Abbas Mehran was born in Iran. After the revolution, he and his family moved to Argentina, then to the USA, and finally to Australia, learning, along the way, different languages and experiencing diverse cultures.

Though he studied management at Tehran University, circumstances compelled him to work as a cook, a salesman, a factory worker, an accountant, and an auditor. He began painting on canvas as a hobby in 1972, and he moved permanently to the arts in 1992.  In Adelaide, he studied visual arts at the University of South Australia. He then actively pursued an art practice and exhibited in Australia, Iran, Germany, China, and Taiwan. Mehran stopped painting in 2014 when his daughter, Marsha Mehran, died while writing her last book in Ireland. He then began to write.

Mehran lives in Gippsland in Victoria, active, bowling, walking, biking, swimming, reading, and writing.

An Intimate Childhood Story

 

My mud and brick house

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 overloaded mother

My mother, a petite housewife, possessed a remarkable memory. Although she couldn’t read or write, she had committed various sections of the Quran, as well as numerous poems and anecdotes, to memory. She perpetually carried a child within her womb and another in her arms, having given birth to a total of eight children. Among seven sisters, I stood as the sole brother. Regrettably, one of my siblings did not survive. At home, my mother adeptly managed the chores, cooking, cleaning, while also assisting my father in both the farm and garden.

The garden, my paradise
Garden Where I was conceived

 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, 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, a place of endless beauty, 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.

Thank you!