My stroll through Tehran begins at the westernmost end of Mollasadra Street, named after the Islamic philosopher and theologian Mulla Sadra, who died in 1640. After a short uphill walk, the broad pavements invite me to continue.
In many parts of Tehran, particularly where affluent northern districts meet lower-income southern neighbourhoods, public pavements have been swallowed by speculative builders who, through bribery and influence, obtain permission to encroach upon public space. Along Mollasadra Street, however, despite the newly built high-rises and towers that flank it, the pavements remain remarkably intact. Above them, sparrows and, more noticeably, swallows dart across the sky. Their presence owes much to the small man-made forests and the old gardens preserved and revived by Tehran Municipality along the northern and western sides of the street.
Older residents of Tehran remember when swallows were everywhere.
While waiting in line to buy traditional ice cream at Mansour Ice Cream, an elderly man leaning on an engraved wooden cane points towards the sky and says:
“When Tehran was a city of single-storey houses with tin roofs, and when this area was still the village of Vanak, swallows were everywhere from mid-spring until the end of summer.”
Many Tehranis refer to any similar-looking bird as a swallow, but the birds most commonly seen in the city may actually be barn swallows or even swifts. The easiest way to distinguish a common house martin is by its conspicuous white rump.
Not far from Mansour Ice Cream stands Baqiyatullah al-Azam Hospital, affiliated with the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC). For decades, the hospital has shaped the surrounding area.
It was to this hospital that the bruised body of Zahra Kazemi, the Iranian-Canadian photojournalist, was brought from nearby Evin Prison after she was fatally beaten. The hospital’s name means “The Greatest Remnant of God”, an honorific title associated with the Hidden Twelfth Imam, Mahdi. It has also been reported that Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ali Khamenei, underwent prostate surgery there.
The area around the hospital is well developed and conveniently located. Shops, pharmacies and other services are easily accessible, making daily life relatively comfortable for residents.
The old man in front of Mansour Ice Cream continues his story: “During the recent war, the twelve-day war, the headquarters of the anti-riot police special units north of here, as well as the entrance gate of Evin Prison, were bombed. But my wife and I, both in our late eighties, never left home. One of my ears is completely deaf, and I put a pillow over the other one. I did not hear much of anything. My wife’s hearing is no better than mine. The next day, the owner of the nearby grocery shop told us where the strikes had occurred.”
After saying goodbye to the remarkably well-informed old man, I resume my walk towards Vanak Square. At its centre stands a statue of Arash, the legendary archer, a figure whose symbolism reflects the increasing prominence of nationalist imagery in the political culture of the Islamic Republic.
As expected, the north-western and south-western sides of the square are lined with tents and kiosks intended to accommodate vigilantes, Basij militia families, and an unknown number of paid or unpaid regime supporters. They chant slogans against America and Israel and, from time to time, against negotiations or any possible agreement with the United States.
Dark-coloured armoured vehicles equipped with mounted weapons stand in the square.
On the north-western corner, where before the Revolution there was once an outdoor drive-in cinema, anti-riot police monitor passers-by. At various checkpoints, Basij militia members and police officers inspect vehicles they consider suspicious.
Heading south from the square onto Valiasr Street, I notice the sluggish pace of business. Shops on both sides of the avenue appear unusually quiet.
By Sunday night, when I return home, a new exchange of missiles and rockets between the Islamic Republic of Iran and Israel has begun. Once again, long queues form at petrol stations as drivers fill their tanks, just in case they need to leave Tehran.
In the early hours of the morning, targets around Mehrabad Airport, Malard west of Tehran, locations near Karaj, Najafabad in Isfahan Province, and Kermanshah in western Iran are reportedly struck. The IRGC responds with several barrages of missiles and rockets directed at Israel.
Nazanin, a domestic tour organiser, receives dozens of cancellations before noon on Monday. Many assume that this new round of fighting will continue for at least a week.
Then the mood shifts.
The Israel Defence Forces announced that, contrary to earlier reports, they have not conducted strikes in Iran during the previous several hours. Meanwhile, Iran’s state broadcaster declares that “the enemy has been defeated” and has therefore accepted a ceasefire.
In shopping centres, relief is palpable. People return to ordinary purchases rather than hoarding supplies for the weeks ahead. I overhear shoppers repeating news of the ceasefire as though it were an unquestionable fact.
The great majority, who simply seek a normal life, begin returning to their routines. Yet from Tuesday onwards, rumours circulate that executions of political and security prisoners may resume. At the same time, nocturnal gatherings are organised to celebrate what officials describe as a victory and a lesson delivered to the “Zionist regime”.
And life, suspended between fear and normality, continues.
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