Let Me Tell You Where I've Been: New Writing by Women of the Iranian Diaspora

Another Quiet New Year

Another Quiet New Year (Tehran, January 2004) H NIKA KHANJANI It’s : P.M.and everyone in the house is already asleep.This will be my second NewYear’s that has slipped by without fanfare and for which I’ll probably be asleep when the clock strikes. The streets, though, were bustling. After dinner I decided to save money and walk home—the weather was nice and the young hipsters paraded around in the latest styles. A cab drove up and offered to take me the whole way for a very good price.I made the ceremonial“that’s too expensive!”face and said I didn’t need a ride.But it was getting late and I had a stack of work to finish. Then he lowered the price. He drove an old Peykon,the Iranian national car,white like most of the others.Unlike the others,though,his was spotless and the upholstery was intact. He offered to roll up the window if I was cold. I’m okay, thanks. I figured he’d light a cigarette so I preferred the window down. He said something about the streets being unusually busy tonight. It hadn’t occurred to him that NewYear’s energy in much of the world had seeped through Iran’s semi-permeable membrane and driven the restless to the streets. He drove like a Canadian—signaling before switching lanes,stopping completely at red lights and to let pedestrians cross.He didn’t cut anyone off, didn’t come to any grinding halts, and he didn’t scream insults. I don’t think he even honked his horn. I was relieved that he wasn’t peering at me through the rearview mirror but kept his eyes steady on the road ahead,occasionally turning his gray head to the left or right to check for oncoming cars.It was a few minutes into the ride before it occurred to me that I wasn’t digging my nails into the palm of my hand,my typical reflex when I’m in a cab in Tehran.This,I said to myself, was a first. To my surprise, he didn’t even assault me with weird questions except to ask if my destination was, in fact, the amusement park—the landmark by our house that I usually tell cab drivers. ANOTHER QUIET NEWYEAR 61 “Actually, I’m going a little ways into Evin, just up the hill.” “Very well.” What? No haggling for a higher fee? My driver was a cross between Gandhi andYoda. My car experiences in Iran often result in near-to-fully-realized freak-outs.Something is always going wrong,or feels like it will any second .Either I’m wedged between two huge,burly men,with one of them asking me if I’m “available” while the other inches his fingers closer to my leg,or the driver is gripped in a screaming match with a car that just cut him off while his cigarette loosens ashes and smoke directly into my face. In especially uncomfortable moments, I make a mental list of the contents in my bag—I think through what I have that could possibly be used to identify my disfigured body.Or I check to see that I have enough money to catch another cab because I’m planning my escape from the one I’m in. This time, though, I was practicing what to say because I wanted to give him a generous tip and thank him for such a pleasant ride.I had to practice saying this in my head because,after all these years of not speaking Farsi, my mother tongue felt more like my second cousin’s half sister. A while back, I learned that if I want to point out something positive—like a subtle gesture that would normally be overlooked—it’s best to be very specific.To say,“That was nice!”or“Thanks for being so sweet” is not as effective a technique for reinforcing good behavior as something like,“Gosh,it was a very tactful how you pointed out that her skirt was tucked into her pantyhose” or “What a well-crafted and concise message you left on my voicemail . . .” To encourage good behavior ,we have to train ourselves to spot it and articulate it immediately to the person caught in the act. That way, maybe they’ll repeat it. So there I sat,thinking of how to say,“I really appreciate how well you maintained...