A DREAMER'S DIARY

2011-12-03T22:57:00.001+05:30

With an eye on the market

ABDULLAH KHAN

The Fatwa Girl, Akbar Agha, Hachette India, Rs. 325.

A potentially interesting novel that is let down by the effort to produce a bestseller.

A few years ago, an Irish friend of mine remarked, ‘For a writer of literary novels, it is lucky to be born in South Asia as he has no dearth of subjects and issues (terrorism, religious riots, Maoist violence, etc.) if he decides to get into the business of serious writing.'

I can't agree more. Of course, a conflict zone is a treasure trove of creative ideas for authors of literary fiction. The exceptionally talented Pakistani authors like Mohsin Hamid and Mohammed Haneef have actually used the socio-political turmoil in their country to weave poignant stories and that too with great critical acclaim. When I got hold of this novel titled The Fatwa Girl by Akbar Agha, I expected that the author would offer some fresh insights into the Pakistani state of affairs. But, this book, to my disappointment, turned out to be an attempt to produce a bestselling potboiler like Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner.

The story begins as Omar, a Sunni boy, spots Amina, a Shia girl, in his Karachi neighbourhood trying to learn to ride a bicycle and is impressed with ‘her act of defiance in their conservative surroundings' and then he falls hopelessly in love with her. Amina reciprocates his feelings and they begin meeting often at their friends' places despite knowing that their alliance — given the Shia-Sunni hostility factor — is next to impossible. Amina is a girl of fiercely independent thoughts. She believes that whatever is happening in her country, in the name of Islam, is not only immoral but is also against the basic tenets of Islam itself. She tries, passionately though unsuccessfully, to get a fatwa issued against the suicide bombing and in the process earns the moniker ‘ Fatwa Girl'. She also believes that music is something which can work as an antidote to the growing extremism in the Pakistani society and motivates Omar to join a music band. But Amina is not strong enough to defy all the societal conventions and finally she marries a politically powerful man of her own sect. Omar persuades himself that he should be happy for his beloved. Initially, Amina is satisfied with her marriage but soon she discovers that her husband is not what he pretends to be, and subsequently her life becomes hellish.

Promising start

The couple of opening chapters are really impressive; especially the author's idea to start the novel with the call of the morning prayer, and to include the backstory of Amina's family. They whet readers' appetite for the stories ahead but unfortunately the same tempo is not maintained throughout the book. There are a number of subplots which seem to be interpolated to enhance the commercial appeal of the novel. For example, there is a subplot about Gulbadan, a prostitute with a heart of gold, whom Omar meets accidently and develops some sort of friendship with her. He has a physical relationship with her and later, also helps Gulabadan escape from the tentacles of her master and pimp and takes her to her native place in the Taliban ruled valley of Swat.

Here the author has deliberately taken the story to Swat and has made Omar have an encounter with the Taliban as he is aware that anything related to Taliban sells well. Even the backstory of Omar's grandfather - he used to be amujahid or freedom fighter in Afghanistan of the Soviet days - appears to be made up. Again, Afghanistan sells well in this post 9/11 era. In the story, the Ahmedi angle given to the Shia-Sunni conflict also doesn't sound plausible.

There is a kind of impatience in his writing as he tries to pack the book with as much historical and cultural details of Pakistan as possible to make it accessible to the foreign (read American and British) readers. Then, by making his characters, time and again, heap praises on the ‘shinning India', he attempts to appease Indian readers — the author knows India is the biggest market for his novel.

Despite lacking in the literary qualities, The Fatwa Girl is an entertaining novel and you can enjoy it as you enjoy typical Bollywood movies.

http://www.thehindu.com/arts/books/article2680713.ece

MY REVIEW OF RAKHSHANDA JALIL'S BOOK

2011-10-02T10:25:00.000+05:30

Release and Other Stories

Here is a wonderful collection of short storiesabout Indian Muslims and thankfully there is no talk of terrorism or communalriots, no lurking presence of the vicious right-wing Hindu politicians, nodiscussion on the collective marginalisation of the community or Islam being indanger, no frequent invocation of Allah's name. Further, all major characters,to my surprise, are middle class Muslims. And like their Hindu, Christian andSikh counterparts, they don't live in ghettos, but in bungalows and apartments.They don't work as masons, factory workers, and labourers but are businessmen,engineers, officers, software professionals... They speak English and drivecars. Like other middle class Indians, their mundane lives are guided by thesocial mores of their class and are, of course, not governed by the ShariaLaws.

The first story of the book, “A Mighty Heart”, is a simple butinteresting tale. It is about a woman who discovers at the funeral of her sonthat her husband has a second wife when her step-sons come to participate intheir half-brother's last rites. But for her husband's ‘deceit and duplicity'she doesn't detest her step-sons; instead she shows magnanimity and acceptsthem as her own.

“A Perfect Couple”is another story that touches upon the issue of marital infidelity and is aportrayal of the emotional dilemma of Samir who suddenly finds out that hisseriously ill gorgeous wife loves somebody else. Heart-broken and green withenvy, Samir unexpectedly empathises with his wife's lover, Ali, because “Ali'sgrief and terror is so like his own”.

Emotional dilemmas

Later, you meet charming but mysterious DiaMirza in a story called “A Real Woman”. Dia's journey from a 19-year-old shydivorcee from a middle class Muslim family to a beer-drinking, cigarettesmoking, and opinionated middle-aged modern woman amazes you. Theidiosyncrasies of the character have been beautifully, but credibly, capturedby the author. The narrative has the pace of a thriller, which makes a readerturn pages quickly. The best and most poignant, however, is the title story“Release”. This is an exquisitely woven love story of Hasan and Azra who arefirst cousins. Engaged to be married, they grow up together and develop a verystrong fascination for each other. But, Hasan's mother's pathological aversionfor his aunt and to-be-mother-in-law ends this relationship. Azra is marriedelsewhere and Hasan remains single. Years later, Hasan, an officer of IndianForeign Service and the narrator of this story, returns to see Azra who is incoma at a hospital. Standing near a comatose Azra, Hasan remembers his past.His trip down nostalgia lane has been deftly handled and one feels greatsympathy for these two unfortunate lovers. The story draws its inspiration fromthe traditions of Urdu Afsana-nigari as far as the thematic treatment isconcerned.

Florid style

For each of these stories, Rakhshanda Jaliladopts the florid style of Urdu short story writing and you can actually feelthe fragrance of ornate Urdu idioms and phrases in her sentences. The scenesare so vivid and evocative that you can see everything playing out like amovie. This kind of magical effects can only be created by an author who isequally at home with English and Hindi-Urdu and who can efficiently translatethe emotions expressed in a native language into a foreign language and thattoo without losing any of the dramatic elements of the original. And Rakshandadoes that with finesse.

Of the 10 stories in this collection, only twodisappointed me. The remainder tickled and exhilarated me, made me cry, forcedme to smile and, at times, coerced me to re-read them.

Release and Other Stories; Rakhshanda Jalil, Harper Collins India,Rs. 299

http://www.thehindu.com/arts/books/article2499944.ece

A CHAPTER FROM MY NOVEL

2011-09-11T23:30:00.002+05:30

THE REMAINS OF A DREAM (yet to find a publisher)

The time of the Emaarat Committee meeting was announced on the loudspeakers of the Jama Masjid. All members were requested to attend the meeting, which was to be organised in the courtyard of Chhote Hakim Sahib’s house on Thursday afternoon. There were three important cases to be discussed. The first involved an inter-community issue, so senior members of the Hindu community had also been invited; among them was Chhote Hakim’s childhood friend, Harihar Prasad Srivastava. The other two cases involved only Muslims.

Arif and Shakir were also present, standing under the Neem tree at the far corner of the courtyard. The winter sun in its full glory had kept the air pleasantly warm. A crowd of more than a hundred people had gathered. But, before it started a baby goat, a buckling, emerged from under the wooden chowki, which was kept there to seat some of the junior members of the committee. All the seniors sat on the chairs. Seeing a crowd, the buckling panicked and started to run here and there.

‘Whose goat is it?’ Chhote Hakim Saheb asked in an authoritative tone. A frightened boy aged ten came out of the crowd. ‘Get it away soon,’ somebody shouted. The boy moved swiftly and caught the buckling by its ears and dragged it away. The crowd made way for them.

The proceedings for the first case started. Shakir told him about it, ‘Sanjay Kumar Gupta, a teacher at a local primary school was having an affair with Sabira Begum, the wife of Sheikh Waris. Sanjay frequently visited Sabira in the absence of her husband. The neighbours had noticed the two of them together many times and their rumoured affair had become the talk of the town. Last Saturday, some village women had caught them red-handed in a sugar cane field. The people of Inayat Nagar, especially Muslims could not bear this. Since this was an inter-community issue, the elders decided to resolve it, before the issue turned communal.’

Sabira Begum sat on the bench kept in the nearby verandah, which was covered from side to side with a semi-transparent makeshift curtain. All the women invited sat there. Sanjay was standing with his father. He kept his eyes on the ground. His father, an old man in his sixties with a white stubble of a beard, looked anxious. Sheikh Waris was not present.

Sanjay was asked if he had anything to say. Instead of speaking, he started crying. In a swift move, his father took off his hawai chappal, the flip-flops, and started beating him. ‘Abey chutia, speak now, why are you keeping silent?’ Harihar Prasad intervened, ‘Ram Prasad! Stop this immediately. We are here to decide on this issue.’

A Hindu man snatched the chappal from his father’s hands. The old man started weeping. ‘The boy has brought shame to our family. He has smeared soot on my face. It would have been better if I were without a son.’

Syed Hafiz Ahmed, a tall man with a clean shaven pale yellow face, and one of the committee members, stood up to speak, ‘Sabira Begum, do you want to say anything in your defence?’

Through the curtain, Arif saw the silhouette of a woman standing up; she was wearing a saree and covered her head with its anchal. ‘Why is everybody so troubled with my personal life? If I do anything wrong, I will have to pay for it on the Day of Judgment.’

‘We have just asked you to say something in your defence if you have anything to say at all. If you want to live in our society, you have to follow its decorum and live with propriety. Individuals can’t be allowed to bring shame or create nuisance in our society. Your behaviour is against our religion and culture.’ This time Chhote Hakim Saheb spoke.

Suddenly her voice became acerbic as she replied. ‘Where was society when my husband was lying in the hospital? Where was society when my daughter was married off to a man double her age because we could not afford dowry for a younger groom? Is dowry not against our religion? I know that many people who are esteemed members of the Emaarat Committee also took dowry in their sons’ marriages, some openly, others discreetly. Why didn’t the Emaarat committee summon them for an explanation? Let it be. As far as Sanjay Sahib is concerned I respect him a lot. He has always helped whenever I was in trouble. I just tried to pay back his debts by being good to him. That’s all.’

Md. Nasir Ali, a short-tempered man with a soot-black beard stood up. ‘Shut up, you shameless woman!’ His body trembled with anger, and his untrimmed beard swirled in the air as he spoke. Chote Hakim Saheb silenced him and then said. ‘Did you come to ask for help from the committee?’

‘Do you expect me to go door to door with begging bowls? We are not faqirs or beggars.’

Nasir Ali again rose and shouted, ‘Shut up!’

This time Sabira stopped talking. She drew the loose end of her saree around to cover her face.

Chote Hakim Saheb silenced him again and turned towards the people to make an announcement. ‘Now members of the committee will decide upon the issue.’ They started talking in whispers. The chairs of all the seniors were drawn into a circle.

Meanwhile, Shakir said to Arif, ‘Sheikh Waris is really a eunuch. He has no control over his wife, nor is he able to f**k her; that is why she is offering her p***y to this Hindu boy. How shameful!’ A bemused Arif looked at Shakir but said nothing.

The committee announced its decision: Sanjay Kumar Gupta had to atone for his improper conduct. He was asked to spit on his chappal and then lick it and promise the committee that he would not repeat the mistake. Sabira, being a woman, was let off with a warning that if she did not mend her ways, the committee would take severe action against her.

When Sanjay was made to go through the punishment, he cried inconsolably because of the humiliation. He bent to spit on his pair of worn-out hawai Chappal with webbing blue strap, blue outsole and white insole, which had blue patches at all the pressure points, three toes and one heel bone. As soon he licked the saliva, he vomited. On the verandah, Sabira Begum turned restlessly on the bench she was sitting on. A member of the committee remarked, ‘This will suffice to deter him from repeating anything like this in future.’ Everybody else nodded affirmatively.

All Hindu members of the village committee departed as soon as the punishment was carried out and tea and biscuits were served. Now two more cases were to be discussed. But they were strictly intra-community issues and so had to be dealt in the light of Islamic sharia by the Emaarat committe. For this purpose, Mufti Maulana Jamalluddin from the nearby village was summoned. He had earned the title of Mufti because of his knowledge of Islamic jurisprudence and the committee valued his opinion.

The next case was a case of talaq. A elderly looking man with long white beard and a prominent prayer mark on forehead, whom Arif did not know, stood and greeted the gathering with asslam aalikum rahmetullahe barkatahu and began, ‘Md. Rafique Khan has divorced his wife by pronouncing talaq. Now, he is regretting his decision saying that it was made in a fit of anger. In fact, he has not directly said that dreaded word to his wife. He had been angry with his wife over some domestic issue and said that if she touched his lota, the water pot, which he used for wuzu, the ritual ablution, the talaq would be effected. His wife, Shafina Begum, had in retaliation touched the lota, without realising that it was an extraordinary act. By touching the innocent copper vessel, she had severed her ties with a man to whom she had been married for the last 24 years. Like her husband, she had also become blind with anger. There was no witness to their foolhardly acts but Allah is omnipresent. Both of them had to show their faces to Him on the Day of Judgment. So, they have mutually decided to take up the matter with the Emaarat committee to clarify if they were still man and wife or whether their divorce was final.’

The Mufti listened patiently when the old man was briefing about the case. Then, he asked the questions from Rafique khan and his wife Shafina Begum. Four witnesses were called for cross-questioning. Then, he stood to announce his decision on the validity of this talaq in the light of the Quran and Hadith. He began, ‘Talaq is allowed in Islam but detested by Allah. When a man pronounces talaq to his wife, Aers-e-Azam, the heaven trembles. But, we are human beings and prone to making mistakes. In this case, what I understand from the statements of Rafique Khan Saheb, Mohtarma Shafina Begum and the witnesses is that he had pronounced two single talaqs in the past but had taken back his wife within the period of iddat as allowed by Sharia. But, this was the third one. Although, it was not directly pronounced, but his intention was clear. Since Shafina Begum had touched the lota, it became effective. Hence, Shafina Begum is no more the wife of Rafique Khan and he has become Gair Mehram, unlawful, for her. And only after Halala is performed can he remarry Shafina Begum and take her back. For Halala, Shafina Begum has to marry somebody else, who will then divorce her. After a lapse of Iddat which means lapse of three periods, she would be eligible to remarry.’

Chhote Hakim Saheb raised his hand and said he was willing to have a nikah with Bhabhi Jaan for the purpose of Halala.

The Mufti cut him short and resumed. ‘No Hakim Saheb, it is not so easy. First of all, remarrying a divorcee with an intention to divorce her so that she can marry her former husband is not an act of virtue and is disliked by the Almighty. Further, a symbolic marriage will be of no use. One has to marry her and has to live with her like a husband, a real husband. I mean to say, the marriage has to be consummated.’

Hakim Saheb immediately withdrew his hand.

Shafina Begum who was sitting on a chair in the verandah was quick to her feet. ‘Mufti Saheb, what had to happen has happened; I am not willing to go through Halala. How can I marry somebody else even if it is symbolic?’

‘But Islam allows women to remarry.’

‘Your words are absolutely true, Mufti Saheb. But I have never seen any woman in our village or in nearby villages remarry whether widowed or divorced. So, I can’t think of it.’

Chhote Hakim Saheb intervened, ‘Bhabhi Jaan, it is not obligatory for you to remarry.’

Finally it was decided that she could not live with Rafique Khan any longer as after the divorce, it became unlawful for her to live with him in the same house. She had to keep purdah from Rafique Khan. But, she had the right to live with her son. The Mufti ruled that her right over the land given to her by her husband in haq-mehar, the marriage gift, would stay intact and that she would be the rightful owner of the produce from that piece of land.

‘Think of it, Arif, if you were given a chance to marry this woman for a week or two. It would be really fantastic to f**k her. Or play with her big b**bs,’ said Shakir whispering near Arif’s ear and sucking his lips. ‘Oye! Oye!’

‘Stop this dirty talk.’ Arif admonished Shakir.

‘Beta, don’t try to pretend. I know you will be a big f**ker whenever given the chance.’

Arif said nothing in reply but moved a few steps away from him. He suddenly began thinking about Shafina Begum. ‘Shakir is right, she has got big breasts.’ His fantasy continued only until Syed Hafiz stood to announce the third and final issue to be considered.

Kalam Khan’s only son had been ill for the past year. He had been treated by a number of doctors at Sitamarhi, Motihari and Muzaffarpur but nothing had worked. The last time his wife returned from Muzaffarpur, a Hindu woman who worked in Kalam Khan’s house as domestic help advised her to visit a Sadhu, the Hindu Saint, who lived on the bank of the river Sonaya and had cured many with his magical powers. The very next day she had visited the Sadhu without telling her husband. The medicine given by him worked and her son’s condition improved a little. The Sadhu had also advised her that if she wanted to cure her son permanently, she had to do a special puja to the Goddess Kali and offer a goat in sacrifice. She knew that if her husband found out that she had been following such rituals, he would kill her. But, she was desperate to do anything that would cure her son. So, she decided to give it a try and asked her maid to be privy to this secret mission. She gave the Sadhu two thousand rupees to offer puja and sacrifice on her half. Although she did everything discreetly, news leaked out and reached the ears of the Emaarat Committee members.

Kalam Khan was a lean man, his genial face dominated by his big eyes. He stood near Chhote Hakim Saheb, with a worried look. He scratched his head time and again, in nervousness. His wife sat on the verandah reserved for ladies and was trembling with fear. Her saree covered her face.

As proceedings began, Kalam Khan was asked to explain his position. He started by hurling abuse at his wife. ‘I had no idea what this woman was up to. It was she who allowed herself to be misled by Iblis the devil. For ages women have led men astray. That is why it is said that if a woman doesn’t have a nose, she will even eat shit. The moment I came to know about this thing, I have beaten her and she has promised me never to repeat it in her life.’

‘Kalam, you know the consequences of being involved in the rituals of infidels. Technically, you are Muslims no more. You have done shirik, amounting to attributing a partner to Allah, one of the serious forms of sin in Islam,’ said one of the committee members.

‘I know, Chacha’, he said and began crying. He also bent to fall at the feet of Chhote Hakim Sahib. Seeing her husband weeping, his wife began to sob as well. The wailing could be heard even where Arif was standing.

Their tears worked and melted the hearts of the Emaarat Committee members. Ultimately, Mufti Saheb asked Sheikh Wadood, an elderly man, to make the announcement.

‘After consulting with Mufti Sahib, the committee has decided that Kalam Khan was not involved in this ritual. His wife is an illiterate woman and doesn’t understand the matter of Islamic sharia. Even so, she has committed a shirik by performing such a ritual. Now, she is repentant and ready to atone. Allah is most merciful and beneficent and He is the greatest forgiver; we all will pray to the Almighty to forgive her. She has to recite Kalam-e-tawhid proclaiming the oneness of Allah to return to the fold of Islam.’

Then he turned to Kalam Khan, ‘you have to perform kuffara to atone for the sin your wife has committed.’

‘Hanh! Hanh!’ Kalam’s voice reflected his gratitude.

‘Listen carefully,’ Sheikh Wadood continued, ‘go and sacrifice two goats in the name of Allah and distribute meat among the poor. And, distribute food among 60 poor people. Further, your wife should observe roza, the fast, for 60 days.’

After the meeting, the crowd dispersed. ‘Allah ho Akbar’, the muezzin called for the evening prayer. The members of the committee moved towards the mosque.

Review of Pran Nevile's Book 'Sahib's India'

2011-09-04T10:39:00.004+05:30

(Published in The Hindu Literary Review , dated 04/09/2011)

Pran Nevile's Sahib's India is a fascinating expedition into the social lives of British in colonial India. It provides insightful details about the way they led their daily lives and their social intercourse with the native people.

The book opens with an interesting chapter titled ‘Household Retinue', telling us how the number of servants in a British household decided the position of the family in the social hierarchy. Some families had as many as hundred servants and maidservants with strict division of work and defined chain of command. In short, the White sahibs spent a luxurious life, which was full of vanity, almost comparable with the lifestyles of the old days nabobs and maharajahs. In the following chapter, the book touches upon the topic of sexual lives of Sahibs in India.

Running away from English prudery, they had very open sexual lives in India, and many of them even indulged in debauchery here. Initially, white women were scarce making the European men opt for Indian girls. The ‘Indian bibi' was a term used for an unofficial wife and long-term consort of White men. ‘Sleeping Dictionary' was another interesting nomenclature for an Indian mistress; she was called so because a mistress doubled up as a teacher of local language and culture for her master. In army cantonments, official brothels (later abolished because of strong protest by Christian missionaries) were maintained to satisfy the physiological urges of soldiers.

Later in this book, two chapters have been dedicated to two European women, Fanny Parks and Lola Montez. Fanny, an Indophile, had travelled across the country during her stay in India from 1822 to 1846. She learnt Hindi and Persian and keenly observed the Indian customs, religions and culture. Her experience as an explorer of India beautifully came out in the form of a journal. Published in 1850, her book had perceptive accounts of Indian ways of living in the first half the 19th century.

The other woman, Lola Montez, who believed in captivating men with her physical charms, had a very interesting life too. But, she does not deserve an entire chapter in book as most of her sexual adventures were outside India. Instead, a couple of paragraphs about her escapades in India would have been enough.

Subsequently, the book covers many more exciting topics about the Raj. And it has chapters on Hookah, Nautch Parties, Shikar, Sufis, astrologers, magicians, thugs, etc.

Historian's voice

The voice of the author is almost neutral and narratives have largely a matter-of-the-fact tone. Except in a couple of chapters where the author tries to force his personal views on issues like ‘religion and Indian culture' on his readers. While doing so, he appears more like a demagogue than a historian.

For example, in the chapter ‘Banning of Indian Erotic Epic', he attempts to portray the banning of Radhika Santwanam , a Telugu erotic epic with the graphic details of lovemaking, and opposition of Devadasi System as conspiracies against Indian culture hatched by the Christian missionaries and the Westernised Indian intellectuals.

The editing of the book, it seems, has been done in a hurry. At places, there are repetitions and overlapping of information. Further, the production quality of the book is not up to the mark. Pran Nevile is a respectable social and cultural historian of India and at least deserves a good quality paperback, if commercial considerations do not allow a hardcover. Despite these minor flaws, it is a highly readable book.

Sahib's India: Vignettes from the Raj, Pran Neville, Penguin India, Rs. 299.

My Review of 'I Lalla: The Poems of Lal Ded' in The Hindu

2011-08-07T03:50:00.001+05:30

Lal Ded or Lalla, the great 14th century Kashmiri poetess and mystic, has been venerated both by Hindus and Muslims for nearly seven centuries. Known as Lalla Yogini by the Hindus and Lal Arifa by the Muslims, Lalla's mystical poems or Vakhas — despite the passage of hundreds of years — continue to inspire, guide and offer succour to the people of Kashmir on a daily basis.

Questing for truth

Born as Lalleshwari in a Brahmin family near Srinagar, she was married at the age of 12. But her spiritual inclination did not give her a happy married life. Brutalised by her husband and her mother-in-law, she left her home at the age of 26 and became a disciple of a famous saint of her time. Later, after completing her apprenticeship in spirituality, she went out as a wandering, clotheless mendicant. As a ‘quester' of the ultimate truth, she challenged the existing social practices and religious ritualism. And during those spiritual journeys and detours, she came out with her Vakhas or sayings (or ‘Utterances' as Ranjit Hoskote has suggested in his book). Each of her vakhas ‘strike us like brief and blinding bursts of light: epiphanic, provocative, they shuttle between the vulnerability of doubt and the assurance of an insight gained through resilience and reflection.' Self knowledge, renouncement of worldly desires and intense longings to annihilate the self in order to finally merge with the Supreme Being or God are the main motifs of Lalla's utterances. Here is an example:

True mind, look inside the body,

this body they call the Self's own form.

Strip off greed and lust, polish this body,

this body as bright as the sun.

There is another one:

I, Lalla, wore myself down searching for Him

and found a strength after my strength had died.

I came to his threshold but found the door bolted.

I locked that door with my eyes and looked at Him.

In context

Meticulously researched and beautifully written, the book starts with a 69-page introduction which explains the social, historical and philosophical context of Lalla's poems. For the uninitiated, it gives a grounding of the poetic and spiritual legacy of Lal Ded. And for others it unearths the hidden meanings of Lalla's Vakhas. About the proprietorial claims of the Muslim monopolists and the Hindu exclusivists over the spiritual heritage of Lal Ded, the author takes a neutral stand. He emphatically says that Lalla was a seer or yogini of Kashmiri Shaivite sect and a Sufi-saint at the same time. And that is why he refers this mystic-poet by her ‘most celebrated and non-sectarian appellation Lal Ded. In the colloquial, this means Grandmother Lal; more literally, it means Lal the Womb'. When it comes to rendering Lalla's words in English, he does an excellent job. Though this reviewer is not familiar with the Kashimiri originals but has read a number of translations of Lalla's poetry. So, he can confidently claim that the translation is of high quality. No stilted language, no vague phrases and no attempts to temper with the true spirit of the poems for making it more accessible to the Western readers.

At the end of this book in ‘Notes to the Poems' Hoskote provides a detailed commentary on the 146 Vakhas included in this collection. The commentary will help readers (non-Kashmiri readers in particular) to understand the cultural background of the poems, and to decipher the meaning of those phrases and proverbs which are rooted in the Kashmiri ethos. I, Lalla: The Poems of Lal Ded is a wonderful offering.

I, Lalla: The Poems of Lal Ded, translated by Ranjit Hoskote, Penguin India, Rs. 450.

Published in HINDU LITERARY REVIEW dated 07 August 2011

http://www.thehindu.com/arts/books/article2330838.ece

My Review of 'Last Man in Tower'

2011-07-29T22:31:00.009+05:30

TALES FROM THE MAXIMUM CITY

In his Booker clinching The White Tiger, Aravind Adiga shows us the ugly underside of the shining India. The antagonist of his debut book Balram Halwai is a country bumpkin, who learns the ways of city folks quickly to climb the ladder of the social hierarchy. He doesn’t give a damn to the unethical and criminal aspects of his act, and even philosophically justifies his misdeeds which also include a murder. Balram Halwai, in fact, was just an instrument for the author to paint a greater picture of the greed infested and rabidly capitalist post- 1991 India; the country which once took refuge in its Gandhian legacy for guidance, is now being run by the carpetbaggers, pimps and middlemen. Adiga continues with the same leitmotif in his second novel (and third book) Last Man in Tower.

The protagonist of the novel is Yogesh Murthy. He is also known as “Masterji’ among his neighbours because he is a retired schoolteacher. An atheist, he firmly sticks to his principles which have earned him respect of almost everybody around him. He lives in an old crumbling housing society known as the Vishram Housing Society. Built in 1950s the society is the only one with ‘absolutely, unimpeachably pucca’ structure in entire Vakola area of Mumbai, which mostly comprises of the slums. The society in itself is a miniature of India; with all its religious and cultural diversity. The people living there are retired account, small time real estate broker, internet café owner, social worker, etc. The people living there are Hindus, Muslims and Christians. The people living there are Punjabis, Gujaratis, Sindhis, Bengalis, etc. But they live like an extended family.

One day, Mumbai’s well known Builder called Dharmen Shah’s prying eyes fall on this society and he decides to buy it to build his dream project, a luxurious residential complex. He sends his emissary with an offer to all the members of the society to sell their apartments to him. His offers are more than generous. But he sets a deadline before which all residents of society must agree or the offer will be withdrawn. As the last date nears, all the flat owners take the offer except ‘Masterji’. For Masterji the house is associated with the memories of his long gone daughter and the recently dead wife, so priceless. His neighbours do not understand the emotional angle of Masterji’s attachment with Vishram Society. For them he is a great hurdle in the way of their prosperity. So, first, they try to convince him but when he refuges to budge, they become enemies and co-conspirators. Even his close friend Albert Pinto forsakes him. Finally, Dharmen Shah, with all his guile and cunningness, achieves what he has desired.

Thematically speaking, the novel is a discourse on the changing yardsticks of morality of Indian middle class where values and ethics mean nothing, and where material possession stands for everything. Masterji here symbolises the last remnant of ideals on which the idea of India was conceived in 1947 by its founding fathers. Dharmen Shah, on the other hand, is the truth of today’s India. Like Balram Halwai he rises from the dirt and becomes a shining star. On his way to success, he does not shy away from doing the things which are morally or ethically wrong if they guarantee him success. Just like Balram Halwai.

During last two decades India has witnessed a rapid economic growth that has created a big middle class and even bigger under class. This middle class has great material aspirations and are simply brutal in their approach to achieve their goals. This upward mobility among middle class has also created huge demand for the real estate. In absence of any visible governmental control over real estate activities, it has become very lucrative business for unscrupulous and undesirable elements. In bigger cities, you can observe that there are so many builders and property dealers who resemble more with a crook or a petty criminal than a respectable business man. Under the political patronage, these builders are new age mafia who do their business with the stamp of legality. Adiga, undoubtedly, has created the character of Dharmen Shah from those real people.

Aravind Adiga has worked equally hard on all the characters. From the weird and secretive Secretary of the society to the guard Ram Khare, he has fleshed out each of the characters. But, the central character Masterji doesn’t get the space he deserves. Even Dharmen Shah should have made his appearance more frequently. Further, the way the neighbours of Masterji behave after committing a ghastly crime doesn’t appear to be plausible. At places, the dialogue seems to be in the need of the tightening.

Take away the minor glitches and the novel is an apt commentary on the darker side of the contemporary India. But, when it comes to the entertainment value The White Tiger scores over this book. And when it comes to the literary merit Adiga’s second book Between the Assassinations scores over this book.

Originally Published in The Daily Star

THE REMAINS OF A DREAM

2011-06-16T22:35:00.001+05:30

(A NOVEL)

PROLOGUE

Seated on a cold bench, Arif looked at the black electronic clock hanging from the corrugated steel ceiling of platform no.1. Its blood red display said 1:43am. He left his place, walked to the enquiry booth and knocked on the glass. The man at the counter was asleep, his head resting against a table, his mouth agape. He knocked again and the man woke up with a start. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, his other hand reached for a bottle of water; he took a couple of swigs, and gave Arif an angry look. ‘See Mister! I’ve already told you that we’ll announce as soon as we get information about the arrival of North East Express.’ Arif moved away without a word, trudging back to his seat close by, his steps increasingly heavy with anxiety and waiting. A few yards away, a stray cow was pulling out garbage from a dustbin. And two railway porters were pushing a cart full of parcels.

It was the thirteenth time -- possibly even more -- that he had enquired about the train. He thought it was only natural for the man to get irritated. He decided that he would return to the enquiry counter only after an hour, and that would be a very long wait. Restlessness seized him. ‘Ya Allah! Please give me my brother back, and I would never ask anything from you.’ He prayed silently while tears welled up in his eyes. Stretching himself, he lay on the bench, the travel bag doubled up as a pillow, and closed his eyes. A nightmare troubled him: he saw his brother’s bullet-ridden body lying in the compartment of a train. Screaming, he jumped off the bench. ‘Zakir, my brother!’ When he realised where he was, he simply sat on the bench, holding his head.

At 3:45am, the loudspeakers announced that the routes to Mughal Sarai had been finally cleared. Then, after a dramatic pause, they added that North East Express had reached Danapur station and would be the first train to reach the platform. Arif stood up, trying to hold his tears, walked up to the edge of the platform, and looked westward for the incoming train. Far away, the signal light had turned green. The sky was morose and starless. He started reciting Surah Al-ikhlas, the verses of the divinity and oneness of God, from the Holy Quran.

Inside him ‘Hope’ and ‘Despair’ played hide and seek. One said Zakir was alive and he was aboard the train Arif was waiting for. The other said exactly the opposite. Arif’s spirit soared in anticipation of unexpected joy, and then he felt abysmally low fearing that the news about his brother might just be false.

The headlight of the engine was now visible. Arif could hear the train whistle. His heart raced, and his recitations became desperate.

In the Bazaar of Love: The Selected Poetry of Amir Khusrau

2011-06-06T23:19:00.002+05:30

In the Bazaar of Love: The Selected Poetry of Amir Khusrau, Translated By Paul Losensky and Sunil Sharma, Penguin Books India, Rs. 450

Hazrat Amir Khusrau of Delhi was one of the greatest poets of medieval India. He wrote in both Persian, the courtly language of his time, and Hindavi, the language of the masses. The same Hindavi later developed into two beautiful languages called Hindi and Urdu. A disciple of famous Sufi saint Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, Khusrau's contributions towards the development of Qauwalli, South Asian Sufi music, and Indian Islamic mystic culture, Sufism, were very important. He is also credited with the invention of Sitar and many other musical instruments. Khayal and Tarana, two popular forms of Hindustani classical music, are believed to have been discovered by him. Amir Khusrau is also remembered as a founder of the Ganga-Jamani Tehzeeb or the Indian culture “which is a synthesis of Muslim and Hindu elements.”

Poetry in Hindavi

By writing in Persian, Khusrau reached out to the upper crust of society. For the masses, he wrote his poetry in Hindavi. Across north India and in Pakistan, even now, we come across Khusrau's poetry on a daily basis (remember his geets, qauwallis and riddles) but sometimes we are not aware that it was written by him. At times, he had beautifully mixed these two languages. The best example is Zehal-e-miskeen makun taghaful, duraye naina banaye batiyan; ki taab-e-hijran nadaram ay jaan, na leho kaahe lagaye chhatiyan. (Don't be heedless of my sorry state/ He rolls his eyes, he makes excuses/ For I cannot bear the separation, Why won't he take me in his arms?) Here the translators have tried hard to provide us the exact meaning of the poem but how can he translate the lilting effect of the Persian words or the melody of the Hindavi or Brijbhasha phrases. Nobody can. In other words, translating a poet like Khusrau — specially his Hindavi poems which are rooted in the Indian folk culture — will always be a difficult task..

The same constraints must have been faced by Paul Losensky and Sunil Sharma, the translators of this wonderful volume titled In the Bazaar of Love: The Selected Poetry of Amir Khusrau. Paul Losensky who teaches Persian literature at Indiana University has translated the Persian ghazals.

Sunil Sharma, a professor of Persian and Indian Literatures at Boston University, has taken care of rather more difficult and almost untranslatable Hindavi poems. The translators have done a commendable job by taking Khusrau to those readers who do not understand Persian and Hindavi. At some places, however, the duo has gone for literal translation rather than trying something poetic. Further, if the original texts of the poet have been included, particularly in the case of Hindavi poems, side by side of the translations, it would have given more pleasure to the readers familiar with Hindavi or Persian.

Anyway, Khusrau's poetry, even after the passage of seven centuries, remains relevant to our lives. His concept of composite culture and his firm belief in the equality of all cultures and religions are still to be fully imbibed by us. So, we all should read this book, first as a book of elegant poetry and then as a commentary on the infinitely diverse and multi-hued Indian culture.
(Originally published in Hindu Literary Review dated June 5 , 2011)

Another Kashmir story

2011-04-03T06:00:00.003+05:30

REVIEW OF MIRZA WAHEED'S THE COLLABORATOR (HINDU LITERARY REVIEW, APRIL 03, 2011)

There are two versions of the Kashmir story that dominate the popular imagination. The Pakistani version depicts Kashmir as an unfinished agenda of the Partition, and as an essentially Hindu-Muslim issue. The other, the Indian one, sees it as a very important Indian territory, which India must protect from the prying eyes of its mischievous neighbour. Between these two streams of narratives, what has been lost is Kashmir's own counter-narrative, the lack of which is one of the many reasons that have turned this heaven on earth into the centre point of a bloody conflict.

Set in the same simmering Kashmir of 1990s, the narrator of Mirza Waheed's haunting debut novel The Collaborator is a 19-year-old Kashmiri boy who lives in a village near the Line of Control. Son of the headman of his village, he is the only young man left in his village. It is early 1990 and all his friends have disappeared across the border to get armed training for waging ‘ Jihad' against the Indian army. In between, an Indian army officer, Captain Kadian, coerces him to take up the job of counting the bodies of militants killed while crossing the border. He also has to collect Identity cards, arms, etc. from those unknown corpses. While performing this horrid job, there always lurks a frightening possibility that one day he might find one of his friends among the dead. This makes him question his own moral position, and at times, he yearns to follow
the footprints of his Rafi-loving friend Hussain across the border.

Ground realities

In this book, the author has highlighted the harrowing realities of insurgency-infested Kashmir of 1990s. One can feel the ordeal the Kashmiris went through during those days of army crackdowns. On the strength of his descriptions, Waheed is able to transport you to the middle of a valley full of dead bodies, and you see the protagonist counting the dead. And, nowhere does it try to justify or romanticise violence. It is not sympathetic to anybody peddling violence, be it the Indian army or Pakistan or the militants.

The identity of central character is also an interesting aspect of this novel. Coming from Gujjar community, mostly post-Partition Muslim migrants from Jammu region, the protagonist is aware of the fact that other Kashmiris consider him a half-Kashmiri. He is supposed to have no qualms about dealing with India like other members of his community. This adds complexity to the story. The character of Captain Kadian, however, would have been more credible if the author has painted him in a greyish shade instead showing him as a caricature of an F-word spouting, ultranationalist, drunkard army officer.

The novel has a wonderful opening and the story moves swiftly. But, in the middle, it begins to lose its tautness and the descriptions become repetitive, badly affecting the pace of the story. Later, the novel again gains velocity taking us to a satisfying denouement. It ends with the Surah Al-Fatiha, the opening chapter of the holy Quran where the protagonist prays to God to ‘guide him to the straightway, the way of those whom God have blessed.' Somewhere in this prayer is a hint of a solution to the Kashmir conflict; the conflict that has taken the lives of thousands of people and forced thousands of Kashmiri Pandits to live in a perpetual exile. We hope that one day we will again be able to recite the words of Mughal emperor Jahangir about Kashmir which says: ‘Gar firdaus ba ruh-e-zamin ast, hamin ast-o hamin ast-o hamin ast' (‘If there is paradise anywhere on earth, It is here, it is here, it is here'). Till then we must pray for Kashmir. Amen.

http://www.hindu.com/lr/2011/04/03/stories/2011040350250600.htm

The Celebration of Literary Pleasures

2011-02-26T01:00:00.005+05:30

Tina Brown of The Daily Beast called it 'the greatest literary show on earth.' As a first time visitor, I could not agree more. The sheer vastness of Jaipur Literature Festival intimidated and thrilled me at the same time. The number of participating authors, journalists and artistes, which was more than 300, along with 30-40 thousand literature lovers and visitors can give you an idea about the size of this literary event. Then the next thing that struck me was Diggi House, the location of the festival; with its glorious historical look, it was just right for this kind of festival. Spread over five days, January 21-25, this year too the festival witnessed the participation of many veteran literary figures side by side with new voices. At a time, Jaipur Festival held four sessions at four different venues namely Front Lawn, Baithak, Mughal Tent and Durbar Hall (all at the same festival hub) and I was spoilt for choice. Many times, however, I wanted to attend two or three session going on at the same time.

The first day had Orhan Pamuk, the Turkish Nobel laureate, as its star attraction. All sessions of Pamuk were over crowded. Pamuk was happy to be back to Jaipur but was pained to find there was little representation of Indian Language writing at the Litfest. He further said, during one of his sessions, that his concern was with non-Western writers who didn't write in English. 'For those writing in other languages, their work is rarely translated and never read so much. So much of human experience was marginalised.' Like Pamuk, Javed Akhter's very informative and interesting session on Urdu Language was packed to capacity. The audience maintained complete silence as Javed Akhter delineated the history and politics of this beautiful language.

A show titled 'Gata Rahe Mera Dil/ The Songs that Moved us', on the second day of festival, featured three renowned lyricists from Mumbai Film Industry, Javed Akhtar, Gulzar and Prasoon Joshi. The session was super hit with the audience and the organisers had to extend it beyond allotted hours. The highlight of the second day was the presentation of DSC South Asian Literary Prize to Pakistani author H M Naqvi for Home Boy. The winning novel follows the lives of three Pakistanis in post 9/11

America

On the third day, Ruskin Bond enthralled his fans with his sense of humour. They also got a treat of readings by him. Later, I saw a very long queue waiting for their turns to get autographs. Just before the lunch, Amitava Kumar was in conversation with Patrick French about his latest book

India

: A Portrait. According to French,

India

is the most interesting country in the world. He accepted that it was not humanly possible to encapsulate the countless complexities, diversities and contradictions of this wonderful country in a single book. So, he had tried to tell stories of individuals that flow in to larger narratives capturing a particular aspect of

India

's story. Amitava Kumar, as always, was witty and sharp during this conversation. In a post lunch session, on the front lawn, J M Coetzee read from his books, leaving his fans spellbound. An hour later, A C Grayling, the renowned philosopher, talked about The Return of Philosophy. He warned that the civil society should be careful while allowing the government to intrude in to their private lives in the name of real or imagined security risk. In the evening, there was a discussion on Kashmir. The panel had four young Kashmiri authors that included Basharat Peer, the critically acclaimed author of Curfewed Night, Mirza Waheed, Rahul Pandita and Nitasha Kaul. The only non-Kashmiri on the panel was senior journalist Swapan Dasgupta. Amid the experienced speakers like Dasgupta and Akbar, it was Nitasha Kaul, the Man Asia shortlist author, who stole the show with her razor sharp comments and hard-hitting arguments.

On the penultimate day, the session featuring famous Indian painter S H Raza attracted maximum crowd. In a very interesting and exciting conversation with Ashok Vajpayee, Raza related to his progress from a Mathematics-hating student to a painter of international repute. Speaking mostly in Urdu-Hindi, he shared his experience of his six decades of stay in

France

. There was a reading session later in the evening, where C P Surendran and Jeet Thayil read from their books. Recently, Jeet's yet to be published novel Narcopolis was in news for attracting attention of many publishers. During the session, many aspiring authors were seen to be gravitating towards the legendry literary agent, David Godwin. Godwin represents many renowned Indian authors including Arundhati Roy, Aravind Adiga, Kiran Desai and Jeet Thayil.

On the last day, everybody looked forward for Vikram Seth's session. As expected, it turned out to be very lively. The interviewer Dr Somnath Batabyal had a knack to make any session interesting. Vikram Seth also joined him with his funny remarks. Everybody was curious to know about Vikram's forthcoming novel A Suitable Girl. There were many interesting sessions, which I could not attend, but still the visit to Jaipur was not only an enriching experience but also an intoxicating one.

The best thing about this festival was its democratic spirit. No seat was reserved for the VIPs. One could see hoi-polloi struggling with the famous names to grab the front row seats. I loved the way readers and fans mingled with their favourite authors. However, many people did not like this arrangement. A writer was complaining about the chaotic nature of the festival just because he could not find a seat in an important session. On the other hand, I saw Vikram Seth standing in the corner of Durbar Hall (without demanding any special treatment) during a session. “A literary festival is supposed to be an intimate affair” said Jose Vergese, a professor of English literature from Kochi, Kerala, who had flown in especially for this festival, “but, Jaipur Literature Festival is like a fair. And, this makes it different.”

Vergese was right. It was different.

Review of History of Hate in The Hindu

2010-12-09T06:25:00.001+05:30

FAST PACED NARRATIVE

As you look at the pitch dark cover with blood splattered all over and a spooky HATE written in bold, you have an inkling of the kind of book this is.

Characters

Between the covers you meet two bizarre characters, portrayed quite credibly, whose favourite pastime is making other peoples' lives miserable. Ash, a 20-something boy with suicidal tendencies, and Sonny, a middle-aged brooding housewife with a depraved mind, have nothing in common except ‘their love for hating everything'. Ash is perpetually confused about his sexuality. Sonny has complains against almost everybody including her chemist husband who doesn't earn as much as she wants him to, and her terminally ill mother-in-law who by delaying her death is a burden on her family's limited financial resources.

To vent their frustration and dissatisfaction with their lives, both Ash and Sonny try to make as many people unhappy as possible. Here the protagonists don't play pranks or cause mischief but they do something more perverted and serious and, in one case, their victim commits suicide.

As the misdemeanours of these two dysfunctional sociopaths continue unabated, the author drops hints about their background without disturbing the flow. And that generates some sympathy for Ash who appears to be more a sick person than evil. Undoubtedly, Sonny is pure evil, whom one would love to hate. In between, there are snide but discreet remarks about the pompous and vainglorious lifestyles of South Delhi-type upper middle class. Elsewhere there are also ingenious observations concerning the urban middle class society where a person is not recognised by the content of his character but by the brand of car he drives or by the carpet area and locality of his house.

The notable thing about Kanishka's writing is his ability to create a perfect ambience, before setting his characters into action. The pace of the story is another plus. The narrative moves frantically leaving the reader breathless. The prose is razor sharp, idioms are cleverly chosen and phrases are apt.

For the strong

Unlike many debut authors, Kanishka avoids purple prose like the plague. This novel, however, is neither a leisure read nor is it for the weak-hearted, or emotionally fragile people. It is an exploration of the darkest emotions of human minds supported by some strong writing and perfectly fleshed out characters. While reading, some readers might feel nauseated and might need to take a stroll and inhale a lot of fresh air before returning to the book. Structurally speaking, the novel is character driven and episodic in nature. It doesn't follow the Aristotelian concept of mythos or plot with clearly recognisable beginning, middle, and end. But, literary novels are supposed to be more about characters than plots.

History of Hate; Kanishka Gupta, Rupa & Co, Rs. 195.

A Satire on Indian Social Class

2010-10-21T23:17:00.001+05:30

BOOK REVIEW by Abdullah Khan

Serious Men, Manu Joseph FOURTH ESTATE, Price: INR 499/-

Driven by the IT-boom and the skyrocketing SENSEX, the Indian economy touched new heights during the last two decades. But despite all the progress made by the country, social inequality still exists in the Indian society. There is a darker underbelly amid the shining India where people are not even entitled to two square meals. From that underclass comes Ayyan Mani, the protagonist and anti-hero of Serious Men, the impressive debut novel of journalist Manu Joseph.

Sitting at the bottom of the caste pyramid Ayyan Mani, is perpetually disdainful about the extra-ordinary clouts Brahmins enjoy in the public sphere of Indian society. Leading an unremarkable life in a one-room flat of a Bombay slum, Ayyan is an achiever by the yardsticks of the social class he comes from. A personal assistant to a renowned astronomer Arvind Acharaya, he is some kind of celebrity for his fellow residents of BDD chawl that mostly comprised of factory workers and labourers. To overcome the boredom of a lower class quotidian life and add some sparkle to his miserable existence, he embarks on a dangerous journey, weaving an outrageous fantasy around his only son. And to an extent he is able to convince everybody, including his innocent wife, that his son is a child prodigy.

At the Institute of Theory and Research, where Ayyan works, he is a peeping tom and takes unhealthy interests in personal lives of his superiors. He is a mirthful witness when the game of vicious office politics unfolds at the institute, between the formidable director of the institute, Arvind Acharya and his deputy. For Ayyan it is a war between Brahmins, and he has nothing to do with it. But when reputation of Arvind Acharya takes a dip involving controversy relating to a project about finding microscopic extraterrestrial, he jumps in to the fray. Ayyan not only saves Arvind but is also able to use this opportunity to make his son a national celebrity.

Ayyan Mani reminds us of Balram Halwai from Adiga's The White Tiger as both of them come from the same Indian social class. But the character of Ayyan Mani is more credible and his approach to climb the class ladder is more sophisticated than the former. Metaphorically speaking, Ayyan's ambition symbolises the dreams of common mass. At another level, the novel is a subtle satire on all class systems in our society. This division of people into haves or have-nots are not exactly based on caste. It may be based on other considerations too, and most important among them is how much resources a person owns. The character has been sketched out well capturing the idiosyncrasies of the protagonist. But, the best-handled character in Serious Men is Arvind Acharya, the scientist par excellence who is as tall as his standings as an astronomer. He is able to inspire awe as well as revulsion at the same time in his rivals. But his jumbo size ego and clarity about his ambition make him not to compromise on his beliefs. As the story gathers momentum and moves to the second half, he emerges out as the main protagonist and Ayyan is relegated to background.

Another interesting angle in the story is Oparna. An epitome of beauty and an astro-biologist, she succumbs to the intellectual aspect of Arvind Acharya's personality. But the steamy affair between them doesn't last long. This has disastrous consequences on the career and reputation of Arvind Acharaya.

The author handles the characters efficiently and the story has a great start. The last few chapters are also dealt with superbly. But in between, the prose becomes laborious, sometimes, even forcing you to skip the pages. The voice of Ayyan Mani, at times, also becomes voice of the author and that sounds artificial. There are some minor plot-holes too. For example, Ayyan Mani's attempt to leak questions for quiz contest doesn't appear to be plausible.

SUCH A LONG JOURNEY ( Abdullah Khan's Article on Literary Agents in THE HINDU)

2010-09-05T03:49:00.001+05:30

Literary agents play god...Photo: Keshav

Writing your book is just the first step in the journey to becoming an author. Finding the right agent who can market it in the right places and take care of your interests is the more crucial, and difficult, part… almost like finding god...

Having finished your first novel, you have polished it to the best of your abilities, got rave reviews from your peer group of ‘wanna be' authors, and you think the most difficult part of your journey, of becoming an internationally published author is over. But, it is not. Before you seek an international publisher in mature markets like London or New York, you have to find a literary agent. ‘Finding a literary agent is akin to finding God…..if you believe in God,' says Anees Salim, whose novel Tales from a Vending Machine is slated for release by HarperCollins India later this year.

Agrees Vikrant Dutta, whose debut novel Dark Rainbow is soon to be published by an Indian publishing major. He says, “We have heard legends about Arundhati Roy. Ms. Roy submitted her manuscript of The God of Small Things to Pankaj Mishra of Butter Chicken in Ludhiana fame, who, at that time, was an editor with a publishing house. Impressed with Ms. Roy's writing, Mishra sent it to a few agents and editors in London; and David Godwin was one of them. The rest is the history we all know.” Vikrant further adds, “But, everybody may not be as lucky to have a Pankaj Mishra vouch for them. For lesser mortals, it is a long and tiring voyage. I have been striving to get an agent for the last fours year, but with little success. Then one fine day I decided to send my manuscript to Indian Publishers, and was fortunate to get an offer.” But he strongly feels that to sustain a long-term writing career, one must find an agent.

Crucial role

Many first-time writers, especially those not familiar with the ‘behind the scenes' of publishing industry, would ask: Why do we need a literary agent in the first place? To answer this question, we need to understand what exactly an agent does. An agent, for an author, is an editorial consultant, a writing coach and a critic rolled into one. She markets your work to the right publishers. She also takes care of your financial interest. Above all, she understands the nitty-gritties of publishing, everything from e-book royalties and permission forms, to movie option agreements. Kanishka Gupta, one of India's prominent literary agents, reflects: “Having a literary agent increases the chance of your manuscript being accepted for publication manifolds. Not only will you be taken seriously by a publisher, but you will also have an advocate with the right connections in the industry, and most importantly, someone who believes in your work.” Moreover, in the West, no publisher will touch your manuscript if it is not submitted by a legitimate literary agent. In India too the ‘literary agent culture' is catching on fast.

Anees cannot agree more. “After being disappointed by the agents abroad, I also started to submit it to Indian publishers, but heard nothing from them. Then I submitted my manuscript to Kanishka Gupta of Writer's Side Literary Agency, and within 15 days my novel was sold in an auction. Ironically, among the bidders was a publisher on whose table the same manuscript had been languishing for last six months. So, being an agented author really helps.”

If finding an agent is such a mammoth task then what should one do? Nothing, but keep trying. Persistence is the key. There is no other way, feels Vikas Swarup, the author of hugely successful Q&A that was made in to the multi-Oscar winning movie, “Slumdog Millionaire”. Vikas himself was lucky to find an agent rather easily. Peter Buckman, a former editor who had just started a literary agency at that time, had him signed on as his first client. For aspiring writers from India, he says, “It is not easy to get an agent, as most of them will take on a new author only if they are 100 per cent sure that the manuscript will sell. Every new writer should get hold of the latest edition of the Writers Handbook and send the first three or four chapters of the manuscript to as many agents as possible and hope one of them will take him on. That is the only way, unfortunately. Alternatively, he should try his luck in the Indian market first with Penguin, HarperCollins, Rupa and Tranquebar and, having been accepted by an Indian publisher, foray into the international arena.”

There are many examples when, after more than a hundred rejections, a writer has landed a very good agent. Even J. K. Rowling had been signed by Christopher Little Literary Agency after collecting dozens of rejection slips. Susan Abulhawa, the Palestinian-American novelist whose novel Mornings in Jenin has been translated into more than 20 languages, had to go through a very agonising phase on the way to find an agent. Narrating her experience she says, “It was a long journey. I was published first by a very small publishing house that went out of business just before the book was due to be distributed. So, all my work seemed to be dead on arrival. But luckily, it was translated by Buchet Chastel in France during that time and, through them, I was able to get an agent. My editor at Buchet Chastel, Marc Parent, introduced me to Anna Soler-Pont in Barcelona and she agreed to take on my book. Shortly thereafter, she sold it to Bloomsbury and to about 19 other publishing houses around the world for translation rights.”

For a beginner, it is very important to understand the basics of ‘How to approach an agent'. “You should know whether a particular agent is right for your kind of work. An agent specialising in young adult fiction or romance will never take on a writer of ‘high-brow' literary fiction, even though it is well written. Further, you should follow the submission guidelines of the agent you are submitting to. For example, if an agent wants a query only at the first instance, sending sample chapters to him or her will certainly not help,” says Zafar Anjum, an author and journalist based in Singapore. He further adds, “An author should submit to an agent only a fully polished work. If there is an iota of doubt in the mind about the readiness of manuscript, I would like to advise him to avail the services of a good manuscript assessment agency. They will not only point out the loopholes in the plot but also take care of structure, grammar and give the manuscript a professional look.”

“Ninety-nine per cent of manuscripts are rejected simply because authors approach wrong agents,” says Noah Lukeman, a New York-based agent who represents many big names, including Pulitzer Prize winners.

Good first impression

Writing a well-crafted query letter is the first step to success while submitting to an agent. According to Noah Lukeman, it should be brief and to the point, three paragraphs to be precise. “Don't send a long cover letter, long letters are annoying anyway, unless you are sending it to someone special,” warns Ahmede Hussain, a Dhaka-based author and editor. Siddharth Banerjee, a London based freelance writer and aspiring novelist, adgds, “Most of the submissions are accepted or rejected on the basis of query letters or covering letters. So, they are certainly very important.” Further, your credentials as a writer also help to land an agent. An aspiring author with dozen articles and short stories in prominent newspapers and magazines will always have an edge over the ‘to be' writers who have published nothing so far.

Knowing somebody in the industry is another factor that dramatically increases your chances of finding an agent because in the publishing world, in Susan Abulhawa's words, having a connection works. Take Ahmede Hussein for example. Ahmede's friend introduced him to Pinki Virani, author and journalist, who was kind enough to tell Jayapriya Vasudevan of Jacaranda, a literary agency, that he would be a good catch. So, unlike many first-time authors, his was a smooth sailing.

During last two decades, the success stories of Indian authors like Arundhati Roy, Kiran Desai, Aravind Adiga, etc. have inspired many an Indian author to try publishing in the markets abroad. All well known agents are swamped with submissions from India. “Many Indian authors believe that there is a huge demand for books written by an Indian or a novel based in India; which is a wrong notion,” says Siddhartha . “Recently, I attended a writing conference in London and got a chance to interact with a few big literary agents. And they opined that there was limited market for Indian novels in U.K. The market in the U.S. is even tougher.”

Good fiction sells

Noah Lukeman has different views on this issue, “There is always a market for great fiction (and great books, in general), regardless of whether they are set in or outside of the United States (as has been proved by many recent bestsellers set in other countries). There is no reason why your novel's being set in another country (for example, India) should be a deterrent to its sale, or should make it harder for you to land a literary agent. As an agent, I myself was never biased against a particular work because of it being set in another country. Of much greater importance to me was the strength of the writing, the depth of the characters, the richness of the plot, the authenticity of the dialogue. If all of these (and other) elements were there, then the country was of no consequence. What is important, however, is that, artistically, the country (or the setting, in general) be authentically inherent to the other elements, and not forced onto the work simply for the sake of it.”

All great writing has been born of great conviction and relentless hard work. Aspiring writers should focus on creating the best possible work, and then try his/her luck. The key is to keep trying without losing heart. There is no alternative to self belief backed by perseverance and commitment. As Anees Salim says, if someone writes well, he will certainly find an agent and a publisher one day. Susan Abulhawa in her message to all new authors says, ‘Write, write, write, even when rejection letters mount. The one thing to always have — and this is truly essential — is a core belief that your work will be published. The universe has a special way of turning an unshakable belief into a reality.'

Keywords: author, literary agent, publishing

AN INTERVIEW WITH SUSAN ABULHAWA IN THE DAILY STAR

2010-08-29T07:43:00.000+05:30

In this interview with ABDULLAH KHAN, Palestinian writer Susan Abulhawa talks about her novel and Palestine.

Is there any similarity between Amal Abulheja, the protagonist of Mornings in Jenin and Susan Abulhawa the author?

Mostly, Amal is very separate from me. There are some parallels between her life and mine, but as people, we are very different. There is one chapter in the book that is entirely autobiographical. I placed Amal in my life in the chapter called “The Orphanage”, which chronicles my life in a Jerusalem orphanage for girls, where I lived for almost three years of my life in the early 1980s.

Novelist Robin Yassin-Kassab in his review of your book in The Sunday Times, London says, 'The Zionist story has Palestine before the state of Israel as “a land without a people awaiting a people without a land”. Writers from Mark Twain to Leon Uris, as well as Hollywood studios and certain church pulpits, retell the tale. But Palestinians, in the West at least, lack a popular counter-narrative. Palestinians are reported on, met only on the news.' And my question is why it is so?

The people behind the creation of Israel had their origins in the west. As part of those societies, they understood western culture and languages. They could communicate in the nuances of those cultures. So, it was natural then that the predominant story heard in the west was one propagated by Zionists because by in large, Palestinians were an eastern society that spoke primarily in Arabic speakers. So their voice remained limited to Arabic-speaking world. In addition to these practical limitations, the West was consumed with its own guilt over the Nazi holocaust that few would have been capable of seeing Zionists as anything but victims. For these reasons, Palestinians were not able to counter the Israeli propaganda, and the first narrative to dominate in the west was the Zionist lie that Palestine was “a land without a people for a people without a land”.

Now, however, with first and second generation Palestinians in the Diaspora having been born and raised in various western societies, we see a whole new crop of Palestinian authors, artists, musicians, dancers, academics, and more, who effectively communicate our narrative, the story of the indigenous society of Palestine.

How well has Morning in Jenin been received across the world? What kind of feedback you got from your readers?

The book has been well-received in most European countries where it is published. It was the number one bestseller in Norway and is in the top 10 books in India and Iceland so far. On the other hand, little attention has been paid to it in the US. However, letters I've received from readers are very heartening and uplifting. Most express a sense of having their eyes opened to a world they knew little about or a people whom they saw only as terrorists. Many talk about the impact of the prose and individual characters.

As I expected, some readers accused me of being anti-Semitic and the book of being biased. The first instance, I will not dignify with a response and leave it to readers to judge for themselves. I'm not sure exactly how a novel can be “biased” but the bigger absurdity is that Palestinian perspectives and narratives of their own lives should encompass the world as seen through Israeli eyes! No one writing from a Jewish point of view, for example, would have ever been criticised for writing a “one-sided story” about life under German occupation. Or a black South African writing a “one sided” novel about life under the Apartheid government.

On a literary level, some readers have complained that the way the story jumps from one point of view to another is confusing. This is a fair criticism and a matter of individual preference. Additionally, some readers, particularly Westerners, do not like my “florid” writing style, which is more in the Eastern writing tradition. Again, this is a matter of personal preference of each reader and therefore a valid criticism.

As a writer what do you want to achieve through your writings?

What every writer wants to tell a story. In some ways, I hope to give voice to those who have been muted.

Susan Abulhawa

How do you see the unprovoked Israeli attack on the flotilla of aid-carrying ships aiming to break the Israeli siege on Gaza? Why was there a lukewarm response from Americans when the entire world was condemning the attack?

The attack by highly trained Israeli navy commandos on an unarmed civilian flotilla in international waters was an act of piracy. Pure and simple. The killing of nine unarmed civilianas were nine counts of murder. Again, pure and simple. If this attack had been perpetrated by anyone but Israel, we'd be watching a tribunal at the Hague instead of blaming the victims for their own deaths.

What according to you is solution to the Israel-Palestine conflict?

The solution is written in the various tenets of international law and essential human decency. Palestine was always a multi-ethnic, multi-religious country where people of many backgrounds existed in relative harmony. This is the ideal that other nations strive toward. Other nations fought wars and struggled through civil movements in order to attain a situation where all citizens are treated equally under the law. This is what we want and expect. To be accorded the same basic human rights that are the applied to the rest of humanity. We are the natives of that land and we expect to live in dignity in the land of our forefathers. This is the solution - That we live as citizens, equal under the law, whether we are Jewish, Muslim, Christian, or any other religion. Measuring the worth of a human being by their religion should not be accepted in the 21st century.

What is your next project as a writer?

Unfortunately, I still have to work a full time day job and that has made it difficult to find time to do much more. But I have, indeed started another book. It's just that it will likely to take me a bit more time to finish it.

Susan Abulhawa's debut novel Mornings in Jenin is story of a Palestinian girl called Amal in the backdrop of the Israel-Palestine conflict. It has been published by Bloomsbury in the UK and USA. The book has also been translated in to more than 20 languages. Susan is founder of Playgrounds for Palestine, an organisation dedicated to upholding of right to play for Palestinian children who are living under Israeli military occupation. Born to the Palestinian refugees of 1967 war, she moved to USA as a teenager and still lives there.

Originally published in The Daily Star, Dhaka:

http://www.thedailystar.net/magazine/2010/08/03/interview.htm

MY REVIEW OF SEASONS OF FLIGHT in

2010-08-29T07:25:00.004+05:30

Love and longing in Los Angeles

Seasons of Flight is an account of a journey undertaken by Prema from a scenic Nepali village to a culturally and socially multi-hued metropolis in the U.S. The journey in this case is not only the geographical distance, but also the mental and the cultural one.

When Prema's name is drawn in a diversity lottery for green cards, she decides to leave her village, a caring lover, an absent sister who has joined a Maoist group, an old father and memories of her long dead mother for a place where she will be a complete stranger.

She arrives in the U.S. and finds that things are not as she imagined them to be. And so begins her struggle to survive and find her place in this totally different and new milieu.

Confused, she is never being sure about what she is doing. But one thing she is sure about is that she is not going back. As she drifts from one place to another, physically and psychologically, she meets people with different ethnic and cultural backgrounds and tries to understand the “American way of life”.

Unlike most protagonists of novels by non-resident South Asian authors, she does not mourn the loss of her homeland nor does she regret her decision. On the contrary, she gets rid of the cultural baggage of her home country and adopts the new social mores of her adopted country.

She doesn't think twice while having affairs, including one-night stands, with various American men.When Luis, an affable half-Latino, comes into her life, she is strongly attracted to him. She decides to move in with him. Strangely, her Nepali friends don't see anything wrong with her move. Back home, the same people would have branded her ‘a whore' for the same act.

This makes it clear that parameters of morality are not static in nature and changes as we move across cultures and societies.

Though the story mostly follows the protagonist in Los Angeles, we constantly hear echoes of the war in Nepal. The conflict between the Maoists and the Nepali military has been interpolated so discreetly that it doesn't disturb the narrative of Prema's journey. This is what gives this novel, which is largely apolitical, a slightly political angle but the author stays on the fence, refusing to take sides.

Prema's sexual awakening is dealt with in a forthright, but delicate, manner. The sex scenes are direct and devoid of pretension, without shades of vulgarity or obscenity. This is something few writers can accomplish. This is a delightful read about self-discovery, sexual awakening and search for an identity in a foreign land. Lucidly written, the book also gives new insight into an immigrant life in America. After finishing this book, I felt guilty about missing Manjushree's debut novel The Tutor of History. Now, I will certainly reach out for that.

Seasons of Flight; Manjushree Thapa, Penguin/Viking, Rs. 399.

http://www.thehindu.com/arts/books/article541889.ece

MY REVIEW OF MORNINGS IN JENIN IN THE HINDU

2010-05-03T00:37:00.004+05:30

The creation of Israel, for Jews, was the fulfilment of 3000 years of yearnings for a Jewish homeland. For Palestinians, it was El Nakba, the catastrophe, which rendered them homeless and forced them, to live in perpetual misery. The Jewish version of the Israel-Palestine story has found a place in English fiction umpteen times; the most popular being Exodusby Leon Uris, a book that generated a huge wave of sympathy in the U.S. for Israel. But there was no novel of mass appeal originally written in English, from the Palestinian perspective until Susan Abulhawa decided to write one.

Mornings in Jenin opens in 1941 and centres on a Palestinian family, the Abulhejas, a happy farming family in a picturesque and serene village named Ein Hod near Haifa. But their happiness comes to an abrupt end with the birth of Israel seven years later, as they are forcibly evicted from the land of their forefathers and made to live in a refugee camp in Jenin.

In Jenin, Amal Abulheja, the chief protagonist, is born. With her, we embark on a journey through the tumultuous history of post-1948 Palestine. In between, we also witness the personal losses Amal suffers: her father goes away never to return, her mother becomes insane, her husband is killed in a bombing, her sister-in-law and niece are slaughtered during a massacre and much more. When the journey ends after 325 pages, we are left wondering: How can someone be so brutal to his fellow human beings? How can the victims of a Holocaust metamorphose into the instigators of a catastrophe? How do some people not lose their humanity even in times of extreme adversity?

Of course, the book is a work of fiction but the events, from the forceful dispossession of Palestinians in 1948 to the killings at the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps in 1982, are facts and many real people inhabit this story of heartbreak, exile, and human tragedy.

What struck me most is the honesty of the author's voice. Despite being born to Palestinian refugees of the Six Day War of 1967, she has tried hard not to let her personal feelings fill the text. All individual Jewish characters are portrayed in sympathetic light. Nowhere in the story has she lost the touch of humanity.

Another bright aspect of Susan's writing is her ornamental use of language in the tradition of contemporary Arabic writing. For instance, here is a taste of the opening paragraph from the chapter, ‘‘The Harvest'': In a distant time, before history marched over the hills and shattered present and future, before wind grabbed the land at one corner and shook it of its name and character, before Amal was born, a small village east of Haifa lived quietly on figs and olives, open frontiers and sunshine.

In the nutshell, a remarkable novel, which will help us understand the Israel-Palestine conflict better.

(Originally published in Hindu Literary Review dated 02.05.2010) http://www.hindu.com/lr/2010/05/02/stories/2010050250220500.htm

MY REVIEW OF KILLING THE WATER APPEARS IN THE HINDU

2010-03-07T04:49:00.007+05:30

BOOK REVIEW

Name of the book: Killing the Water

Author: Mahmud Rahman

Publisher: Penguin Books India

Price: Rs. 250

ISBN: 978-0-143-06503-6

War, Migration and Displacement

From being a witness to a bloody war that led to the creation of Bangladesh in 1971 to being a third world migrant in the United States, Mahmud Rahman has had first-hand experience of what is called “the effects of war, migration and displacement.” This is why he is successful in weaving credibly all those experiences together in the beautiful and illuminating set of stories for his debut collection.

Insightful Tales

‘Killing The Water’ starts off on an auspicious note. The opening story ‘City Shoes in the Village’, is set in the undivided India of the 1930s, and tells the story of a boy, Altaf, who returns to his impoverished village somewhere in the eastern part of Bengal to see his family after having lived in Calcutta for many years. Altaf is remorseful for shying away from his duties as an eldest son, and the author is able to portray with lucidity the guilt-stricken conscience and dilemma of the protagonist.

The best story in the book is the one titled ‘Kerosene’. Set against the backdrop of the 1971 war and told from a Bangladeshi nationalist’s point of view, it exposes the chilling horrors of war, and shows how even a society as non-violent and mild-mannered as Bangladesh (the erstwhile East Pakistan) can lose its sanity at a time of great socio-political upheaval. In the very first paragraph of this story, women and small children, all post-partition refugees from India, are burnt alive by a Bengali mob. This scene is a powerful reminder of the fact that says that the equations between two social groups can change drastically with change of time and circumstances.

Amid the post-partition euphoria of 1947, the Bengalis of East Pakistan had welcomed Urdu-speaking Muslim migrants from Bihar and UP as their co-religious brethren in the promised homeland for Muslims. But in the late sixties Bengali nationalism reared its head demanding a separate country for Bengalis, owing to wrong-headed political policies of West Pakistan. In those difficult times, non-Bengali Muslims were at the receiving end of the Bangla anger, as they were perceived to be culturally closer to West Pakistan than to Bengali Muslims, and hence were seen as a natural ally to the Western Pakistani establishment. In this changed scenario the binding factor was not the religion of Islam but Bengali language and culture.

Elsewhere in the book there are more stories that deserve to be mentioned here. ‘Orangeline’ is a subtle depiction of the scourge of racism in the United States. In ‘Blue Mondays at the Gearshift Lounge’, a former soldier from Bangladesh tries to build a life in America while grappling with some disturbing memories from his past. In yet another story, titled ‘Yuralda,’ a beautiful love story unfolds in a Dominican Laundromat in Rhode Island as a Sri Lankan man woos a Dominican girl, the eponymous protagonist. In all these stories Rahman succeeds in fleshing out the characters from disparate backgrounds.

Missing Sense of History

The collection suffers on two counts. First, the author is not able to evoke a sense of history in some of the stories. The reader fails to see what is different about the different time periods in which the stories are set. For example, the opening story, though well told, is unable to take back the reader to the India of the 1930s. In addition, a couple of stories like ‘Smoke Signals’ and ‘Man in the Middle’ do not come out well, and are nothing to be written home about.

Despite these shortcomings, there is freshness in Rahman’s voice; and his stories leave an impact.

This is a collection well worth a reader’s time.

To read the edited version of this piece in THE HINDU click here...

MY REVIEW OF AMITAVA KUMAR'S LATEST BOOK APPEARS IN THE DAILY STAR

2010-02-26T20:55:00.004+05:30

Not Everyone is Innocent by Abdullah Khan

Terrorism, according to the Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary, is the use of violence for political aims or to force a government to act, especially because of the fear it causes among people. What if a democratic government itself indulges in an act of violence against its own citizenry or people elsewhere as the means to some sort of imagined noble end? Is it still called Terrorism, or will we invent some fancy term like war against terror to cloak the immorality of the act?

Another question: how justified is a state to incite or instigate a citizen to commit a crime, when it suspects that person is likely to commit some crime in the future, and then punish him or her for a crime he or she never committed? Is it not in the penal code of every country that an abettor of crime should be treated on a par with the actual perpetuator of that crime? Then what is the status of the state?

TO READ MORE CLICK Here

The Words On the Margins

2010-01-25T07:18:00.005+05:30

हाशिये पर लिखे शब्द
साफ़ सुथरे सच बोलने वाले शब्द

अब हाशिये पर लिखे जाते हैं I

और पंक्तियों के बीच स्थान पाते हैं

वो शब्द

जो कलुषित हैं

विकृत हैं, सड़े हुए विचारों से लैश,

हिंसा की जयजयकार करते हुए I

प्रतिशोध से भरे-पूरे

इतिहास के जंगलों में बहाने ढूंढते हुए,

एक नयी प्रतिशोध कथा लिखने के लिए,

मानव रक्त की स्याही तलाशते I

मर्यादा पुरुषोत्तम के शब्द नहीं पाते हैं,

बीच का स्थान, पन्नो पर,

बल्कि हाशिये पर लिखे जाते हैं ,

और उनका अर्थ आज के परिप्रेक्ष्य में

लगाया जाता है I

रावणी व्याकरण का प्रयोग करके I

Create your badge

The Orwellian City : A piece on George Orwell appears in The Daily Star

2010-01-23T21:48:00.005+05:30

Years ago while helping my younger brother with his English assignment, I stumbled upon a story by Eric Arthur Blair, popularly known as George Orwell. After learning that the interesting fable was part of a larger piece of work, I read Animal Farm, and became a lifetime devotee of Orwell. I loved his allegorical depiction of Russia under Stalin, a perfect example of a great revolution going wrong. Surprisingly, he was born in Motihari, my home district town, approximately 170 Kms north of Patna, the capital of the Indian state of Bihar.

Motihari is a typical small north Indian town, relatively poor and devoid of basic infrastructure if compared to similar towns of more developed states like Punjab or Haryana but vibrant nonetheless. For a westerner or a visitor from metros like Delhi or Mumbai, it is a chaotic, mud-infested town, but for local people, including me, it is a city full of life and raw energy. In the evening just stroll along the Gandhi Chowk or travel towards Meena Bazar and you will find the road bursting to the seams with people. Shops are thronged. People would queue up outside the famous Jamuna Hotel to partake Tash-Chewra, the deep fried mutton and flattened rice. The town is also significant from historical and cultural points of view. Besides being Orwell's birthplace, it is also associated with Mahatma Gandhi. Gandhiji's first experiment of Satyagrah, a philosophy and practice of non-violent resistance, in India was at Motihari, and is known as Champaran Satyagrah. Interestingly, Orwell was also an admirer of Gandhi. The world's tallest Stupa of Buddhism is in Kesaria, 40 Kms from Motihari..............

To Read More...Please Click Here....

Amitava Kumar's new Book

2010-01-10T01:14:00.003+05:30

His 'Husband of a Fanatic' remains to be one of my favourite books. This is the cover of his new book, out in India in a few weeks. The US edition, which is a bit different in format and also longer, will be published by Duke University Press in some months. That book will be titled The Foreigner Carrying in the Crook of His Arm a Tiny Bomb.

GRAND MA'S VOICE

2009-10-06T22:21:00.000+05:30

The morning wakes up,
Stretching and yawning

The sun sneaks in to my room,
Caressing my face with its uncomfortably warm hands,
Disturbing my sleep,
Dragging me out of slumber

The gentle breeze pushes the heavy linen curtains
To get in to the room,
And ask me, patting gingerly on my back,
To open my eyes

Faraway the loudspeakers sing Bhajans
The birds on the trees in the backyard start the morning ragas

In my house, a velvet like voice rises,
Melodious like best of the ragas
The holy words from the holy book
Wrapped in my Grandma’s voice

It fills the ambience with tranquillity,
A strange kind of serenity
Pervades my soul
I enjoy the moments of bliss,
Keeping my eyes closed,
Body motionless

The aroma of Arhar dal pervades my room
As the cooker whistles in the kitchen
Again and again
I return to my senses.

The sound of loudspeakers
The twittering of birds
The gusts of wind
The warmth and glow of Sun
Everything is there

But no voice rises from the Grand ma’s room.

A PIECE OF MY WRITING IN BROOKLYN RAIL

2009-09-09T08:07:00.007+05:30

The Alchemy of Identities by Abdullah Khan

In 1996, a day after India’s fantastic win over Pakistan in the Cricket World Cup Quarterfinal, I was sitting in the offices of a leading English daily in Patna, the capital of the northern Indian state of Bihar. At that time, I used to be a freelance contributor to this national paper’s local edition. The paper’s features team and I were, of course, discussing cricket. Everybody was trying to guess which strategy the Indian team would adopt against a resurgent Sri Lankan team in the semi-finals. READ MORE
http://brooklynrail.org/2009/09/express/the-alchemy-of-identities

An excerpt from my novel appears in the Denmark based Literary Magazine ZAPAROGUE

2009-08-02T11:55:00.012+05:30

A TREE ACROSS THE ROAD

A Novel by Abdullah Khan

CHAPTER 1 : A LADY IN BLACK

The cooker whistled in the kitchen. The aroma of freshly cooked arhar dal pervaded Arif’s room.

“Wake up beta! Breakfast is ready.” His mother’s voice reached his ears. He turned over in bed to avoid the glare of the sun coming in through the half-open window. Drawing a golden, silky Bhagalpuri chadar from under the pillow, he covered himself with it and went back to sleep again.

Once again the cooker whistled. The sound of footsteps approaching his room woke him up suddenly.

“Must be Abba”, he thought, fearing his father’s wrath if he found him in bed at this hour. He got out of bed hurriedly holding the loosened upper end of his lungi. Standing there he arranged the lungi, wrapping it around his waist and then knotting it properly. He rubbed his eyes and looked towards the door.

It was his brother, Zakir. Relieved, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes half open and blurry. His feet were tentively touching the floor, feeling its cool indifference.

He stayed that way for a while.

Then he stood up, stretched and yawned.

His left hand moved swiftly to cover his wide-open, yawning mouth.

“Toba Astagfar! Toba Astagfar! Toba Astagfar!” He said. A smile widened his lips as his Dadi’s warning flashed in his mind, “Cover your mouth with your left hand and say Toba Astagfar thrice whenever you yawn. Otherwise, the shaitan will piss into your mouth.”

During his childhood, he had believed that the shaitan, the devil, was ever ready to piss into every yawning mouth that did not say Toba Astagfar and was not covered properly. So, whenever he yawned he did both. If sometimes he missed doing so he would spit non-stop, and then gargle till he was convinced that he had got rid of the last traces of the shaitan’s urine. He would sometimes use a solution of soap for gargling. He had never seen the shaitan but had believed in its formidable presence.

Even now, at twenty-three, he could not help saying Toba Astagfar whenever he yawned.

He looked around for today’s newspaper.

On the table near the window opening to the east, there were books and his notebooks but no newspaper. He even looked at the tangerine bookrack but all he saw was fat volumes of chemistry texts, novels, back issues of India Today and Sportstar, and a few more books. His eyes rested on Train to Pakistan, a novel by Khushwant Singh that was to be returned to Sinha Library latest by tomorrow, otherwise he would have to pay late fine.

“Zakir, where is today’s newspaper?” He asked his brother standing on the balcony. Zakir was tall, almost six feet, fair complexioned with athletic body, broad forehead, sharp nose, and narrow eyes. There is a mole of black pepper size on his left cheek. He looked like a refined and taller version of film star Govinda. Arif had walked till the door opening to the balcony. Zakir stopped brushing his teeth, spat out the foam and turned to reply ‘ Its there, Bhaiyya!’, Zakir pointed his fingers towards a bedside table.

The Saturday special pull out, Career and Competition Times, accidentally slipped out of his hands.

TO READ MORE CLICK HERE..............

What do you think of my piece of writing in Brooklyn rail?
	Excellent
	Good
	Its ok
	Poor

pollcode.com free polls