For Nasrin Karimi, Iran is no longer a place she can simply return to. It survives instead as a lingering ache carried for more than four decades, deepened by the distance and the weight of a tyrannical regime. Each year, and with every fresh upheaval back home, that distance feels heavier.“The current regime in Tehran is corrupt and suppressive,” Nasrin says. “It has taken away our freedom and the chance to return home.”Far from the fault lines of West Asia, on Chennai’s Khader Nawaz Khan Road in Nungambakkam, Nasrin and her elder brother Dariush Karimi run a modest takeaway named Shiraz Art Cafe. Inside, the aromas of saffron rice, simmering kebabs, and herbs mingle with stories that have traveled miles.Their journey began in 1980, under the shadow of the Iranian Revolution. What started as a temporary move for education slowly became a life suspended between two countries.“I was only 19 when the revolution broke out,” Nasrin recalls. “I came to Chennai and joined Queen Mary’s College to study population studies. I tried going back home a couple of times, but this city never let me leave,” she says with a chuckle.She later moved to Tirupati for postgraduate studies and spent much of her twenties there. During that time, she was commissioned to do glass paintings for the Aina Mahal inside the Tirumala Venkateswara Temple complex. After a brief stay, she returned to Chennai, where she has lived ever since.“Now I consider myself half Indian and half Iranian. Tamizh konjum konjum teriyum,” she says.Dariush’s path took him further afield. He studied mechanical engineering in Andhra Pradesh, completed an MTech at Banaras Hindu University, and later lived in Japan and Canada. Yet India kept calling him back.“With persuasion from Nasrin, I returned to Chennai,” he says. Behind that remark lies a profound truth: Returning to Iran has never been easy. Between taking orders and packing meals, Nasrin’s voice softens. “We want to go back home and be with our families again.”That longing has only deepened in recent months. Communication with relatives in Iran has become difficult. “We haven’t spoken to our families in months,” Dariush says.“There’s no internet, no telephone connection. We don’t know what is happening.”Nasrin says they recently learned that one of her younger brothers had died, a loss she links to the stress of events unfolding back home.They named their takeaway after Shiraz, the city where they grew up and still think of as home. About 850km south of Tehran, Shiraz is famed for its gardens, poetry and history.Before 1979, Iran was rapidly modernizing, balancing tradition with change. The revolution altered that course, and reshaped the lives of the Karimi siblings.Last month, during the peak of the Iran US conflict, a large billboard reportedly appeared in Tehran showing Mojtaba Khamenei directing Revolutionary Guard commanders. For critics of the current system, including Nasrin and Dariush, symbolized fears of a harder and more militarized future.“Before this war, more than 40,000 were killed in just two days,” Nasrin claims. “You don’t hear about it. Everything is censored.”Yet it is food that becomes their language of memory and belonging.A bowl of ghormeh sabzi, fragrant with herbs, arrives with fall-off-the-bone tender mutton.Saffron rice releases a warm aroma. Succulent, smoky kebabs complete the meal. It is followed by delicate Shiraz tea and their signature Iranian pudding.As the conversation turns outward, Dariush reflects: “You cannot mix politics with ideology. Look at what is happening in Afghanistan. The Iranian government only understands the language of guns and money.”Running a takeaway has brought its own challenges. Before the pandemic, the siblings operated a full restaurant on East Coast Road. “Twenty-three employees, no holidays, working 24×7. It became too much for us. This is us adapting,” Nasrin says.Even within these constraints, they endure. “We want peace. For that to happen, the current regime in Iran has to change,” she says.In a world fractured by conflict, Nasrin and Dariush offer a slice of home, and something more, memory and the hope of return. The brother-sister duo also offers a quiet reminder: Sometimes the most powerful way to speak of peace is simply to serve it, in every bite and every sip.
