The Red Motorcycle

My father did not oppose the idea, but transferring schools was not something easily done. Saadi was known as one of the better schools in the city, and admission was not always simple.

There was a man named Mr. Rokni. He was an art teacher and also a painter. My father knew him through acquaintances and asked if he could help enroll me in the school.

One afternoon he arrived at our house on a red BMW motorcycle. To a child of that age, the machine itself looked extraordinary. It was powerful, bright, and completely different from anything we saw in the neighborhood.

He told me to sit behind him, and we drove through the streets of the city toward Saadi School.

I still remember the sensation of sitting on that motorcycle, holding onto the back rail while the city passed by. The wind felt cold on my face, but the excitement of going to the school I had admired only days before made everything feel unreal.

When we arrived, he took me to the office and spoke with the administrators. I did not fully understand the conversation. I only remember standing in the corridor, looking at the floors, the stairs, the doors that opened into classrooms.

That day my name was registered.

In retrospect, it was a small event in the scale of history. But for me it was a turning point. The environment of the school exposed me to a different world—one where art, drawing, and ideas had a place.

The architecture of that building remained present in my mind, even though I did not yet know that architecture would become my profession.