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Tajrish

Book by Soroosh Shahrivar · 50 quotes · Iran, Tehran, Tajrish

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Tajrish Quotes

“She was beginning to think that perhaps he isn’t the strong man she thought he was. He was just a boy. His father had placed the whole world at his feet and he had daddy issues? If only she would start telling him about her own father. The beatings, the neglect, the lack of support, the lack of love. What is his excuse? Daddy didn’t hug you enough? She was growing impatient and just wanted to get out and cry on her own.”

“A far cry now that she is in Tajrish. This is District One. The posh end of town. Snuggled deep in between the streets of this bustling roundabout are where the rich live. She looks up, a huge billboard with a blue-eyed model sits there with a phone in his hand. Some brand she’s never heard of. She has never quite understood the infatuation Iranians have with celebrities and colored eyes. To her, it seems like any Iranian with green or blue eyes makes their way either on the big screen or on a billboard. The old traditional concept of Persian beauty, black eyes with a unibrow now replaced with Hollywood-inspired looks. The Leo DiCaprios, Brad Pitts of this world. Still a cheap knock-off of them as well.”

“As they walked down the corridor, Tara was looking at the paintings hanging on the walls. She turned and said, "Look at that! A perfect blend between the Orient and Occident." She then grabbed Amir by the hand and he gave it a little squeeze. "One side emulates Uncle Sam. The other Uncle Shams," she continued.”

“Parviz continued, “Do you even know why we refer to it as toman?” “No, never thought about it, why?” Hooman replied with as much spirit as his mask could muster. “Well, it’s from the Mongolian word tümen, which means ‘unit of ten thousand.’” He gritted his teeth, agitating Hooman more than hearing about his son getting caught and arrested. Money was his only real love. “That terror, Genghis Khan, still lives with us to this day.”

“Right by the edge of the fractured pavement next to the uneven road circling the square sat a fifteen-year-old boy with a hard helmet. There's something wrong with a boy that age waiting to go to work. Sitting in a yoga pose, he had a piece of bread and some feta cheese in front of him next to a broken barrel filled with tar and wood. It was lit up, which would only mean it was there to keep him warm during the night.”

“Moradi hated using the word "West." He preferred just saying the US or if he wanted to bundle the entire Western Hemisphere, then he would go by the book and say the Occident. He also didn't label Iran as a "Middle Eastern" country. He would always say things like "with Iran being in West Asia." It was a tactical move. After all Iranians weren't Arabs, and this way he aligned Iran with the "West.”

“In the north of Tehran, right by the foothills of Tehran’s bit of the Alborz mountain range is Niavaran. The district is an entanglement of slopes and roads where way back in the day, going back to the Qajar era, villas and houses were all you would see. Now though it has become an extension of the city center with buildings and towers scattered across its narrow roads. Even with all of the congestion, the weather is a few degrees cooler than the rest of the city and it remains one of the “port out, starboard home” districts in Tehran.”

“A slick BMW 5-Series pulls right by the traffic light. As the car comes to a halt, a bunch of kids, street kids, go to work. One of them, a young boy no more than eight years old kisses the BMW emblem on the hood. The driver, drenched in apathy, doesn’t even look up. Another kid comes by the side, begging the beamer’s owner for some cash. Everybody in Tehran knows that to pay these kids is bringing Slumdog Millionaire’s silver screen to the silver smog city.”

“The soil, where family seeds are laid in this city, is rotten. Boys and men still believe in the illusion that their crowning achievements are sleeping with as many women as they can. The more women, the more they are revered as a man. They are left in the dark, completely oblivious to the truth that a part of them is given away or dies with every meaningless sexual exploit. The ignorant remain content until one day, and that day may come when they are on their deathbed, where the veil is removed and the harsh reality slaps them with a sobering truth. And that truth, wrapped with regret, sucks the nectar out of all the names, the faces, the bodies, the women who they thought they conquered. They are left free-falling in a never-ending pit. It could be in a flash, and time and space no longer hold ground. That split second will feel like their entire lifetime. That never-ending pit is their hell. As for the girls and women, they too are lost souls. They dive into a virtual world of selfies, likes, hearts and fire emojis. They get chased by men, their sense of self-worth builds to a crescendo, filling them with a sense of desire. A sense of being wanted. The dopamine, the deceitful dopamine, gives them a false sense of value. They lose sight of the difficult “real world” questions: What am I worth? What is my purpose? What are my principles? They lose themselves in pixels and scrolls. It starts with a selfie and pouchy lips. Then a collarbone. Then the breasts. Then the ass. This never-ending loop of reward tricks them into baring themselves naked, physically and emotionally, for men behind a screen to admire. They buy into the idea that every man desires them. They entertain them. And they do. Only for a brief period of time. Then time starts plotting. They get old. The same breasts that got likes and drooling emoji faces from men start to sag. Her ass no longer the peach standard emoji. Her womb, no longer able to bear children. She is left empty. Hollow. All of those likes, comments and meaningless nights with men who do not even remember her name leave her shattered. They gave in their youth for cheap thrills unaware that Father Time comes after every living soul. They then too plunge into that never-ending pit with the men they lived a lie in. That also becomes their hell.”