“Children of the Revolution” - 17 May 2007

Yesterday I went out with Maryam and Babak. Two friends of Shadi who live in the same apartment block. They all grew up together and laugh over how after calling Shadi and her brother Shahrouz upstairs with simply shouting their names from an open window, their father would come downstairs to the rest of the children and say in a very stern (yet funny voice) ‘Ladies and gentlemen it is now time to return to your houses’. Everyday same routine.

Maryam is an industrial designer who is looking to study art therapy abroad and explains that ‘industrial designers all become interior designers in Iran because – after all – there is no industry’ (…but thankfully there are interiors). So Babak, Maryam and I went to a sculpture gallery where the students of a particular famous teacher were showing off their work. It was good. It was metal work and abstract and some I really liked. Others I pretended to like because I wanted to look smart.

Within the gallery there was a café where the chairs and tables were made from oil drums from the south of Iran. So we sat for a while, ate the free pastries and then Babak suggested that we move on to ‘Darband’ – under the time of the shah it was a hotel and casino. I was assured it had a ‘cool Mexican feel’.

After we arrived Maryam and I decided that it was the Babapapa house – we both loved this as children but she said that at some stage when she was growing up it was banned. Or the theme song was banned. Mmm, reminded me of how they tried to ban ‘Humphry’ in Australia because he didn’t wear pants (not because he is a giant terrifying big stupid bear.) Not to mention Noddy and Big Ears. And yet they never banned the Faraway Tree and to this day I cant imagine what questionable obsession would lead parents to call their children ‘Dick’ and ‘Fanny’…

Anyway, I digress.

If Darband is Mexican, I am sure all Mexicans are porn stars.

This place had smooth white walls and dark rooms. But no soft couches only tables and chairs. But still, I was looking for David Hasselhoff to appear in a white leisure suit and show me his manly chest. And then, I shit you not, this guy walked in who looked just like this Mexican guy I know only he was dressed like a porn star...

We had tea and smoked a water pipe. And then we spoke about psychoanalysis – Babak and Maryam both go to psychoanalysis sessions, Babak explained: ‘Can you imagine someone our age growing up in the Islamic Republic of Iran who doesn’t need a little therapy?’. So we laughed and played the game of who does your country hate the most? So according to Babak it is Arabs ands then the Chinese, the first for historic reasons the second for economic (the US didn’t even feature). For me, I explained that Iran was probably pretty high on the list for where I’m from – but of course subsumed within the general category of ‘Muslims’ or ‘Middle Easterners’…as it would be asking a bit much for the racism to be more specific than that.

On the way home Maryam explained that Babak and his brother we named after leftist revolutionaries. Babak was an Azeri leader who was killed by the Shah – not even in an honourable way as he was tricked. His brother was named after a left writer. Like many people I have spoken to he sees the revolution as being a leftist revolution that was stolen by the Mullahs. Maryam then explained that all her friends’ parents were left, except of course hers. The conversation then turned to dinner plans at Shahrouz and Nazanin’s place – Nazanin was cooking Gorma Sabzi ( a traditional dish with green herbs, lamb and bitter lime), but the issue wasn't the food but whether there would be some alcohol there – Babak had a nice bottle of Absolut Ruby Red that he had bought from a dealer sometime ago and so we were planning to take that along – much nicer than the Arak I had had the day before at Shadi’s parent’s house which made ASDA Whisky taste like heaven! After much debating we decided that bringing the bottle was enough – we didn’t need flowers as well.

I stayed with Maryam before we went out to dinner. Although her place is in the same apartment block it is so different to Maryam’s. It is so modern with walls painted bright colours and beautiful artwork. It was messy, the kitchen had fake fruit hanging from the ceiling and I imagined many good parties there, complete with martini glasses and stretch belts.

Maryam got changed for the party and was wearing a vibrant red wrap around, crepe jacket, big earring, red shoes and black pants. She showed me home movies of how her friends all went to a house outside of Tehran one summer. Before they got there they were stopped by police for a couple of hours. Laughing as she showed me the video she said that after they arrived at the holiday house they kept saying that nothing could stop them because they were ‘Children of the Revolution’. The video was just like hanging out in Australia the morning after a big party. Hot, everyone lounging around, a couple chatting in a bed room, someone rolling a joint on the verandah, a man washing up while his girlfriend looks on drinking a coffee, someone playing guitar. She also showed me pictures of a party I went to the last time I was in Iran. We just laughed because I was (only) a little drunk and there are some very funny shots – one in particular of me not noticing that I was very close to a hot sweaty hairy fat man as I tried to change the music on the computer.

Maryam then went to paint her nails bright red to go with her shirt. She complained that whenever she paints her nails she gets Parkinson’s disease. I was laughing so hard.

Babak arrived and we wrapped the Absolut Ruby Red in yellow crepe paper with brown string. Listened to some music by an Iranian band 'Kiosk'. Maryam and I then stuffed our sweet smelling bodies into our ‘Islamic regulation coats’, covered our hair and piled into the car after Babak’s brother had finally emerged from the shower. Yes, he looked good washed – perhaps even very good - but his pseudo-Hawaiian not the sexiest shirt I had ever seen.

Off we went to dinner. We ate gorma sabzi and lasagna with a chaser of absolut with pomegranate juice.

From the Islamic Republic,

Ruby Tea