I was 14 years old when the war in Iran began in the 1980s. Fortunately, I was among the lucky ones who weren’t directly affected, as my parents managed to send me to Sweden a few years later for safety. Still, I consider war a terrible tragedy and wish no one had to endure its horrors. That’s probably why I’ve always been strongly anti-war. It’s disheartening to see that some people still consider war an option rather than resolving conflicts through dialogue.
When I reflect on what shaped my personality, I realize I’d have to go way back—perhaps to my earliest years. I was born in the winter of 1966 in central Tehran, the third child in a middle-class family. My father, then 32, came from a wealthy landowning family in the north but had lost all his land three years earlier due to government land reforms. He worked as a surveyor in a road construction company. My mother, at just 22, ran her own hair salon from home.
My parents in 60s
Those early years were tough, or so my parents told me, as they both worked hard to save up for a home. But as the country’s economy improved, so did their situation, and they were eventually able to buy their first house in Tehranpars, a newly developed neighbourhood on the eastern side of the city.
Tehranpars was designed as part of a modernization project during the Pahlavi era to accommodate Tehran’s rapid expansion. It was surrounded by the lush forests of Sorkhe-hesar and Lavizan, and its name, “Tehran Pars,” reflected the presence of many Zoroastrian families. Some of Tehran’s key Zoroastrian centres, like Rostam-bagh and the Markar Complex, were (and still are) located there.
I was around three or four when my parents bought the house, and some of my earliest childhood memories are of playing in the small front yard while my mother tended to her garden. The house was a single-story building with a basement, located in a neighbourhoods of narrow streets lined with nearly identical homes—most likely built by the same company. The area mainly attracted young middle-class families, many of whom worked for the government or the growing service industry.
For a child, it was an ideal place to grow up. It was close to forests and parks, not too crowded, and slightly removed from the city’s hustle and bustle, giving us plenty of space to play. The main street was divided into four sections, known as the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Falakeh. Beyond the 3rd Falakeh, the area was mostly empty except for a public swimming pool, which I absolutely loved. My siblings and I would visit it every summer, making some of my fondest childhood memories.
