Mehr

It turned out that there was, after all, a difference between Iranian women and me. They simply could not understand how one might not love gold. All our arguments about the fact that it was not such a profitable investment usually ended with my promises not to refuse expensive gifts. For me, this questionable asset had always felt like a burden. And no matter how much my mother-in-law tried to teach me the “right” answer to the question, “What is the best gift to receive for a holiday?”, pretending for the sake of benefit did not always come easily.

But one day at the bazaar I saw a woman sweeping golden onion skins off the road. Suddenly, a bracelet of the same colour slipped from her black sleeve and settled onto her slender wrist. The sight was so strikingly beautiful that love for jewellery no longer seemed like cold, calculating mercantilism. Since then, I have been certain: this is how women in Iran strengthen their charm and affirm their status in society.

I began to look more closely at Iranian women. They never seemed to me like those oppressed by men. Perhaps it was different in the past? In times when bride and groom met only after their parents’ deliberations over tea and fruit. Not so long ago, eighteen was considered the peak of beauty and tenderness. Earlier still — even younger. Today, women who fall into the category of brides have noticeably grown older.

Iranian men know well the secrets of their wives’ good moods. They go shopping with them and give gold on holidays. And the more jewellery there is, the more convincingly a man demonstrates his love for his other half.

That other half, in turn, is expected to repay this generosity with care and affection. In Iran, it is entirely normal for a woman to devote her life to family and not work. In general, no one objects to women developing as individuals, but few men take this seriously. Family comes first, career second. Financial security, without question, is the man’s responsibility. That is how it has been on the East since ancient times.

Still, I knew Iranian women who were career-oriented and had realized themselves in various fields. So I would not claim that all women devote themselves solely to family life. I often even encountered women working as taxi drivers. The one I remember most was a middle-aged Iranian woman who allowed me to record a story about her. I was a random passenger. She adjusted her headscarf, turned up the volume on a George Michael song, and confidently said, “Film it.” More than anything, it depends on a woman’s own choices and priorities. Yet, society shapes many of the rules we feel compelled to follow, urging us to resemble others.

Once, together with my mother-in-law, I found myself at another women’s gathering, attended by both young girls and elderly grandmothers. The men were at work. I confess that at such gatherings I always felt slightly intoxicated by the attention and hospitality. Everyone was curious about the foreign woman. We talked, drank tea, ate sweets and fruit, and then each guest passed a book around the circle and read out quotes by Rumi. In this way, they shared the lines that had inspired them during the hardest moments of their lives.

The meeting was organized by a woman who had survived cancer. Perhaps this was precisely one of those moments when faith and the teachings of a beloved philosopher became the main source of light guiding her forward. And, of course, the family who supported her. Some time later, it was his daftar — a notebook, in Persian — that I too would hold in my hands during my own darkest times.

Toward the end of the evening, the older women were the first to leave. The younger ones stayed behind to listen to my mother-in-law talk about me. She was telling everyone how fortunate she was to have me:

“They didn’t want a wedding,” she said, “and for the mehr*”—the sum a husband must pay his wife in the event of divorce—“she asked for only one hundred dollars.”

Suddenly, several young women turned toward me and began to study me closely. Admiration was written all over their faces. It felt as though a halo had begun to glow above my head, wings slowly unfolding behind my back. Married women looked at me differently — with pity. And I could not understand how, at such a happy moment in life, when you are ready to do anything for him, one could already be thinking about divorce and about how to survive afterward. For me, it could mean only one thing: doubt in one’s choice of partner.

*Mehr (or Mahr) carries deep significance across various contexts. In Persian and Zoroastrian tradition, it represents the Sun, kindness, and vitality, lending its name to the seventh month of the Iranian calendar and a major national news agency. In an Islamic context, Mahr refers to the mandatory gift from a groom to his bride. Rather than a "bride price," it is a formal symbol of commitment that provides the wife with personal financial security, typically in the form of money or possessions.