The Alley of Love and Yellow Jasmines by Shohreh Aghdashloo Page B
Authors: Shohreh Aghdashloo
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his suggestion. I had never thought about leaving Iran for political reasons. How long would I have to leave for? I wondered.
BAKHTIAR NEEDED TO make a vital decision: whether or not to have the Ayatollah arrested upon his arrival for his anti-Shah propaganda.
He ordered all the airports shut down for three days, or possibly more, perhaps to buy time to find a popular solution for this divided nation.
Poor Bakhtiar was never forgiven by Khomeini for shutting down the airports. He eventually fled the country but was stabbed to death in 1991 in his own house in Paris, under the nose of the French police. Bakhtiar’s assassins were said to be of Iranian origin and reportedly escaped back to Iran via Switzerland.
19
The Boxes of My Life
I sat in our backyard for hours, weighing my options. I considered the consequences if I chose to leave. I would be far from my husband, family, and friends at least for a while and waiting to see what the future had in store for me. I needed to leave Iran, even though the idea broke my heart. I was too much of a danger to my family and my husband. I had no intention of putting members of my family in danger by attending the demonstrations. I had no idea if my film work or my political beliefs were going to haunt me in the new regime.
The chaos and the slogans that littered the streets disturbed me greatly. For endless empty days I was upset not only at the distrust among the people but also about the question of what I could even do in my country if I remained. After all, I was no longer acting, just watching Aydin paint and listening to my mother-in-law’s fearful view of the outcome of the revolution.
Parting with three-year-old Pasha was also a devastating thought. I could not take him with me. I did not even know where I was going. My instinct was telling me to leave. My destination was as unknown as my future.
Aydin came home one night and saw me sitting in the dark with Pasha, listening to Albinoni’s Adagio , the sad classical music permeating our home. He got very upset and told me then and there, “You are free as a bird to do what is right for you. I will help you leave. I will do anything for you to be happy again and live a life that you deserve. I know that I cannot keep you here, and I know that I cannot live abroad. But I am not telling you what to do, or what not to do. You are free to make the decision, and I will support you as long as I am alive. I will be behind you like a mountain.”
I prepared to leave Iran with a small suitcase containing a few pieces of clothing, including two of my favorite theater costumes, five photographs of my family, and the iconic portrait that Aydin had painted of me on my twenty-second birthday. Last but not least, I packed the two calligraphies we’d purchased in Egypt.
I left after two months of intense deliberations. The idea of leaving all the people I loved was killing me, and starting a new life seemed difficult and daunting. But I had no other choice. What could a young, modern, outspoken actress do under the Islamic revolutionary regime that was about to take over?
We had a small Persian dresser from around 1800 with many drawers. It was known as “Hezar Bisheh,” or “1,000 nests.” In one of the drawers were two small dictionaries. One was English-Farsi, the other Farsi-English. I opened one and started looking at the English words. I tried to pronounce big words, such as psy-chi-a-trist or squan-de-ring . Pasha looked at me in the way a wise man looks at his idiot pupil.
I knew that my little knowledge of the English language would not take me far, and I wondered if I could easily learn the rest of the language shortly—naively believing it possible.
PROFESSOR ALI WAS right. The clerics eventually wiped out most of the underground leftists who did not or could not flee the country. The Shah moved to Cairo with his family to stay with his friend Anwar Sadat.
I called my childhood friend Mahdi and told him that I
BAKHTIAR NEEDED TO make a vital decision: whether or not to have the Ayatollah arrested upon his arrival for his anti-Shah propaganda.
He ordered all the airports shut down for three days, or possibly more, perhaps to buy time to find a popular solution for this divided nation.
Poor Bakhtiar was never forgiven by Khomeini for shutting down the airports. He eventually fled the country but was stabbed to death in 1991 in his own house in Paris, under the nose of the French police. Bakhtiar’s assassins were said to be of Iranian origin and reportedly escaped back to Iran via Switzerland.
19
The Boxes of My Life
I sat in our backyard for hours, weighing my options. I considered the consequences if I chose to leave. I would be far from my husband, family, and friends at least for a while and waiting to see what the future had in store for me. I needed to leave Iran, even though the idea broke my heart. I was too much of a danger to my family and my husband. I had no intention of putting members of my family in danger by attending the demonstrations. I had no idea if my film work or my political beliefs were going to haunt me in the new regime.
The chaos and the slogans that littered the streets disturbed me greatly. For endless empty days I was upset not only at the distrust among the people but also about the question of what I could even do in my country if I remained. After all, I was no longer acting, just watching Aydin paint and listening to my mother-in-law’s fearful view of the outcome of the revolution.
Parting with three-year-old Pasha was also a devastating thought. I could not take him with me. I did not even know where I was going. My instinct was telling me to leave. My destination was as unknown as my future.
Aydin came home one night and saw me sitting in the dark with Pasha, listening to Albinoni’s Adagio , the sad classical music permeating our home. He got very upset and told me then and there, “You are free as a bird to do what is right for you. I will help you leave. I will do anything for you to be happy again and live a life that you deserve. I know that I cannot keep you here, and I know that I cannot live abroad. But I am not telling you what to do, or what not to do. You are free to make the decision, and I will support you as long as I am alive. I will be behind you like a mountain.”
I prepared to leave Iran with a small suitcase containing a few pieces of clothing, including two of my favorite theater costumes, five photographs of my family, and the iconic portrait that Aydin had painted of me on my twenty-second birthday. Last but not least, I packed the two calligraphies we’d purchased in Egypt.
I left after two months of intense deliberations. The idea of leaving all the people I loved was killing me, and starting a new life seemed difficult and daunting. But I had no other choice. What could a young, modern, outspoken actress do under the Islamic revolutionary regime that was about to take over?
We had a small Persian dresser from around 1800 with many drawers. It was known as “Hezar Bisheh,” or “1,000 nests.” In one of the drawers were two small dictionaries. One was English-Farsi, the other Farsi-English. I opened one and started looking at the English words. I tried to pronounce big words, such as psy-chi-a-trist or squan-de-ring . Pasha looked at me in the way a wise man looks at his idiot pupil.
I knew that my little knowledge of the English language would not take me far, and I wondered if I could easily learn the rest of the language shortly—naively believing it possible.
PROFESSOR ALI WAS right. The clerics eventually wiped out most of the underground leftists who did not or could not flee the country. The Shah moved to Cairo with his family to stay with his friend Anwar Sadat.
I called my childhood friend Mahdi and told him that I
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