“Please excuse me, bebakhshid, for saying the price because really, ghâbel nadâre. “Mehmune mâ bâshid (be our guest),” he insisted.
I was, of course, met with the obligatory ghâbel nadâre. I just indulge in my pastry while admiring the photos of Old Tehran and vintage ads.Ī few minutes later, I reluctantly surrendered my seat and got up to pay. Despite the bustle of Enghelab Street just a few feet away, I always feel completely removed from it in this place. A table emptied downstairs, and I plopped myself down with my pastry. “I’ll take that one, please,” I said, pointing to the one topped with âlbâloo compote. “For good customers like yourself, we always have room.” On that particular day, all the seats were taken, so I asked the guy if they had room upstairs. For all I know, it has a name and I’ve just never noticed because I’m too busy being lured in there by the smell of freshly baked goods. There’s a nameless pastry shop just next to the entrance of Enghelab metro station. Well, either that, or it was a really good read. It was as if she was sheltered inside an invisible bubble where none of the madness of outside could get to her. But here was a girl after my own heart- completely uninterested in shopping, keeping herself busy while her parents were inside a store. These days, most people have their nose in a smartphone, and it’s rare to see anyone holding a book, much less in such a hectic environment. In fact, you have to focus all your attention on where to place your next step.Īnd in the midst of this chaos, I noticed a girl, no older than 14, leaning against the wall, completely absorbed in a book. Walk down the stretch of Valiasr between City Theater and Jomhuri Avenue (the hot mess I like to call “so ugly it’s beautiful”) at night, and between the sheer volume of people, the stores spilling into the street, and the dast forush (street side vendors) with their merchandise spread out on the sidewalk, you’ll feel too overwhelmed to think. But for those few minutes in Khanlari, all was ok in the world. All anyone could talk about was the economy, where it was headed, and their fears for the future. This all happened just after the first round of sanctions took effect and the dollar was skyrocketing at a freakish rate. That’s when a homeless man walked in, and they handed him a sandwich- no questions asked. “We got you, man! You totally fell for it!” The customer laughed and shook his head. And that’s when the place erupted in laughter.
Hesitantly, customer peeked behind me to find his phone still quietly charging. One of the cooks suddenly yelled, “Hey! Where are you going with his phone?!” His right hand shot up in the air, and his eyes seemed to follow a person out the door. “ Where’ve you been, dâdâsh? We’ve been calling you for an hour! Look, this lady already finished 2 sandwiches in the meantime,” he said jokingly referring to me while I sat there devouring my falafel, bread crumbs falling into my lap and getting caught in my loose strands of hair.Īnother customer walked in and left his phone on the counter behind me to charge before ordering. The cashier was repeatedly calling a number to no avail when the customer finally showed up. Khanlari is an awesome sandwich dive known for its falafel and sosis bandari (spicy sausage) sandwiches, sodas in old-school glass bottles, and good vibes. When people ask me why I love this city, it’s because of little beautiful experiences like these.
DASH MASHTI SERIES
These are eight such magical moments I’ve experienced in Tehran, the first part of a series of stories I’ve been collecting. You wish you could stay in them a wee bit longer, but they’re fleeting and end up existing only in your memory where you replay them like your favorite movie. The seemingly insignificant, ordinary moments that are actually quite extraordinary. I would add to that that the best moments in life are the simple ones.
They say the best things in life are free.
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