A Lunch with Mami
Ten days had passed since Black Friday, and a strange new normal descended upon Tehran. This included people sharing rumors, with a dose of their own opinions, as to what had transpired and what was to come, but most went back to business as usual. I had just a few days left before returning to California for college, and I wanted to visit my grandmother one last time before my departure.
I took a taxicab to Ferdowsi Square, in the southern part of the city where she lived. Sitting in a shared taxi in Tehran was like listening to a radio talk show where all kinds of news, opinions, and unsolicited advice were offered. On the way downtown, all the talk was about martial law, who was to blame for Black Friday, and views on the economy.
Today this frustrated driver complained that he had to wait in an awfully long line at the gas station due to the fuel supply shortage resulting from the workers’ strike at the country’s major refinery. He grumbled, “The minute it was my turn to pump gas after the long wait, the power went out, and the pumps couldn’t operate, so I wasted half a day where I could have been driving my cab,” as he lamented the lost income.
We all commiserated with him, agreeing that things seemed to be taking a turn for the worse. One of the younger passengers, sitting beside me in the cramped front seat, hopelessly exclaimed, “I wish I could move to Europe or America,” anxious about his future. An elderly gentleman in the backseat offered some fatherly advice, with a kind smile and in a comforting tone: “Young man, don’t worry so much. Things are going to get better; this is just a rough patch!”
It appeared that the driver was trying to make up for his downtime at the gas station by cramming in as many passengers as he could along the way. He drove recklessly fast to deliver each rider to his destination quickly, attempting to recoup the income he could have made earlier in the day.
Even though I was intrigued by the conversation, being packed in tightly with strangers in the stifling heat of the claustrophobic cab made me feel queasy. So I decided to get out and walk the rest of the way to get some fresh air. When I got to Mami’s apartment, she had just finished setting the table for lunch.
Mami and I were remarkably close; I was the youngest of her twelve grandchildren and the son of her youngest daughter. She was a kind-hearted but strong lady. She lived a simple life but had not had a simple life. She was married at a young age to my grandfather Nasrollah Minbashian and had been widowed earlier than most, raising five children by herself. For many of the ensuing years, she lived with her mother, my maternal great-grandmother, Mrs. Davamolmolk Vaziritabar, known to the family endearingly as Khanoom Bozorg, literally meaning “Grand Lady.”
Khanoom Bozorg had lived to the ripe old age of ninety-eight, having died just a few years earlier. While alive, she was the matriarch of the family and was quite strong-willed.
Khanoom Bozorg had been instrumental in Mami’s arranged marriage to Nasrollah. In the many years that they were married, Nasrollah had brought Mami a sense of fun that filled her life, and she was always grateful to her mother for that.
Mami had managed to raise highly successful children, at least in terms of their careers. Of note were two of my uncles. The eldest had risen to the highest rank of the army as a four-star general and commander of the Iranian Armed Forces. The other was appointed the first-ever minister of culture and fine arts of Iran by the shah.
Mami loved her apartment, filled with sunlight and family mementos, even though it was a simple two-bedroom flat showing signs of age. Her apartment held many unforgettable memories for me as the Friday meeting place where we visited with relatives whom we would not regularly see. She had two helpers who could prepare food for thirty-plus people in no time, but today, it was only Mami and me.
As we sat at the lunch table, I had no idea that this would be the last time I would ever see her again. After a few minutes of small talk, I reminded Mami of the story she was going to tell me about my grandfather’s love for a Russian princess.
She smiled and said, “Oh yes, you left in such a rush that day, I never got a chance to tell you about it. Your grandfather shared this story with me a short while after we married!”
I appreciated the excitement with which Mami began to tell me the story. As she recalled this tale, it seemed as if she had been at my grandfather’s side every step of the way.