Dancing Behind Closed Doors: Iran’s Quiet Acts of Defiance

One Nowruz holiday, I found myself in Bandar Abbas, Iran’s bustling port on the Persian Gulf. The city itself holds little appeal for the average tourist; yet it was bracing for a tidal wave of nearly two million Iranian holidaymakers.Many of them would head to Kish Island – a government-designated free trade zone, where the usual suffocating rules are left on the mainland. On Kish, the moral police are conspicuously absent, and the clerical dress codes lose their grip.Here, Iranians quite literally let their hair down. Women emerge from the confines of their tent-like burqas, eager to breathe in the sea air unfiltered by layers of cloth.Men cast off their trousers in favour of swimming trunks, embracing the beach with carefree abandon. The island also offers the lure of duty-free shopping, and, perhaps most refreshingly, not a single image of Ayatollah Khomeini in sight.Bollywood, Biryani, Burqa & Big B: An Indian Traveller’s Iran StoryIn Iran, Ayatollah Khomeini’s visage adorns every banknote and beams down from giant posters, keeping an eagle eye on the society from his high perch. The moral police dutifully implement the dictates of the departed leader:No cinemas, theatres, discos or nightclubsNo mind-dulling, funky western, rock, reggae on radio. Only soul-raising recitation of religious worksNo sale or purchase of musical instruments No listening to female singers by malesNo young girls on TV commercials or shows No satellite dishes to ogle at the bulbous Baywatch women No public touching of the opposite sex unless you are relatedNo sex outside marriageNo display of lingerie and naked mannequinsNo sale of dogs or monkeysNo serving of food or drinks in restaurants to women not adhering to the Islamic dress code or wearing heavy make-upNo alcohol Yet, the long arm of the state cannot reach the resolute. At the Bandar Abbas port, the tall, skinny, greying, chain-smoking Masih, a clearing agent, asked me if I smoked.“Only free cigarettes,” I said. “Don’t burn my own money.”Then pouring his thumb into his mouth, he asked if I drank sharaab (liquor).“No,” I lied, and, nudging him with my elbow, asked if he did.“Yes! Beer, vodka, whisky.”“But in Iran they will…” I sliced my throat with my hand. “Yes. But only….” He bent forward and hid his face with his hands, indicating he drank secretly, in hiding.“What whisky do you drink?”“Scotch. Red Label.”“How many rials does one bottle cost?” I was certain he must have been paying a hefty premium on the black market.With his finger he wrote ‘70,000’ on my forearm.“What!” I yelled. “That’s only $9. Cheap!”I suspected that the West was smuggling subsidised booze into Iran through underground channels, to corrupt a society of harmless teetotalers.Missiles, Diplomacy, and Face-Saving: Anatomy of the Israel-Iran CeasefireAbdul, an English-speaking university student, befriended me on an early morning walk along the beach. I asked him what he and his friends did for entertainment.“We can do everything as long as we are not making nuisance in public. We have private parties. Behind closed doors we play pop music, dance with our girlfriends and drink home-brewed booze. At home I chat with the world on the internet, watch banned satellite television or videos – including blue films,” he said, with a confidential wink.“The petty restrictions of life have been relaxed in the past few years. The dress code is now more liberal. And the moral police less fierce. Sexual segregation is not as strict as it used to be. This is a good system. We have an orderly society. There is no major crime.”Abdul“But doesn’t the moral police harass you when you are partying?” I asked.“Sometimes they overlook. Other times we pay them off. But, of course, the possibility is always there that we might get raided and then fined, imprisoned or flogged. That fear is always there. We have to be careful at all times.” In the outskirts of Tehran, close to the fairytale, golden-domed tomb of Ayatollah Khomeini, two battered Citroen cars driving ahead of us slowed down and parked near a group of girls assembled on the side of the freeway. With guarded looks the girls shuffled towards the cars. They didn’t seem to be selling anything and the guys in the cars appeared to be looking hard into the girl’s black vestments, glinting in the sun’s rays. The girls seemed to be of shaky character. We sped past the unusual scene. I asked Mohsen, my guide, what this was about.“Prostitutes,” he said.“What! Prostitutes in Iran!” I exclaimed.Mohsen explained to me how the system worked.In a society where men and women are segregated, the desperate quest for sex is an existential compulsion. In Iran, this kind of picking up is done on the highways, outside the cities. The professional girls hang around known spots. After agreeing on the price, the man picks the girl and together they proceed to legalise the arrangement. Dreading the uncompromising law, they go to a complacent mullah who dresses up their purely sexual intentions in a language of morality. For a small fee, the mullah hurriedly performs sigeh, a temporary marriage, a flexible union between man and woman that can last from 30 minutes to 99 years.Armed with the registered license, the couple can stimulate each other freely, without being under legal pressure. After satisfying their lust or financial needs, as the case may be, they annul the marriage.“Have you ever tried this?” I enquired, nudging him with my elbow.“Naw! I don’t need to. I have girlfriends – two of them,” said the 22-year-old, slapping me on my shoulder.“How did you meet them?”“The one from Tabriz is in my college. She comes over to my apartment. The other is in Tehran. Our eyes met while our cars were waiting at a traffic light. She gave me the right signal. I followed her. We connected. That was one year ago. In Iran a lot of picking up is done this way. Fuel is cheap. Everyone has cars. So young boys and girls just drive around with their antennas open, looking for mates.”Abdul“Are you planning to marry any of them – perhaps both of them?”“May be the girl from Tabriz. She is very pretty. Tabrizi girls are the most beautiful in Iran. The queen of Iran, Shah’s wife, was a Tabrizi.”Ayatollah Khomeini may gaze sternly from every wall and banknote, but down at street level, the people are busy living, laughing, and loving. Iran, it turns out, is not a land of blind obedience, but of brilliant improvisation.(Akhil Bakshi, an author and explorer, is a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and Explorers Club USA, and Editor of ‘Indian Mountaineer’. He is also the founder of Bharatiya Yuva Shakti, an organisation that ensures good leadership at the village level. He tweets @AkhilBakshi1. This is an opinion piece, and the views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for the same.)

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Temporary Marriages, Private Parties: Life Behind Iran’s Moral Curtain

Iran, it turns out, is not a land of blind obedience, but of brilliant improvisation, writes Akhil Bakshi.

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