About Me

I was born to farmer-gardener parents in a small mud-brick house in a remote, small town in Iran. I spent most of my childhood and teenage years surrounded by farms and gardens. My parents were illiterate, poor and humble, but they had a fantastic memory of Scheherazade stories, Persian proverbs, and folk poetry, some of which I still remember.

I wasn’t a reading nerd with books under my arm or loaded in my backpack; instead, I wandered around farms and orchards, up hills and mountains, nurturing my imagination.

My reading journey began at age seventeen when I delved into a four-volume set on Western Philosophy. This led me to explore motivational books and books related to human nature and conditions.  The first novel I read was The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck at nineteen.

Although I speak three languages—Persian, Spanish, and English—reading and writing in English have always been challenging. However, I have loved and cherished this challenge.

I discovered my talent for storytelling when I started painting seriously at forty-seven. Each artwork I create conveys a story, reflecting my yearning to write in words. I began writing at sixty-eight, eager to share my rich history woven into the tapestry of life experiences.

When I don’t read or write, I cook and do home chores. I go walking, hiking, biking, or bowling. A glass of Shiraz makes me hilarious. A bowl of fruit or a mixture of green leaves and herbs makes my day heaven.

I love musical and kids’ movies: Mary Poppins is my all-time favourite movie.

I love to smell roses. Once, someone saw me smelling roses, and he said I was gay. I said If that makes me gay, yes, I am gay. I am alive. Now.

Though I had higher education qualifications, circumstances compelled me to work as a cook, a salesman, an accountant, and an auditor. I began painting on canvas as a hobby in 1972, and I moved permanently to the arts in 1992.

In Adelaide, I studied visual arts at the University of South Australia. I then actively pursued an art practice and exhibited in Australia, Iran, the USA, Germany, China, and Taiwan. I stopped painting in 2014 when my daughter, Marsha Mehran, died in Ireland while working on her third book. I then began to write. I published my first novel, The Scent of Past and Petal.

Now I am writing my memoir.

A Childhood Story

I was born in a small house constructed with mud and hay bricks. This cosy abode consisted of a single room that served as our lounge, bedroom, and dining area. Additionally, we had a storage room where we stored dried figs, nuts, grains, and other essentials. Our donkeys, goats, and lambs were housed in a stable, while a small corner near the toilet was designated for the delightful task of bread baking. 

My mother, a petite housewife, possessed a remarkable memory. Although she couldn’t read or write, she had committed various sections of the Quran to memory. She could also recite numerous folk poems and anecdotes. She perpetually carried a child within her womb and another in her arms, having given birth to a total of eight children.

Among six sisters, I stood as the sole brother. At home, my mother adeptly managed the chores, cooking, and cleaning while also assisting my father in both the farm and garden. 

We lived in a garden my father had created, not for himself, but for a landlord. This oasis was nourished by a constant flow of water from distant mountains. The water was delivered through a remarkable ancient Persian irrigation system known as Qanat. The genius of the ancient Persians is evident in this intricate network of wells and underground channels that efficiently manage water resources in Iran’s arid climate. The garden, became a haven for picnics, camping, and relaxation, earning the title of “Paradise on Earth” in my heart.

In Iranian tradition, the garden’s door was always open to kind-hearted souls. It was within these enchanting surroundings that my father’s love story unfolded as he laid eyes on a captivating young woman riding a donkey alongside her father. Love bloomed, and after overcoming obstacles and persisting in his pursuit, they married, resulting in my conception in this garden. My father could not read or write either but insisted that his children should be educated.