Persian Beauty

            I consider myself lucky to have had the opportunity to live in another country outside the United States. My experience of living in Iran is one that dates back to 1995, when I was 10 years old, beginning with my parents’ idea to move back to their homeland. I would have the opportunity to experience life with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins living nearby – rather than across the sea. Change is, after all, what life is all about. In a region characterized by turmoil and revolutionary change, the beauty that surrounds Iran is absolutely breathtaking and unmatched anywhere else. Much like the desolate and dry deserted land that Mary Austin writes of, Iran too is a land that one might curse but still go back to. Upon arrival in such a different world, I can see that life for females is suppressed and I experience a complete culture shock. At an age where I was beginning to develop a sense of self, I was immersed into a culture that although troublesome, also offered immeasurable delight through nature.

Walking on the streets of Tehran isn’t something I enjoy, but rather an experience of fear. Many street corners are set up with small police stations where two guards stand at the door to observe the crowds of people, specifically the women. At the age of 10, I remember being snatched into one of these stations with my mom, where two guards threatened to cut her lips with razorblades if she didn’t remove the red rouge on her lips. As I stood there crying at the sight of these two men yelling threats to my mother, a vanilla ice cream cone was rapidly melting in my quivering right hand.  I can vividly remember that it was at this moment when my fear of this country reached its height. The women of Iran are forced to cover their bodies from head to toe, as well as their hair, with only their face showing – this being a result of the 1979 revolution, when “hejab” became mandatory. Women aren’t supposed to flaunt their sexuality or enhance their beauty by any means – a restriction I’m not accustomed to.

Though the streets of Iran left me fearful, many of my pleasant memories of Iran stem from the time that I spent at my grandparent’s house in the capital of Iran, Tehran. A very large house with apparently much history, my mom informs me that soldiers who needed a place to stay bombarded my grandparent’s residence during the Islamic revolution, and ended up staying in the basement of the home. Despite its dramatic past, my grandparent’s house was a sanctuary where I didn’t feel unsafe in such an unfamiliar country. With huge pillars framing the entrance of the home, and a thick glass door covered in dark and intricate wrought iron, intimidation might have be the initial reaction to my grandparent’s house. Marble floors covered in antique Persian rugs, rich in reds, navy blues, and ivory accents, were where I took my steps to begin exploring this new place. Persian art that dated back to two hundred years ago adorned the cream colored walls that surrounded every area I ventured to in the house. The paintings were of royalty on their horses, fighting battles with skilled weaponry.  French doors from the parlor led to a balcony that looked over a perfectly clear swimming pool and an immaculate garden.

While the winters were too cold to leave the house, and the summers made for horrendous days in the humid heat, spring was my favorite time of year. Fields of almond trees are in full bloom, and no tree is left bare. A series of concrete steps from the back door of my grandparent’s historic residence lead me to a garden full of cherry trees, fig trees, and berry bushes. The cherry trees are covered in blossoms, so delicate that they appear to be silk. The fig trees appear to be a shower of enormous green leaves, behind which tiny purple buds are on their way to becoming ripe fruit. History indicates, “among the Persians, tree-planting was a sacred occupation” (GardenVisit.com) - this was before the uproar of religious fundamentalism erupted in Iran, that resulted in many putting their education on hold. The garden appears to have been created with such passion and life. Berry bushes have yet to bear fruit, though it’s easy to see where the berries are going to fit in between leaves that so perfectly hug one another. Stepping-stones are placed to ensure that one gets to view the entire garden, without disrupting the perfect blades of grass. Being immersed in such serene beauty after my experiences on the streets of Iran, my grandparent’s garden allowed my mind, “from pleasure less” to withdraw “into it’s happiness” (Marvell, The Garden). The chaos of the outside world, although rich in revolutionary history, didn’t satisfy my appetite as well as the nature of this garden did.

Overflowing peonies and chrysanthemums line the garden walls that seclude this serene sanctuary from the turbulence that lies on the other side. A delicious variety of pink, white, and red peonies look fresh enough to eat. Purple, pink, bright yellow and crisp white chrysanthemums display their delicate petals. The abundance of the flowers takes over the green leaves, which are almost completely hidden under this colorful sea of bloom. The emphasis of water in Persian gardens is a trend that was introduced under the Sassanid reign between the third and seventh century CE, my grandfather tells me, as he initiates the beginning of my lesson in Iranian history. The corners of the garden where water is present are intended to represent the world - the design of the garden is referred to as Chahar Bagh (translated in English to four garden), created to represent The Garden Of Eden  (farsinet.com); “And the lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden … And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from there it was parted, and became into four heads … The name of the first is Pison … the name of the second river is Gihon … the name of the third river is Hiddekel … And the fourth river is Euphrates” (Genesis 2: 8-14). It comes as no surprise that the spectacular layout of the garden was intended to emulate the original model of perfection in nature.

On occasion, while lying in the garden staring up at the sky during the days of spring, I’d look to my side and see a turtle slowly crawling across the dirt. I would think to myself what animal could possibly appear to be more relaxed than a turtle? A turtle was the most appropriate animal I could imagine inhabiting this garden, for the turtle as well as the garden exude a calm beauty. The turtle never hid in its shell when I caught a glimpse of him, I assume this is because he felt safe, and understandably so.

While lying in my grandparent’s garden, I would completely forget what country I was in. This Persian garden was a place where the mandatory hejab was not required, a place where I wasn’t forced to cover my arms my legs so as to not be arrested. This Persian garden was a place where I could I could be one with fruits, flowers, trees, ponds, fountains, and even a reptile every now and then. Although I was a frightened foreigner on the streets of Iran, I felt as if I was a native while in this garden, just like the turtle.

My one-year experience in Iran resonates in my mind as I read The Garden, by Andrew Marvell. The beauty of my grandparent’s garden really allowed me to escape from my life in what’s now referred to as a third world country. I’m grateful to have had such a place to escape to during my days of spring, to spend my “sweet and wholesome hours”.  Though my return to the US was also sweet, leaving behind the flawless landscape of my grandparents garden left me to wonder when I’d ever enjoy nature in that way again. I have not returned to my grandparent’s home since my last experience, and a year after leaving Tehran, my grandfather passed away. Not having my grandfather to point out the details that bring the gardens beauty to life, my grandparent’s garden will never be the same. I hope to soon return to the garden that made my days in Tehran tolerable, but being in that very same garden without my grandfather couldn’t possibly mean as much as it once did.

                                          WORKS CITED

Austin, Mary. The Land of Little Rain. New York: Dover, 1996.

“Book of Genesis.” The Bible, King James Authorized Translation.

“GardenVisit.Com." The Garden and Landscape Guide. 2007. 8 Mar. 2008 <http://www.gardenvisit.com/history_theory/library_online_ebooks/ml_gothein_history_garden_art_design/persian_gardens_iran_plateau>.

Marvell, Andrew. “The Garden”. California Polytechnic State University. 8 March 2007. <http://www.cla.calpoly.edu:16080/~smarx/courses/380/Renpastoral.pdf>

Oliver, Mary. “Land Of Little Rain”. California Polytechnic State University. 8 March 2007. <http://cla.calpoly.edu/~smarx/courses/380/maryoliver/maryoliverpoems2.htm>.

"Persian Gardens." Farsi Net. 2008. FarsiNet, Inc. 12 Feb. 2008 <http://www.farsinet.com>.