Destitute and at war, Iran surrenders to a grim Persian New Year

TEHRAN — Normally, Nowruz is a highly anticipated moment of hope throughout Iran.

Preparations for the Persian New Year begin a few days in advance, with spring cleaning their house – “shaking the house”, as the expression goes – or buying new clothes and furniture.

The streets of Tehran are full of shoppers browsing the markets in search of flowers, painted eggs and sweets for their “haft-sin” table, the traditional spread of seven items symbolizing spring, renewal and prosperity.

A woman buys flowers in Tehran ahead of the Persian New Year, or Nowruz, which began on March 20, 2026.

(Vahid Salemi/Associated Press)

But these are not typical moments.

As the war with Iran enters its fourth week, it’s a gloomy Nowruz, soundtracked by the rumbles, booms and explosions of US-Israeli bombing and Iran’s anti-aircraft defenses.

“Thousands of deaths and new victims every day… What should we celebrate? said Ali Pourasi, manager of a taxi service.

Rather than staying at home, he spent the first day of Nowruz, Friday, in his office in west Tehran with his shih tzu, Michelle. Every time a strike went off, he ran to the balcony to see where it struck. Michelle hid under a table.

“I’m too depressed to even cause sin to spread in the office,” Pourasi said.

“My wife insisted we have one at home,” he added. “But here I just couldn’t do it.”

Nowruz, which is celebrated by hundreds of millions of people around the world and includes 13 days of festivities, follows a particularly deadly year for Iranians.

Even as new violence hits the country, there is still no full accounting of the government’s brutal crackdown in January, during which thousands of people protesting the deteriorating economy were killed by security forces.

A woman shops before Nowruz, which means “new day,” at a bazaar in northern Tehran. Prices are unusually high this year for many products.

(Vahid Salemi/Associated Press)

The protests were rare public displays of discontent from a population that has endured economic sanctions imposed by the West and a sclerotic, corruption-riddled economy that has plunged much of the oil-rich country of 93 million into poverty.

Fatemah, who was waiting in line to buy bread at a local bakery, seemed discouraged as she explained that this Nowruz, which means “new day” in Persian, was even worse than the others. She could not afford to buy clothes for her three children.

“I’m altering my oldest’s clothes so at least the younger ones have something,” she said. Like many interviewees, she did not disclose her full name to avoid harassment by the government.

Even entertaining guests were out of reach. The traditional nuts and treats she offered her guests now cost three times what she usually paid. Persian culture places great importance on hospitality, but current conditions make this difficult.

“We try not to visit our families so as not to have to return the favor and welcome them home,” Fatemah said. “I had to close our door to guests this Nowruz.”

Hossein, a nearby nut seller, wasn’t happy either. This Nowrouz should have been the equivalent of Black Friday for him, but his activity has been reduced by half compared to last year, he estimates.

The isolation has amplified the severity of the situation, with an internet outage making it almost impossible for Iranians to contact relatives and friends abroad. Even national messaging platforms, like Rubika and Bale, only work intermittently.

A previous US-Israeli strike exposed a living room in a residential building in Tehran on March 23, 2026.

(Vahid Salemi/Associated Press)

For activist Golshan Fathi, there were few signs of Nowruz on Gandhi Street, a commercial thoroughfare in northern Tehran.

In the past, she said in an article on X, women flocked to textile stores, giving a refined touch to the fabrics they bought for the newlyweds. She spoke of pastry shops selling treats so tempting that almost none survived the journey home.

Although Gandhi Street was relatively untouched by American and Israeli bombing, it felt as if “no one had breathed life into it for years.” Fabric stores and cafes closed their doors, in a silence that settled “like a heavy blanket”. Even the smell of vanilla near the candy store had faded.

“Gandhi feels like a place whose residents have slowly moved away from it. I walked and with each step I sank deeper into the memory – the voices of the sellers, the haggling, the laughter for no reason,” Fathi wrote.

“Now all I have left is me and a street that looks more like the past than ever.”

This year, Nowruz should have been even more special, as it coincides with Eid al-Fitr, the holiday marking the end of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. But most community prayer events were canceled, with only one large gathering taking place at the Grande Mosalla mosque.

“I am not celebrating Nowruz or Fitr this year,” said Hasan, a Tehran butcher who said he had seen two-thirds of his income wiped out.

People visit the Behesht-e Zahra cemetery to honor their deceased loved ones on the last day of Eid al-Fitr, which marks the end of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, in Tehran, March 22, 2026.

(Fatemeh Bahrami/Anadolu/Getty Images)

“It’s simple: My prices are just not affordable for the lower middle class or even the middle class these days,” he said, adding that even wealthier customers opt for chicken and fish over the more expensive beef and mutton.

Despite the situation, some insist on pretending. Like every year, Tehran’s Tajrish Square was filled with stalls filled with hyacinths, garlic and sprouts, while some featured mini pools housing tiny goldfish, all traditional elements of haft-sin.

Most traders interviewed agreed that business was no longer as brisk as before, but local media nonetheless described crowds braving the potential of bombing.

Mirza Mohammad, 70, was also determined to maintain his usual ritual of walking in the park near his home, west of Tehran, and chatting with his neighbors.

Of course, the discussions these days were dominated by war news, but at least he was among friends. He even came here for Sizdah Bedar, the 13th and last day of Nowruz, when Iranians traditionally spend the day outdoors.

“We’re going to have a picnic here…” he said, then paused for a moment before finishing his thought, “if there are no explosions.”

Times editor Bulos reported from Beirut and special correspondent Mostaghim from Tehran.