Ali and I lived with our daughter Sara in north Tehran, in walking distance of the Tajrish bazaar. We rented the top floor of an old house that had a lovely high-walled garden with old persimmon trees. The flat had a funny sitz bath, coloured lights around the living room ceiling and a big balcony that overlooked the garden.
Sometimes at weekends we drove down to Isfahan where Ali’s extensive family lived. I really enjoyed meals sitting around the sofre (tablecloth) with three generations, eating the delicious food that Ali’s mother – Kuchek-begum, otherwise known as Mama-khanoom – had been preparing all day, her work including shopping, cleaning and chopping herbs, grinding the sugar cone and cooking.
Ali and I both taught in universities, including Melli, Damavand, Farabi and the College of NIRT Radio-Television. These became intense sites of debate, sharing of materials, sometimes violence. While I taught at Damavand College, the only son of the Bishop of Isfahan was killed.
