The people here know when it’s raining. They will let you know that they know it has been raining, it is raining, or if it will rain soon. Everyone is in anticipation of the rain. You will be sitting in the taxi and the driver will let you know that it is raining, but he had washed his car the night before. Happy old men with wide eyes, who understand time in terms of seasonal storms and catastrophic events, will let you know that it has just rained. My uncle: ” Fared it is raining so hard outside, go look….go go.” I go outside - it’s raining.
Last night had become exceptionally windy and cold, and the mountains had been covered with clouds from the Caspian. I too was anticipating the rain tonight. While preparing a meal of feta cheese, olives and nun-sangak a thunder bolt struck nearby and Tehran began to Cry. I cracked my windows open. The dusty Tehran sidewalks began to smell of clay potts after just soaking in a heavy monsoon. I couldn’t do anything but watch the sky celebrate over the dark winter landscape of Tehran - a symphony of droplets composing every leaf and branch.
The sky was hovering low over the mountains of Shemrun, which is most of the horizon around the city. Using a briefcase as an umbrella, a man was hurring to find a dry shelter from the rain. Pigeons were huddling togther underneath a ledge across the street. My phone rang….it’s my Uncle: “Amu Amu…go look outside…it’s raining…it’s raining…go..go and look.” I reply, “Yes Amu joun, thanks for the update…I noticed. I will go look in a bit. How’s your wife doing?” After a few laughs and trivial conversations I went back to my window to smell and breath in the rain. People here are always in anticipation of the rain, and when it happens they will let the whole world know. I understand this anticipation….their rain brings them hope, and inspiration. I finished a song.