Another Trip to Tehran

The other day, we went on another trip to see the rahbar. Unfortunately, I misconstrued "see" to mean "have an audience with" or "visit" -- whereas it really meant just physically "see" -- so as we waited for some missing buses, I hauled out my green, giant Farsi-English dictionary (which travelled from the Main Stacks in Berkeley to Los Angeles, parted from me, went to Qom, and then found me again eight years later) and began to write a plea regarding my visa problems (or, rather, "lack of visa" problems). I had hope since a friend of mine had dropped a letter on our last visit and had received an almost immediate response. My friend advised me that the appropriate way to address the rahbar is "Khedmat-e-Maqam-e-Ma'zam-e-Rahbari", so I used that as a good beginning. (Of course, being me, I messed that up and wrote "Khedmat-e-Maqam-e-Mu'azzam-e-Rahbari) Eventually, the buses appeared, and we set out to Tehran.

Not long after we passed the dry salt bed -- which still fascinates but also disturbs me after hearing that the Shah dragged the surviovrs of his attack on the Fayziyyeh to die there -- the police pulled us off the road. Fortunately, we were just missing an important paper, and they escorted us back to Qom where we drove from building to building looking for the elusive document. Eventually, it was procured, and we turned back to Tehran. I didn't mind the delay because I enjoy looking at the scenery and, anyway, I had to write my letter, but some others were upset.

As we entered Tehran, the giant buildings and cosmopolitan environment hit me. You would think I hadn't been raised in big cities in the West. I stared at the glitz and the glamour and the newsstands and the bookstores and the consumer goods and the women without chadors and the men with funny mustaches and the youth with greasy haircuts and the traffic and the chaos. I also choked on the thick pollution and decided I liked Qom better. Soon, as luscious green trees gave way to the University of Tehran, I felt again like I had just come out of the backwaters. Chadorless women and beardless men walked and talked and -- unlike in Qom, where being female is a legitimate cause for a great amount of unwanted attention -- no one noticed us. We piled into an auditorium, and I wondered whether the auditorium was the same as those in the West because the architect was trying to copy the West, or because the architect studied in the West, or whether auditoriums are simply functional structures and are the same the world over.
After another instance of myself not heeding a bit of personal advice about refusing to be interviewed on TV (that makes it the fourth time I have been broadcast since I got here), we headed off to see the rahbar. Unfortunately, due to our delays, we were too late. Many of my companions decided to take matters into their own hands and see the rahbar or else, but since the doorguard had already confiscated my letter, I had no real reason to take unnecessary risks, so I stayed my ground and joined a large, open-air congregation for maghrib prayers. Although I didn't know who the prayer leader was, I felt that he had a very charismatic and unusual voice -- not exactly Arabic, but lacking the usual Persian (and in my opnion annoying) accent in reciting the Qur'an. It was a voice that I consciously enjoyed and told myself I could listen to for quite a long time. Later, someone told me that the rahbar himself was leading prayers. Then, we sat under the open sky and listened to a majlis by some shaikh from Bahrain. (At least they told me he was from Bahrain) It was one of the better speeches that I have heard in a while, and I am still pondering some of his points -- one of which was that families should not send their girl children alone off to universities while they are young and at the peak of their emotional development and require a stable family structure to develop smoothly. I can't say I agree 100% because life is complicated, but he did give me some cause for thought.

Throughout the majlis, hordes of people banged on the door of the building next to us where the rahbar was locked inside. They pushed and yelled and clamored until, all of a sudden, the door opened, and a person on a stretcher came out. A mad rush ensued. Although the guards tried to push the crowd back, a few people managed to slip in anyway. I couldn't help recalling the Qur'anic ayah about seeking permission before entering someone's house and thinking that if someone really doesn't want you in their house, you shouldn't force yourself in -- particularly if you are sitting in a majlis commemorating the atatck on the house of Hazrat Fatimah (saa).

All in all, I enjoyed the summer night in the hills of Tehran -- even though I spent the whole time coughing and most definitely did not want to return any time soon. Soon, we set back home, and -- to my surprise -- some my companions informed me that, yes, they had been able to see the rahbar.