Summer Days in Tehran

The big charkh-o-falak was visible from our small kitchen window, where I would sit for hours in the long summer evenings of Tehran, watching the kids on the streets play soccer or just look at the charkh-o-falak and hope that my Dad would come home any minute after work and take me there.

At times, when the trees grew, the Charkho-Falak would hide behind their branches. At other times, especially during winter days, the Charkho-Falak was very openly naked.

I can still hear the screams of children who were riding the big Charkh-o-falak.

I would sit there on a chair and just stare at the outside world, while my mom cooked in the kitchen. I would eat some kind of snack like pofak namaki or gojeh sabz or geelaas since it was summer and the best cherries were from those Tehran summer days.

Some nights, he came home early and took me with him. He would hold my small hands and we would walk down the street, across the big Vali Asr Blvd. and go to Fun-Far.

My heart beat along the way. Although I had been there over and over in the past, each time it was a new excitement. We would usually go on about four to five rides. I specifically remember the Machine Zarbehy ride (as i make up the name now, of course), where you would drive this mini-car and try to avoid hitting other cars. There was also one big ride at the end of the park, which was high up, and when we were on top, we could see our apartment, on second floor of a building on 18th Street, Gaandi. At that point, I usually waved at my mom, pretending she was watching me now from the same kitchen window.

As I got a bit older, my Dad would let me go on the more "dangerous" rides by myself.

Sometimes we would go with other family or cousins. Sometimes my grandma or mom would accompany us. I think I always wanted to get Pashmak there or something sweet.

And of course, some nights, he would come home late or would be just too tired to take me there. At that point, I just sat by the window and waited until the sun set behind the Alborz Mountains, and the small soccer players slowly packed up and went home.

Nothing in America will ever satisfy my hunger for the long, hot and lazy summer days of Tehran from 1980 to 1988.