On a sultry March afternoon, as news feeds continue to fill with updates about the unfolding crisis in Iran and across West Asia, my mind drifts elsewhere, to quieter memories from high school and college days when reading was a cherished habit and the world felt discoverable through books. The current conflict made me revisit my earlier impressions of Iran. For many of us who grew up before the age of endless scrolling and algorithm-driven news cycles, distant countries were first encountered through pages rather than pixels. Iran, for me, emerged slowly through stories that revealed both its beauty and its contradiction. My earliest window into Iran came through Betty Mahmoody’s Not Without My Daughter, a memoir recounting Mahmoody’s experience of travelling to Iran with her husband and daughter for what was supposed to be a brief visit, only to find herself and her child trapped there when her husband refused to allow them to return to the United States. Her eventual escape with her daughter forms the heart of a gripping and unsettling narrative that explores personal struggle, cultural barriers, and the complexities of life in a post-revolution Iran. That book was only the beginning. Soon after came Azar Nafisi’s Reading Lolita in Tehran, a profoundly moving narrative about a secret book club where women gathered to read forbidden Western literature under an oppressive regime.Illustration: Pariplab ChakrabortyCinema expanded those early impressions. The Stoning of Soraya M., based on a true story, remains difficult to watch but impossible to forget. What these books and films shared was not merely criticism of Iran’s political system, but a deeper exploration of rights, autonomy and particularly the courage of women navigating life under complex social and political constraints. At the time, these books and films shaped my earliest impressions of Iran, though with the passing years it also became clear that many of these narratives were filtered through the Western lens, and that a more nuanced understanding of the region – its people, history, and complexities emerges only gradually with time and wider reading. Somewhere along the way, this literary and cinematic exposure also cultivated a quiet curiosity in me – the desire to visit Iran someday. That desire has never quite faded. Years later, when I moved to Mumbai in 2022, Iran unexpectedly returned to my life – but in a very different way. The city carries traces of Iran in its everyday rhythms. The Iranian and Parsi communities have left an unmistakable imprint on Mumbai’s culture. Walk through neighbourhoods in Dadar or Fort and you encounter the enduring charm of Irani cafés. Be at the iconic Kyani & Co., or Brittania & Co., or Yazdani bakery, time itself seems to pause over cups of tea and old wooden chairs. There is the comforting familiarity of bun-muska dipped into steaming Irani chai, the spicy warmth of akuri toast, plates of keema pav, or the rich flavours of salli boti, and Britannia & Co’s legendary berry pulao and chelo kebab. And then there are the sweet indulgences: the famous ice-cream sandwich at Rustomjee & Co., the refreshing Pallonjee drink et al at these Irani cafés that even today refuse to accept payments if not in cash. These fragments of Iranian heritage are woven into Mumbai’s daily life so seamlessly that I almost forgot how far away Iran actually is. However, even in India’s northeast, the consequences of conflicts in West Asia are often felt in quiet, indirect ways. A spike in crude oil prices pushing up LPG costs. Migrant workers who staff the kitchens and service counters in cities like Bangalore and Mumbai returning to their hometowns as businesses scale down. So, this March afternoon, as I took in the aroma of Irani chai, and felt the economic ripples that reached distant corners of India, Iran felt strangely close through memories, flavours, and a lingering hope for the country that sparked much curiosity for me.Minakshi Bujarbaruah is an independent research consultant, based out of Mumbai.We’ve grown up hearing that “it’s the small things” that matter. That’s true, of course, but it’s also not – there are Big Things that we know matter, and that we shouldn’t take our eyes, minds or hearts off of. As journalists, we spend most of our time looking at those Big Things, trying to understand them, break them down, and bring them to you.And now we’re looking to you to also think about the small things – the joy that comes from a strangers’ kindness, incidents that leave you feeling warm, an unexpected conversation that made you happy, finding spaces of solidarity. Write to us about your small things at thewiresmallthings@gmail.com in 800 words or less, and we will publish selected submissions. We look forward to reading about your experiences, because even small things can bring big joys.Read the series here.