Anita Felliceli asks where are the stories about desi lives in America ? Why are so many stories still about the immigrant lives of parents in which the characters often go ‘back home’? What about the homes here?
I believe there are many authors writing these stories but that they are probably not getting published (my own experience). Publishers still want a single story, and are not willing to take too many chances.
Felliceli’s essay is a important read in an ongoing conversation.
“Early Indian American writers were mostly not writing about second-generation children of programmers, engineers and doctors, or about motel owners or taxi cab drivers or small business owners. They were writing about the upper echelon of educated first generation Indians in America. What links their books is nostalgia and love for India, their own wistful version of what India was.
But why are our lives here less interesting than the lives our parents left behind? The value of any story should be more in how it’s told than in its plot, so there isn’t any reason to think that the lives of Indian Americans should be intrinsically less interesting than the lives of Indians in India.”
read rest here
Munawar Shakeel: the cobbler poet of Punjab Pakistan.
“In the small suburban town of Rodala, located in Jaranwala, Faisalabad, there sits a cobbler in the main bazaar, Munawar Shakeel, who has been repairing the shoes of the villagers for three decades now.
But in recent years, his customers are less interested in getting their shoes repaired and more interested in listening to his verses on the sweet and bitter realities of life.
Munawar is a poet.
He is the author of five Punjabi poetry books, and with the poor and downtrodden as the subject of his poetry, he is considered a major voice of people living in suburban areas.”
read rest here
This article was written by Rizwan Safdar in Urdu and translated into English by Bilal Karim Mughal.
Note: If you wish to purchase Munawar Shakeel’s books, send an e-mail at
with your name, address, and phone number.
Jabeen Akhtar lists the 17 tropes that immigrant fiction need to stop writing about including an arranged marriage, a dead grandmother, a journey to the homeland to discover ‘oneself’ and fabrics “swirled, bellowed and dangled’ at regular intervals. While her piece is funny (and an excellent way to generate controversy which sometimes seems the only way for authors to get any attention in today’s increasingly difficult market for all books ), most writers write what they need to write instead of what an editor might certainly buy in which case we’d all be writing thrillers, mysteries and sci-fi. Akhtar seems to write about terrorism which in itself is becoming another over-done sub-genre and perhaps a cliche crisis in itself. But then what is one to write about: Use the tropes but give a fresh angle. Such as an article on why you must not use the tropes.
Binywayna got it. He wrote about what the publishing industry expectations rather than chastise authors for the choices they make. An author herself Akhtar surely knows that most writers take at least a year or two before producing a book and so choose a topic that interests them, Often the topic chooses them.
But do authors really use their ‘brown, otherness’ to get published? Is it fair to say an author stuck Shiva and Lakshmi in a novel, because you know, dem publishers sure do like their Hindu Gods.
I suppose all of us at some point or the other even, if just for a single moment, have felt the bite of jealousy, the teeth sinking into the thought of ‘well there goes that chance for me’. Writers of Color are often up against agents and editors who say ‘ we’ve already got an author from (fill in your South Asian, or other, country of choice), a book just like yours because there’s only one story that readers will be willing to read about this group, or can you set this novel in Iraq (or area of interest du jour). The following article is on jealousy when there are limited seats at the table (whether true or artificially sustained, I don’t know).
There’s an email waiting in my inbox from a friend. It has a simple one word title and an exclamation point. It reads: they’ve gotten a fellowship/are going on a writer’s retreat/are heading to a conference for rad activist folk! They’re excited, and there’s already a trail of ‘reply all’ responses saying “congratulations, you deserve it!” I half-smile, maybe even fire an email back, then navigate away. I’ll click through Facebook and see others have similar news – some putting the #humblebrag tactic to use and others open-faced. I finally stop scrolling and close my laptop to pick up my notebook. I feel the little tick in my brain, just a little one. It makes it harder to focus on my sentences. By then, I know it’s already too late. I tap my foot and clench my pen. The monster’s caught up with me. read rest here.
Yes the British brought English to the Subcontinent. That was a while back. English here to stay. And yet what does it mean to write our stories, our lives in English. What does it mean that for some of us English may be the only language we know while those of us with bi or multi lingual tongues choose to write in English. When a mother tells her daughter in Urdu ‘dimagh pigladeeyah’ and we need to transliterate this phrase into English and say ‘my brain is melting’, what is lost? Is anything gained? Is this just weird? Wrong?
The article and interview below probe the importance, or not, of English, the glass ceilings it can pose and how India is changing English.
How English Ruined Indian Literature by Aatish Taseer.
“English is not a language in India,” a friend once told me. “It is a class.” This friend, an aspiring Bollywood actor, knew firsthand
what it meant to be from the wrong class. Absurd as it must sound, he was frequently denied work in the Hindi film industry for not knowing English. “They want you to walk in the door speaking English. Then if you switch to Hindi, they like it. Otherwise they say, ‘the look doesn’t fit.’ ” My friend, who comes from a small town in the Hindi-speaking north, knew very well why his look didn’t fit.” read here
Balchandra Nemade interview in scroll.in by Devpriya Roy
“What is the metaphor you had used at the time that became so controversial – the footwear metaphor for English? Do you want to elaborate upon this?
It is a metaphor through which you can make these two different things – the different uses of language – meet. You walk through the gutters, the rain, dust and dirt – the world outside. You need different shoes for that purpose. When you enter your house though, you leave them outside. English is like that. You walk through the gutter by way of English, but don’t bring it to your kitchen.
When you are bilingual, each language must be assigned a function. When I go to a station or the airport, if I go to Assam or Bengal, I can’t carry Marathi with me. I will carry those shoes of English. But inside the house, where I don’t need those shoes, it must be Marathi. What is wrong with this?” read here
Happy New Year Jaggery Readers. What a wonderful year this has been for books. The end of books has long been predicted only to be unpredicted. The end of the year saw many Best of listicles: adult novels, YA and Middle grade, and non-fiction. And of course lots of essays and blog posts on reading, the state of reading, and why reading is the best think in the world year in and year out.
“Calcutta, my once and always city of books.”
Arunava Sinha takes the reader on a lovely journey through Calcutta, books and memory.
At the shop, the kindly, bespectacled, salesman pulls out picture books, ignoring my uncle’s instructions to produce fiction suitable for ten-year-olds. I’m eyeing the shiny new volumes of Elinor M. Brent Dyer’s Chalet School novels, the world’s most marvellous school because it doesn’t even stay in the same place, moving around Europe from one year to the next. When the man behind the counter thrusts his choice beneath my nose, I look upwards at him and say, “Show me the books that my uncle asked you for.” My personal history of Calcutta is a history of books. Browsing, buying, being. And, therefore, of bookshops. Calcutta, to me, is its bookshops. These are my memories as I time-travel through this Calcutta. I remember nothing but books and bookshops. read rest here
“Girls from Good Families Do Not Write Such Stories”
Yours truly wrote an essay about being South Asian and writing about sexuality and overcoming, or not, societal and self-censorship.
I don’t know how or from where Iqbal’s books were acquired, but it was on those haphazardly stocked shelves that I discovered Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying, Sandra Harris’ The Nice Girl’s Handbook, and Helen Gurley Brown’s Sex and the Single Girl. As I flipped through Sex and the Single Girl, I tried to ignore Iqbal’s genie’s glare, but the deeper his frown grew, the greater grew my fright that my mother would walk in and the genie would get me into trouble. When my mother did pop in to say it was time to leave, I hastily replaced the book and scuttled out without daring to look back.
read rest here
And in shop talk, Karen Karbo talks about the differences in success in ‘The World of Publishing: 1991 versus 2014′
…in 1991, the main job of a writer was to just write the next one. Publicity-wise, you were expected to be able to show up to a reading (arranged by your more charming publicist) and read from your own work in a manner that didn’t put people to sleep. You were expected to be socially awkward,possibly unkempt, and a little wild-eyed — bonus points awarded for not being falling down drunk.You were expected to be socially awkward, possibly unkempt, and a little wild-eyed — bonus points awarded for not being falling down drunk. After your book tour, whether large or small, you were expected to disappear into your scribe-cave. read rest here
Sharbari Zohra Ahmed in The Daily Star
Michael was black and Darren Wilson is white, a baby faced cop, not much older probably than the person he killed. Wilson was questioned about his actions on that August day and made himself out to be the victim, even though he was the only one armed. He insisted he was the one in imminent danger at all times. He described Michael as a “demon”. He shot him six times and then left the body on the street for hours. There is a picture of Wilson standing over Michael’s dead body, looking down at him. Wilson has said in his official statement that he never stood over the body. The authorities have yet to ask him about the picture, or if they have, they have ascertained that this lie is not a big one. That this lie does not indicate that Officer Wilson is capable of telling other lies or spinning a yarn that places the blame squarely on Michael’s shoulders. Which is what he has appeared to have done, convincing a jury of his peers, nine white, three black (and all you need is nine jurors to make a final decision), that he should not be indicted. read rest here
Sonora Jha in The Seattle Times
WATCHING the nonstop coverage of Ferguson, Mo., after the news of a grand jury’s decision not to indict police officer Darren Wilson for the shooting of Michael Brown — and now a Staten Island grand jury’s non-indictment in the chokehold of Eric Garner — I couldn’t help thinking one thing over and over again. If even half as many black people were featured as commentators and experts on television the rest of the year the way they were being asked to comment on the riots last month, we might not have killings of people like Brown and Garner in the first place. read rest here
Jaya Sunderesh in The Aerogram
Though our struggles aren’t the same, we, as South Asian Americans, have every reason Though our struggles aren’t the same, we, as South Asian Americans, have every reason to support the African-American community at this time.to support the African-American community at this time. We must work towards change, so that no black person ever again faces the experience of Michael Brown, gunned down by the police with their hands up, begging for their lives. This involves a commitment, by progressive South Asian Americans, to work towards change in our own communities so that we do not inadvertently work to reinforce antiblack racism in this country, which is at the root of the police brutality which murdered Michael Brown. read rest here
The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective is the brain child of Shikha Malaviya, Minal Hajratwala, and Ellen Kombiyil, three poets who met in Bangalore, India, in 2013, and decided to found a mentorship model collective literary press. The Collective aims to publish new & emerging Indian poets, on the basis of manuscript merit, mentor them through the publishing process from A to Z, and then train them to eventually become mentors themselves. In addition to publishing books, The Collective also gives poetry workshops, organizes readings, develops poetry curriculums rooted in Indian poetic traditions & much more. They’re all about widening the dialogue on Indian poetry and bringing it out into the open.
So far the collective has published two titles, Geography of Tongues (December 2013/January 2014) & Bountiful Instructions for Enlightenment (November 2014). They hope to publish three more books in the coming year & will be releasing inPoetry, a poetry app which will bring Indian poems in English to readers through their mobile phones, as well as designing an online poetry workshop.
In order to realize their goals, The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective is now running an Indiegogo campaign. While India has influenced the world in music, film, fashion, philosophy, and countless other ways, her poets have not yet had the international platform they deserve. The Collective hopes to remedy this oversight and, through the power of social entrepreneurship and community, allow the verse of Indian poets to shine everywhere. Please consider being a patron of poetry & donating.
To learn more, visit:
Many literary conferences and festivals are so large that, by the time you get your bearings, it is time to go. Not so at Desilit’s Kriti Festival: The Midwest’s South Asian Literary Festival which was large enough to offer a bounty of panels and books and yet small enough to be accessible to all attendees. From the opening readings to guest of honor Manil’s Suri’s unforgettable presentation on his most recent novel ‘The City of Devi’, to a dizzying array of panel topics, Kriti Festival 2014 was one of those magical times where everyone was having such a great time– discussing books, attending panels and readings, making new friends, connecting with old ones– that going home was so sad an event many panelists coined a new term for it: ‘Kriti Withdrawal’. I was on six panels including ‘Memoir & Essay: Telling True Stories’ (with Lopa Banerjee, Fawzia Mirza, Preston Merchant), Selling Your First Book (with Dipika Mukherjee, Sonali Dev, Nayomi Munaweera), the delightful romp that was ‘Sex and the Word’ (with Mary Anne Mohanraj, Rajdeep Paulus, Mina Khan and Sonali Dev) and I moderated the much more somber panel ‘Trauma and Memory in South Asian Literature’ (with Mary Anne Mohanraj and Nayomi Munaweera) in which we discussed novels about Sri Lanka’s civil war, the Kashmir conflict, and the Sikh Golden Temple Massacre and more. I can still remember the days many many years ago when book shelves carried, if they would at all, Bharati Mukherjee, then Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, and then Manil Suri, and so, to now be amongst so much South Asian talent be it poets, playwrights, novelists, filmmakers, short stories writers, photographers, comedians and to see so much of their work and so many books being published and readily available is to arrive at a particularly wonderful station on this journey of South Asian American Literature. I returned home with a suitcase overflowing with memories and books and the knowledge that I belong to a lovely and warmhearted community of fellow writers, and that not only is Manil Suri a terrific storyteller but that he also possesses a wicked awesome sense of humor. Thank you Mary Anne Mohanraj and Neha Kumar for organizing Kriti and to all the sponsors. May you have many more. Kriti Withdrawal. It’s real. Because for many many many of us Kriti was coming home.
Brown Girl compiles a list of Top Ten Quotes heard at Kriti
The Aerogram write up on Kriti Festival 2014.
Saris and Stories write up on KF 2014.
An interview with Abdullah Hussein, author of the classic Urdu novel ‘Udaas Naslein’ (Weary Generations) which spans the British Colonial times to Partition. Hussein is now in his eighties and has some very interesting ideas and firm beliefs.
“A sharif admi cannot become a real writer. Philandering is one of the virtues of great minds, not because it is a virtue in itself but in the sense that it breaks taboos and to be a good writer you need to break social taboos. To create is to negate the existing order.”
read rest here
As the Kriti Festival in Chigaco nears no doubt all the artists and authors attending are thrilled to have this venue to share their work and thoughts through readings and panels. In many such Festivals panelists etc… are usually paid airfare and lodging and the Super Stars (hierarchy, yes, there is) are also paid for their time. V.S. Naipaul recently asked the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival to pay him more than they could afford, so he was dropped from the roster. I don’t know who wins in this scenario because everyone seems to lose: the festival, the author, and the festival goers.
“The late cancellation of Nobel laureate V.S. Naipaul from next month’s Ubud Writers and Readers Festival has exposed the fierce competition and delicate negotiations behind the flourishing international festival scene. Since Janet DeNeefe founded the festival 11 years ago as a healing response to the Bali bombings, the Australian-born restaurateur and writer has built a successful annual event that attracts almost 26,000 visitors to enjoy talks, performances and food amid Ubud’s hillside rice paddies, art galleries, temples and resorts.” read rest here
In Indian Voices of the Great War, British historian David Omissi collected letters written during WWI by Indian soldiers. One soldier asks for charas, another for ladies shoes, and yet another for a flute not because he needs it but because he has ‘great longing for a flute to play’. The reader can only imagine his request for a musical intrument, for music, and what that means to him amidst trench warfare. One soldier writes about his four year abcense and so allowing his wife to remarry according to vedic rites for the dignity of the family, another writes about the real reason he wants the ladies shoes which is not because he is having an affair, and yet another sends home a picture of an American female aviator so Indian women can see what they can aspire to.
Balwant Singh (Sikh) to Pandit Chet Ram (Amritsar, Punjab)
24th October 1915
The ladies are very nice and bestow their favours upon us freely. But contrary to the custom in our country they do not put their legs over the shoulders when they go with a man. [Deleted]
read letter excerpts in Caravan: A Journal of Politics and Culture