It’s January 1st. Outside my window, the famous Milanese nebbia (fog) is rolling in. It is thick, cinematic, and makes the Duomo look like a ghost ship. It feels aesthetic. You put on a trench coat, drink an espresso, and feel like you’re in a black-and-white movie.
But when I FaceTime my friends back in Tehran, they’re dealing with a different kind of grey. It isn’t romantic mist; it’s Tehran Air Pollution.
In Tehran, the grey doesn’t just block the view of the mountains. It burns your eyes. It’s the time of year when the “Grey Dome” descends on the city, trapping 10 million people in a soup of exhaust fumes and winter inversion.
If you want to understand life in the Iranian capital right now, you don’t need to know about parliamentary bills. You need to understand the daily survival game of checking the Air Quality Index (AQI) like it’s a volatile crypto market. You need to know how a single number can shut down the entire city.
Let’s walk through the “Grey City” routine and learn the Persian survival kit: Aloodegi, Tatil, Trafik, and Mask.
The First Habit: Checking the Air Like It’s a Stock Price
In Milan, people check the weather app to see if it will rain. In Tehran, we check the AQI app to see if we can breathe.
The Tehran Air Pollution crisis has created a generation of amateur meteorologists. We don’t ask “How are you?” We ask “What’s the number?”
- 0-50: Green. (I’ve heard legends of this, but I think it’s a myth).
- 100-150: Orange. Unhealthy for sensitive groups. (This is just a normal Tuesday).
- 150+: Red. Dangerous. (This is when the panic starts).
This constant monitoring is where you meet your first essential word: Aloodegi (آلودگی).
Literally, it means “contamination” or “pollution,” but in winter, it’s practically a proper noun. You don’t just say “the air is bad.” You say, “The Aloodegi is heavy today.” It’s the invisible antagonist of every winter story. When the Aloodegi spikes, everything changes. Plans are cancelled, windows are sealed, and the city holds its breath.
“Tatil” Rumors: The “School Closed” Lottery
When the Aloodegi hits the “Red Zone” (above 150), a specific chaos takes over the city’s family WhatsApp groups. It’s the rumor mill for a Tatil (تعطیل).
Tatil means “closed,” “holiday,” or “off.” But in the context of pollution, it refers to the emergency closure of schools and universities.
Here is the scenario: It’s 9:00 PM. The AQI is hovering at 158. Every student in Tehran is glued to Telegram channels and news sites, refreshing the page every ten seconds. They are praying for the Governor of Tehran to announce that tomorrow is Tatil.
- The Hope: “Please let it be 160 so I don’t have to take my physics exam.”
- The Reality: Sometimes the authorities wait until 11:00 PM to announce it, leaving millions of parents in limbo.
When a day is declared Tatil due to pollution, it isn’t a fun snow day. It’s a “stay inside and don’t move” day. But for the kids? A Tatil is a Tatil. It’s a victory against the system, delivered by the smog.
Trafik: The Second Pollution, The First Enemy
You might ask, “El, why is the air so bad?”
Two reasons: Geography (Tehran is surrounded by mountains that trap air like a bowl) and our old friend, Trafik (ترافیک).
In Milan, traffic is annoying. In Tehran, Trafik is a lifestyle. It is a living, breathing creature that eats your time. During pollution peaks, the government tries to fight the smog by restricting the Trafik.
They enforce the “Even/Odd” scheme from the front door (Tarh-e Zoj o Fard). If your license plate ends in an odd number, and it’s an even day, you can’t bring your car out.
Does it work? Debatable. Does it make getting a Snapp (Iranian Uber) impossible? Absolutely.
The Trafik feeds the Aloodegi, and the Aloodegi leads to Tatil, which temporarily solves the Trafik. It’s the circle of life, but grey.
Mask Culture: Long Before Covid
In Europe, masks became a thing in 2020. In Tehran, we were ahead of the curve. We’ve been rocking the Mask (ماسک) since the early 2000s.
When I was in high school, seeing people with N95s on the street wasn’t a sign of a pandemic. It was just December. The Mask is your personal shield against the heavy metals in the air.
In the winter months, you check your pockets: Keys? Wallet? Phone? Mask?
It’s not a political statement. It’s a health necessity. You’ll see fashionable Uptown girls matching their Mask to their scarf, and motorcyclists wearing heavy-duty filters that look like Bane from Batman. It’s just part of the uniform.
The Deep Dive: The Vocabulary Survival Kit
Okay, let’s lock these words into your brain so you can actually use them. Here is the breakdown for our survival vocab.
1. Aloodegi (آلودگی)
Literal: Pollution / Contamination. Street Context: Used almost exclusively for “air pollution” in Tehran, though it can technically mean any impurity. If someone coughs, they blame the Aloodegi. Sentence Example: Fingilish: Emrooz aloodegi-ye hava kheyli bad-e, saram dard gereft. Persian: (امروز آلودگی هوا خیلی بده، سرم درد گرفت.) Translation: The air pollution is really bad today; I got a headache.
2. Tatil (تعطیل)
Literal: Closed / Holiday / Off. Street Context: This is the magic word. If a shop is closed, it’s Tatil. If schools are off, it’s Tatil. If your brain is not working because you’re tired, you can jokingly say “Maghzam tatil-e” (My brain is closed/off). Sentence Example: Fingilish: Shanbe madaares bekhaater-e aloodegi tatil hastan? Persian: (شنبه مدارس بخاطر آلودگی تعطیل هستن؟) Translation: Are schools closed on Saturday because of the pollution?
3. Trafik (ترافیک)
Literal: Traffic. Street Context: We use the French word (Traffic/Trafic). In Tehran, Trafik is a valid excuse for being up to 2 hours late to anything. Weddings, funerals, dates—everyone accepts “Mondam too trafik” (I got stuck in traffic). Sentence Example: Fingilish: Too trafik-e Hemmat gir kardam, ye sa’at dige miresam. Persian: (تو ترافیک همت گیر کردم، یه ساعت دیگه میرسم.) Translation: I got stuck in Hemmat (highway) traffic; I’ll arrive in an hour.
4. Mask (ماسک)
Literal: Mask. Street Context: Just like in English. But in Tehran slang, someone who is “two-faced” or fake might be described as “wearing a mask” (metaphorically), though usually, we just mean the physical filter for the smog. Sentence Example: Fingilish: Bedoon-e mask biroon naro, hava sammi-e. Persian: (بدون ماسک بیرون نرو، هوا سمیه.) Translation: Don’t go out without a mask; the air is toxic.
The Grey-City Survival Checklist
If you ever find yourself in Tehran during “Red Season,” here is the protocol:
- Check the Index: Don’t look out the window because it’s deceiving. Look at the AQI numbers on a trusted app.
- Wait for the News: Don’t believe the rumors. Check official channels to see if schools or offices are actually Tatil.
- Plan Your Route: Avoid the city center if you don’t have a permit. The police cameras don’t sleep, and the Trafik is unforgiving.
- Gear Up: Buy a pack of N95s. A surgical Mask won’t cut it against PM2.5 particles.
Stay safe, breathe easy (if you can), and I’ll catch you next time. Hopefully when the wind blows the grey away.
