It’s not me, It’s them.: An autobiography from Shaukat

By Shaukat

To all my dear readers
In 2020 I have decided to write my autobiography, which I had in mind for 20years. When Covid 19 hit us and made us to just sit at home ,so I have decided to take this opportunity and let my dream for so long come to the reality. First I have started to write it in Farsi , with the thought to translate it later in English and Dutch but I never thought that as time passes by I will decide to do it just in English and Dutch .
So ,after a year I started to just write it in English then a good Dutch friend got on board with me to translate it from English to Dutch and she has done a good job of that with so many good experience from her old works which was similar to mine.
I have tried very hard that the outcome be the best of my abilities as far a the English language and literature is concern.
But I am not highly educated in English language just a few years I have done in England for banking business. Because of my love to this language, I have learned it for so many years myself , without living in England. What I am trying to say here, is that every sentences could be put in so much better content if I had that knowledge and education in literature , I wish I had .
I hope my editor will help me in this matter, to bring it in complete and updated form where it is necessary.
The most important part is that I want you all to feel and witness the pain and challenges that I had whole my life as a woman till this day. Maybe the face of the problem is different from what you had but at the end of the day it is our problems.
Thank you all I hope meanwhile you enjoy this book.

With regards SHAUKAT

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823084710

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© 2023 Shaukat. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse  11/06/2023

ISBN: 979-8-8230-8472-7 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-8471-0 (e)

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Contents

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

To all my dear readers

I finally finished writing

the autobiography I’d planned for twenty years in 2020. Since we were forced to stay indoors when COVID-19 struck, I may as well make my long-held ambition a reality. I began writing it in Farsi to translate it into English and Dutch, but as time passed, I realized that writing it in those languages alone would be sufficient.

So, after a year of only writing it in English, a lovely Dutch buddy came on board to translate it from English to Dutch, and she has done a terrific job of that with so much excellent experience from her previous works that were comparable to mine.

I have worked very hard to make this the finest possible representation of the English language and literature I can produce.

But my knowledge of English is limited to the short years I spent in London in the banking business and not to any formal education. I have studied English independently for many years, despite never having lived in England, because of my passion for the language. I wish I had a deeper understanding of literature to craft these lines better.

I’m counting on the expertise of my editor to get this to the point where it’s complete and up to date as needed.

The most crucial component is that I want you to experience and see the suffering and difficulties I have encountered as a woman throughout my life up to the present day. The face of the problem may differ from what you had, but at the end of the day, it is our problem.

You’re welcome, everyone; I hope you enjoy the book.

With regards SHAUKAT

E- Mail: [e-mail]

Special thanks to Mr. Martin Young (editor) and Ingrid Mijnes (Dutch translator of Dutch version).

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Part 1

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W hen I turned 50, I felt like I’d reached the end of the universe.

Wherever I was, whether it was hell or paradise, it was obvious that my DNA had been preserved, maybe for a long time, and that it was finally ready to be released. Since my new identity included sentiments, beliefs, perspectives, character traits and foreign behaviors, I found it impossible to recognize myself. Then, I couldn’t even find my name in it, and the only way to see it again was to learn the new language and scour the newspapers or a classroom.

Even if the phone rang, it sounded like it was calling someone else. I’d gotten hopelessly disoriented but had now been rescued. Even though it was printed on my certificates and transcripts, this was the first time this name had addressed me. I didn’t have any of those papers or records either.

Maybe somewhere between hell and paradise, I was still suspended in midair, having not yet descended to Earth.

I saw a strange land full of strange people with no relatives or friends to help me. I had returned in time, visited the recent past, and arrived in the present.

Everything about the environment, from the air to the people walking past, had changed. Everyone would stop interfering with each other.

Can you tell me where I am?

Please, God, save me!

Should I have picked this? As far as I know, I had no say in the matter. The reply was negative.

I had to learn what they were saying before I asked a question in English.

What God taught me in paradise has set me up for a different earthly existence.

I was shown the bridge that would take me over the river. I was still determining my ability to complete this journey.

From afar, I could hear the motorways and the church bells; wherever I looked, people spoke a language I didn’t recognize.

The God I knew in hell is nothing like I see here.

The lord of this alien realm has constructed motorways so advanced that even someone looking down from hell would admire them. Nobody is impoverished or a bagger except those who actively seek out such identities.

Having no fixed destination, I decided to hitch a ride. I should have asked if someone could call me a cab to any city, but nobody was around.

A lady pulled over when she saw me.

Please! I pleaded. Please drive me to the nearest city.

The church was a few miles away, so she declared she wouldn’t go any further.

OK, OK, thanks, I responded.

Even the location of the church was unknown to me.

After a few miles, she stopped; I got off in front of a church where the bus stop was.

What should I do now? I pondered.

Absolutely nothing!

It took me a long time to realize that God up in the heavens has blessed me with an unusual skill and taught me in the private heaven how to escape a unique and potentially hazardous scenario by having my brain give birth and develop novel solutions.

A bus emerged out of nowhere, followed by an elderly lady with a grocery cart. I now feel like I’ve arrived.

To transport me to the next city or town, I paid the Iraqi driver USD 5.

Quickly firing off questions about my background and where I’m from, he wouldn’t mind having me spend the night with him at his place.

In search of a hotel, I descended. I was thirsty, exhausted, smelly, and starving.

I needed the required documentation to go into a hotel for the night.

The front desk clerk said the kitchen was open between 7:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m.

I showered to stave off hunger, cleaned my clothes, and dried them on my hotel room’s central heating (radiator).

I woke up, ate breakfast, and received the additional $100 I paid the receptionist the previous day when I was compelled to lie to him about being separated from an Italian tour group and lost. I didn’t have a passport.

So, I cashed out and headed to the closest railway station.

To paraphrase: Madam, where do you wish to go?

There was a wall map with several options and a list of names on his desk, both directed towards me.

My God, I can’t choose just one!

I was able to identify one of them.

For one individual alone, I requested a one-way ticket to Hamburg.

I boarded the train with a heavy load of anxiety.

My blond hair, blue eyes, and the German newspaper in my hands would have misled everyone. Nobody paid me any attention at all.

My status as a runner without proper identification. When I realized myself, the police could catch me, I dumped all the fake nails, nail paint, and other extraneous stuff out of my handbag and proceeded with the essentials.

Hearing Iranian guys chatting with one other and seeing two large German shepherds in the hands of police officers worried me more, so I held off on asking for assistance. This was at Hamburg railway station.

It was 4 a.m. when I arrived at Koln Station, and closing time meant cleaning up.

To avoid drawing attention to myself, especially from the German police, I went for a stroll outdoors.

I was aboard a train bound for the Netherlands when the station doors opened. No one and nothing were familiar to me.

Without prior knowledge or data, I felt that they were gentler.

I surrendered my whole being to God, confident that wherever he plans for me to be is where I will ultimately end up.

I had a lot of conflicting emotions, but I kept telling myself that everything would be well and that I would eventually reach where I needed to be, like I was being blanketed by a fire that could not destroy me.

That may be the last destination of my terrible existence, full of ups and downs and disappointments, but in my imagination, it ends with that statement.

I became utterly engrossed in the action. It was like a city hiding under a bridge; I have now destroyed it. God knows if my next life will be a paradise or a misery, but I shall begin again anyway.

While sitting in the train, all I could see was the iron road, the greenery on each side, and the little farm cottages here and there. I’ve wandered across farmland and have not yet had one, pay attention to my plight. Somewhere got off the train.

Amidst the world of meadows and animals, the road of iron and contemporary automobiles stood out. There was only one tree out of a million kilometers of grass, but it didn’t even catch the eye of anybody except me, standing alone in the field.

Aimlessly glancing to my left and right, I wore a labor jacket fashioned from my grief, apprehension, and despair. But it didn’t matter to me; my only concern was that it did not raise suspicion.

I stopped without thinking, and hundreds of automobiles drove by without stopping or seeing me.

My attempts to try again may be cut short at that very time if my appearance triggered suspicion. I was so terrified that I was on the verge of collapse.

Everyone speaks these cliches and can be found in any book, but for me, at that very time, they described the reality I was facing. In the center of the unknown world, death was just a blink away. The dread of envisioning my world was not only far from the cause but also appeared incredibly unreal at the time, but now, as I look back, I find it very absurd and recognize that it is unreal, an illusion. It was a road that only served to increase feelings of uneasiness.

Somehow, I was on the highway. Martin halted in front of my feet, and after taking a whiff of the stench emanating from my unwashed, putrid body, he raised his eyebrows, but he brushed it off courteously rather than saying, Wow, you do stink; get off and get lost.

The putrid odor wasn’t as pervasive as I had first perceived it.

Even though we were going nowhere, he asked me to a café along the road, perhaps because I told him my tale and said I hadn’t eaten in a few days.

Well, where are we going now? he inquired.

Where was I going with that?

There was no use in continuing further.

Where should one go, if not to hell?

We were sitting at a café in a little town, and we could see the crisscrossing of many highways in the distance.

Perhaps I was destined to reach its conclusion. Maybe the horizon hid my new home.

Perhaps I was already dead and dreaming everything, or I should have been left alone on this vast farm beneath that solitary tree.

He said, Hey, where are we really going?

Martin’s irises widened with surprise.

I asked if we could go to the police station together.

The only things I brought from the gates of hell were a hanging bag containing eighteen dollars, a men’s navy-blue jacket and a pair of trainers so I wouldn’t be recognized, get sick or be sent back to hell. I didn’t even have a place, a friend, or a family.

My initial motivation for leaving my home, and the source of most of my anxiety, was a desire to avoid returning there.

Since I had nowhere else to go and nobody to aid me, the idea of Martin taking me to the police station came out of my lips.

Did he seem surprised?

Yes, but he got what I was getting at, collected his thoughts, and took it graciously.

I immediately filled him in on the remainder of my narrative, explaining what I meant and why this was the best option given the circumstances.

Both of us went inside the police station. After hearing the narrative, a tall, attractive police officer took notice.

I know what you’re doing, bitch!" he said.

Initially, I needed clarification. Do I have a problem somewhere?

I had no idea what I was doing and was only looking for a safe place to rest.

What makes you think you know things I don’t know about me, even in my mind?

In that horrifying instant, I thought only of one thing: He probably thinks I’m a prostitute. I was at a loss for words.

He dialed their support number and spoke to someone in a foreign language, and suddenly, the mood in the room shifted, and he became friendly and helpful.

"Okay, he continued, the guy will take you someplace else where you can relax and let someone else take care of you.

After a lengthy ride through farms, green roads, and bridges, Martin brought me in with the same warmth he showed on his face and delivered me to the center where the police officer had first shown him interest.

I walked into a room packed with police officers, people of many different ethnicities, and vending machines stocked with food and drink of many kinds. I wanted to know whether this place would be my little nirvana.

You wait and see! I said in my mind.

Look! What happened to me, and where am I now after I finished my holy task in hell? Internal monologue.

This led me to accept whatever destiny had in store for me.

March, 2020

With corona, time and life become increasingly challenging; grocery stores are slowly but steadily losing stock. I have been confined to my own home for the three weeks ago. I’m going to Khalids shop quickly but cautiously.

I owed him money, so I went to see him the day before yesterday. Luckily, he had an alcohol unit on the table for me to use, but on my way to him, I stopped at the market and spent over 50 euros buying hand spray, plastic gloves, and masks from a Dutch lady. I’m a little bit terrified right now.

I went to the pharmacy and supermarket to stock up on toilet and kitchen paper. As I was leaving, a Dutch lady laughed at me as if it were her idea that I had stolen to do so or that I was nuts to purchase a significant quantity of paper. However, a few days later, there was a major panic, and all the supermarkets’ shelves were empty. Never in recorded history has the world seen something like this. It lasted more than a few weeks and made everyone feel like a third war had broken out. Everyone’s hands were full of various items used daily. Still, everything eventually calmed down and returned to normal, except for the people’s faces, which were covered in masks out of dread.

If I die in my apartment tonight, no one will find out until the stench of my decaying corpse permeates the whole building, and someone finally decides to contact the police; I am terrified.

The wacky ideas won’t leave me alone, unfortunately.

Mohammad and I are in communication through WhatsApp. From Iran, I only heard updates about Tayebeh and Mahzad.

I am still doing better than those with their children while alone and lonely, so I wrote a poem to keep my spirits up.

Life is a blueprint of my choosing. I oversee everything. Two weeks ago, I thought that things would grow even worse. It may be challenging to locate the food, so we will all perish from hunger. I watch BBC One every day to keep up with the news. I WhatsApp it out to the whole family and friends. To maintain my health, I ingested calcium and vitamin D.

The developments in Iran are likewise alarming and worrisome.

Is that, by some miracle of God, the end of us all? Oh! We beg you, God, take pity on us.

Watching television helped me get in the zone and keep going, in addition to writing. The American Romance Films channel is what I tune towards. Their love is the blood that keeps the passion for living pumping through me. I go to sleep with that loving sensation. When I wake up, I won’t have to deal with the terrible circumstances that those films prevented. I can’t fathom it.

Despite having desired to visit the USA, Turkey, and other countries, I stayed put, but it was impossible.

Celebrating the Iranian New Year in person would have been nice, but the world and earth have changed too much since I last considered a trip there.

Those once-mighty tyrants now fear death while having long desired it for their subjects.

It’s common knowledge that there is no force greater than God’s. Let’s see what happens once I give myself up to him. I need to practice patience.

Perry realizes now that she never did find genuine love in her life, despite being married twice and believing the second time that she was in love. If that were the case, why is there no trace of that emotion right now?

When the second spouse proposed to her, Perry applied for the bank scholarship so that they could both study in England, get married, and have a kid who would be eligible for British citizenship.

Before Corona even started in August 2019, Shaukat traveled to England to be with her ex-husband when he had heart surgery.

All she wanted to do was demonstrate some basic decency. It was peculiar to everyone else but not to her. After all, he is the father of her son, or so she reasoned. She had been through hell in her marriage, yet she was utterly devoid of resentment. Certainly, hostility was not her usual mode of operation.

Perry has never accepted her in-laws’ rejection of her daughter from her first marriage, who has lived with her since her divorce. She has suffered dramatically from their actions but has never abandoned the child. She had always wondered why he had chosen to marry her. He could have prevented it if he did not want her daughter to be around them. This had always seemed ludicrous and perplexing to her since the question had never been addressed.

Perry’s first marriage was arranged even though she had always hoped to marry for love. After her second marriage, however, things were quite different when the newlyweds returned to Iran after graduation in England. Like a well that had run dry, she gave up on love and was willing to be alone and die alone because of the constant stress, arguments, and interference from her husband, mother, and sister-in-law. Short-term relationships were always the norm for her, but that was never what she desired after leaving the man; she made no effort to reintroduce male companionship. She opted for monogamy, and her one and only spouse was given the poetic moniker Poetry.

Shaukat was a very different person now than she had been in her early twenties, attending university or working in Iran.

As if she were 20 years younger than herself, her views and impressions of the world, the new world, her family and friends, and notably the area of literature and poetry, which she studied in Iran, had undergone a radical transformation. She had the potential to fall in love at a young age, but her history was holding her back. She’s too sensitive to acknowledge her feelings for any guy; therefore, she never does. She could never accept the answer No.

Perry was a hopeless romantic who craved the sensation of love but never experienced it outside of her fantasies. She refused to accept or acknowledge the truth. She was a chronic dreamer.

She was joyful for a short while in her dream until another goal came along, and then another. After two painful divorces, she decided to spend the rest of her life in a romantic fantasy as though the harsh truth was so terrible that it wasn’t bearable.

She sometimes thinks back to the 18-year-old version of herself reading romance novels like Gone with the Wind. She couldn’t shake those recurring dreams.

There were instances when she felt let down. She learned and met more people throughout the years, and eventually, she realized that the issue was that she was constantly falling in love with the wrong person.

However, she did not want to be the one to make the first move in any relationship, regardless of the number of guys involved.

Perry had been mourning the loss of her romantic potential for many years. The fact that she was so innocent and helpless was not lost on her. Father was preoccupied with gambling, alcohol, and women, while mother lacked any relevant work experience. She was always lonely. There were moments when she wished she could change her behavior.

There were moments when she longed to be younger.

As someone who had studied hard and lived a whole life to get this level of societal and personal knowledge and insight, we know this was not her only desire.

It was clear that Shaukat, to help herself and others, needed time and space to figure things out. Despite experiencing moments of pure remorse, she always showed the exact nature repeatedly; she was never jealous and would share her experience with others. She believed God injected the problem-solving code in her DNA into her brain and blood, placing all the answers before