The Outstanding Matter of Mr. Karimi's Pigeon

The trouble began, as so many troubles do, with an official letter.

Mr. Karimi of the third floor received, on a Tuesday in early March, a notice from the Municipality of Isfahan informing him that his rooftop pigeon installation required Permit Class 7-B (Avian Structures, Domestic and Semi-Domestic), a document which, the letter cheerfully explained, had been mandatory since 2019 and which Mr. Karimi had not obtained, possibly because he had not known it existed, and possibly also because his pigeons had been on that roof since 2004, when neither the permit nor, arguably, the relevant municipal department had yet been born.

Mr. Karimi brought the letter downstairs to show the building manager, Mr. Farhanian, who read it three times with the expression of a man watching a house fire from a comfortable distance. "This is not my department," Mr. Farhanian said, which was his answer to most things, including once a burst pipe.

The permit office, when Mr. Karimi arrived at nine the following morning, was closed for inventory. He returned at eleven. A young man behind a desk explained that Class 7-B permits were handled by Window Four, but Window Four was currently handling only Class 7-C permits, because the officer responsible for 7-B had been reassigned temporarily to oversee the new digital form transition, which was itself temporarily suspended. "Is it possible," Mr. Karimi asked, with the patience of a man who had been alive in Iran for sixty-three years, "to speak with someone about the temporary suspension?" The young man gave him a number to call. The number, when called, played a recorded message listing the office's hours, which matched precisely the hours during which Mr. Karimi had been unable to reach anyone.

His neighbour, Mrs. Ahmadi, who had been at war with the pigeons since 2011 over what she described as an ongoing campaign against her balcony geraniums, heard about the permit situation and experienced what she later called "a feeling of great civic satisfaction." She began leaving printouts of the original municipal notice under various doors, annotated in red pen. One annotation read: *These birds are criminals and now it is official.*

Mr. Karimi's son, who worked in computers and lived in Tehran and therefore believed all problems were solvable in forty minutes, called to say he had found the Class 7-B form online. The form required: proof of ownership of the rooftop structure, a letter from a licensed veterinary authority confirming the birds were pigeons (and not, one assumed, other things), a site plan drawn to scale, two passport photographs of the applicant, and a notarised declaration that the installation posed no risk to adjacent residents. Mr. Karimi asked whether he was expected to provide photographs of himself or of the pigeons. His son paused for what felt like a long time. "You," he said finally, though without full confidence.

The veterinary letter turned out to be the simplest part. Dr. Sadeghi, who normally treated cats and the occasional melancholy tortoise, came up to the roof, looked at the pigeons with a professional expression, and wrote a letter confirming they were, in his expert opinion, pigeons. He charged a modest fee and said it was the most useful thing he had done all month.

The notary, however, required an appointment. The appointment was in three weeks. In the interim, Mr. Karimi received a second letter informing him that failure to respond to the first letter within fifteen business days would result in escalation to the Regional Compliance Sub-committee, which had authority to issue fines up to — and here the letter offered a number that Mr. Karimi read twice, sitting down for the second reading.

He went back to Window Four. A different young man was there now. Mr. Karimi explained everything from the beginning, a process which took eleven minutes. The young man listened with the attentiveness of someone who has heard this story many times, which he had, because this was Isfahan, and this was how things went. "My recommendation," the young man said, lowering his voice slightly, as if sharing a family recipe, "is to file a Temporary Deferral of Compliance while the 7-B process is underway. It's a simple form. Window Seven."

Window Seven was closed for inventory.

Mr. Karimi walked home. He climbed to the roof. The pigeons, who were unaware of their administrative status, moved around in their usual manner, purposeful and stupid and entirely at peace with the world. He stood there for a while in the afternoon light.

Mrs. Ahmadi appeared on her balcony below, looked up, and called: "Did you sort it out?"

"Progressing," said Mr. Karimi.

This seemed to satisfy neither of them, which is perhaps the natural conclusion of most things involving permits, pigeons, and the Municipality of Isfahan.

Read in the app, leave a resonance, discover more stories.