the complete chaos prevalent there. A pall of gloom loomed all over. All the expats were making a beeline for their respective destinations, homeward bound. Never did I think in my wildest imagination that my departure would be so abrupt and dramatic. This is not how we had envisioned our life, feeling peacefully settled one moment and uprooted the next. Such is life..pearls of wisdom ringing hard in my ears and staring starkly into my face.
Me and my husband checked into our individual flights to wait for each other at Mumbai airport. On disembarking a couple of hours from each other, our airport look was far from trendy. Weary with the whole Iranian dream playing seamlessly in our minds the entire flight, we were relieved to spot each other in the lounge, absolutely clueless as to what lay ahead, what our plan of action would be. Its a horrible feeling when things are not in your control and you have to live with it for whatever time it takes to swing around.
All the doubts were brushed aside as both of us hand in hand , strode out with our luggage into the welcoming arms of our family who had once again thronged in large numbers to receive us.
We had our baby's arrival to look forward to and knew deep down that we had youth, ambition, health and gusto on our side and that it would just be a matter of time when we would get over this upheaval and fly out again to another destination, another experience.
The Iranian chapter was the perfect prologue, the perfect launching pad to what lay ahead in the years to come, unraveling life in all its true colours. It was a short stint, a story between two airports back and forth, encompassing all the emotions from ecstasy to agony, from diffidence to confidence, of cheer and hope.
We travelled extensively all over the globe post this period, but nothing came closer to the divine, magical Iranian sojourn.
We have let go of many an opportunity to revisit the country, knowing fully well that for us the heart and soul would be missing and we wouldn't want to see a final validation to that.
Till date, four decades later, any mention in the press, any snippets, anything at all about this beautiful country, we hungrily scan the contents as the Iranian stint has left an indelible mark in our hearts and minds,pickled, bottled and preserved forever.