Memorable Hamam Sundays
As l was taking my shower today, l thought to myself, wouldn’t it be nice to go to the hamam for a nice pampering? I would so love to do that!
My mind travelled back in time. We were three little sisters in Tehran, three, five and seven and a half of age. We lived in a large flat with Mama and Papa, Maryam Barbari and Robabeh. I will call her Robabeh because l quite forgot her name. She is not active in this story. She was just there. During the winter we did not have the convenience of heating the whole house with radiators. Instead we had potbellied stoves in each room. Each day a man would come to fill them up with kerosene to make sure we had enough fuel to keep us warm. If we wanted to take baths, there was a huge tiled wood burning oven in the kitchen which warmed up the water and could be used for baking as well. However, that was rarely used. It was more convenient to go to the neighbourhood hamam. Sometimes we would go to the baths with Mama, but more often than not Maryam Barbari would take us early on a Sunday morning. She would reserve us a private bath. This consisted of a white tiled dressing room with a built-in tiled seat that went across the length of the room. There were hangers along side the other wall to hang our clothes and bath paraphernalia.
The next room looked almost the same, except for having taps for hot and cold water at the furthest end of the tiled seat. There also was a shower on the ceiling and a drain in the floor in the middle of the room. Maryam Barbari made sure that we got Sakineh as our laveuse and masseuse. It was she who bathed us each week during the cold weather. Maryam Barbari inspected the hammam to make sure it was extremely clean; then made Sakineh rinse everything thoroughly with permanganate. Once it was to her satisfaction, she handed each of us a huge juicy pomegranate. There were more fruit in the bag in the dressing room, in case we got hungry. Shechecked with Sakineh as to the time she was to pick us up. Meanwhile we clutched our pomegranates and squeezed and squeezed it until we felt it become juicy. We bit a small hole in it and sucked out the juice. Ah! Heavenly! The sweet sour juices would run into our mouths and down our naked little bodies, but that didn’t matter for all the steam and water would wash it away. The steam enveloped the whole room. Two of us stood together under the shower while Sakineh poured hot water on the other. She wanted us thoroughly wet with all our pores dilated before she started cleaning us.
Sakineh was a skinny woman. She had thin long henna dyed hair that was braided down her back. She modestly covered her middle but her breasts hung down long, limp and flat, as exhausted looking as the rest of her. She had stringy arms. Everything about her sagged. Everything about her seemed to be old and tired. It was hard work and long hours, for this is what she did from sunrise to sunset… She proceeded to cleanse us. We had our own woollen little bag, called ‘keeseh,’ that she used with something called sefid ab which she rubbed on the keeseh and against our skin. That promoted the discarding of dead skin tissues. We lay on the tile bed, one at a time, as she pushed the keeseh up and down our bodies. As she did so, she scrubbed grey dead skin in little rolls. Over and over our skin she went. There was not an inch of our bodies that was overlooked. Once she was satisfied that there was no more dead skin, she went to the next sister. When we were all done she started with the first one. This time she washed our hair and then washed our bodies with a loofah. This whole procedure took about four hours to cleanse the three of us. By that time Maryam Barbari had come back. She was waiting in the dressing room to dry and dress each of us as we were done. First, she would dry our hair until almost dry. We first put on na cotton vest, then our woollen one; then a hand knit woollen sweater, woollen pants, woollen hats and scarves, coat and mittens. All this wool was irritating to our young freshly exfoliated bodies. We itched and felt so scratchy!
In the meantime, Sakineh quickly covered herself with her chador and hurried to her next client in the hamam. When we were done, Maryam Barbari herded us out of the hamam. More often than not, light snow would be falling. We would trudge home, feeling the cold in our chests with each breath we inhaled. We would arrive home and the first thing that hit us was the aroma of koofteh Tabrizi that Maryam Barbari had prepared for us while we were at the hamam. The kitchen, the servant’s quarter and the storage loft were in this wing of the house. The warmth of the flat was so welcoming. The pot bellied stoves enveloped the house with heat. The aroma of the herbs and spices of the kufteh combined to make us salivate with hunger. The table was set and ready. When Papa arrived, we all sat around the table. Maryam Barbari placed the big tureen of soup with huge meatballs in front of Mama’s place setting. The Kufteh Tabrizi were filled with surprises. Inside each there was a baby chick, a hard boiled egg, fried onions, walnuts and chopped prunes and many other ingredients. We waited in anticipation as Mama broke into one. As it separated, we craned to see what else was in it! She broke it into four. In each bowl she put a piece of the kufteh, as we piped out our preferences of surprises. On top of that she would pour some of the greenish yellow rich broth. Maryam Barbari take the bowls from her and place them in front of each of us. We lifted our spoons to our mouths in anticipation of the delicious dish we were about to partake of. Papa had put on classical music on the gramophone. The snow was falling gently outside. All was peaceful in our world.
Whenever l think of a Sunday in winter, l think of the three little girls’ hamam long ago, of gentle snow and Maryam Barbari and her Kufteh Tabrizi.