They were all members of the Chavosh Institute, which had been set up to defend Persian classical music against attacks from the revolutionary guards. I loved that music, so when I went for my first lessons at the age of eight with Majid Vasefi, I copied it on my miniature setar lute. When I was eleven I graduated to the bigger tar, and I was sent to the Honarestane Musighi conservatoire, where I was taught by Fariborz Azizi. And whatever he told me to do, I did.

Iranian masters don’t usually reveal the secrets of the theory behind certain dastgahs until they believe you are ready – and for them being ready meant knowing the associated literature, and even the associated mathematics. Only then would they initiate you into the secrets – when you had earned the right to know them. But to play the radif properly, you need to understand the complicated system on which it is based. And that means, in practical terms, to understand how you can progress from one mode to another. They let me imitate them, without explaining why they were doing what they were doing. I would listen and listen, and sometimes I would understand – in a sudden flash – how a particular transition could be made. I remember once intentionally playing a wrong succession of gushehs, making a wrong transition to a different dastgah, and my tar master didn’t stop me. I said, ‘You are my teacher, so surely you must correct me’ – but still he wouldn’t.