Translated poems by Amitabh

I have translated a few more poems by the Hindi poet Amitabh. Some of them are from his first collection, Samastipur aur anya kavitayein. Three of them ('Living is What They’re Thinking About', 'The Metro-dwellers', and 'Story') have been published online in Antonym. Another two ('Sajda Khatun, A Witch? Oh, No' and 'The Life of a Grave') will appear in the print version of the journal. Link to the website here: 

https://www.theantonymmag.com/three-poems-by-amitabh-bachchan/

Missing Weather

 This poem appeared in issue 113 of Acumen literary magazine in 2025. 

A video review for The Comeback

 A video review by Sayari for The Comeback on Scroll's video channel: 

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/cqC3o4_sY-A

A new review for The Comeback

Veda Pahurkar writes about The Comeback in the Asian Age:

'What begins as a story of friendship slowly reveals deeper layers of rivalry, regret and the lingering weight of past decisions. Zaidi approaches the narrative with subtlety rather than spectacle. The drama here is not loud or exaggerated; instead, it lies in the emotional spaces between the characters. Through carefully drawn scenes and internal reflections, the novel captures the quiet turbulence that accompanies ambition, the desire to succeed, the fear of being forgotten, and the pride that sometimes blinds people to the consequences of their actions.'

Link: https://www.pressreader.com/india/the-asian-age/20260325/282321096536708?srsltid=AfmBOooKOmqcpULZEatcn_u3CkUHJDQa6Y6OGwZrQ9NfSqtsABVj7eDW

An interview from The Quarantine Tapes

I had forgotten to post this when it first appeared but during the pandemic, in 2021, I did this wide-ranging conversation with Naveen Kishore for The Quarantine Tapes. One of the things we talked about was call-out cutlure and here is a brief extract from the interview:

The thing with calling-out culture is that it does not affect people who are, in any case, not wanting to respond to your critiques. For example, if you critique a patriarchal film, the makers of the patriarchal film are unlikely to be affected because they know why they’ve made it. If you critique a person for their transphobia, for instance, if they are genuinely transphobic, the chances of your critique influencing them in some way are very small. Not that anybody is not influenced or affected by other people, but the chances are small. The people who are most likely to be affected are people who do, in some sense, remain receptive to critics, want to change as much as you do in society.
So I think sometimes the way in which debates and criticism is framed is often quite hostile. And I find that when I frame my critiques, I like to just think a little bit about what is the nature of my critique and what is the other person actually like, or what impression do I have of the other person? Is this person essentially hostile to me?

I think that when we, especially in an anonymous framework, especially on the internet—and because we consume so much internet news, views, opinions—I have begun to feel a little bit like that it does have some kind of freezing impact on authentically open debate and critiques. So that is one part of my fear for sure.

Apart from that, of course, there are all other kinds. If you are in a highly patriarchal environment, as I am—in fact, India is quite a patriarchal country—there are other fears around that, too. I really do have to gather up my courage to say things, because it’s not just about how a fringe group might react. It is actually about how your neighbors will react, how your relatives might react, how your colleagues might react, whether your opinions will make them respect you less. All these things.


You can listen to the whole interview here: 

https://lithub.com/annie-zaidi-on-the-fears-of-writing-inside-a-patriarchal-and-call-out-culture/ 

Essay: Because we live in this world and no other

When was the last time you read a story that well and truly blew your mind?

I suppose, in order to answer that question, you’d have to first consider what it means to have your mind blown? To me, it means coming upon a story that makes me reconsider the very foundations of society, and which challenges my assumptions about what it means to be human.

Because we live in a human body, and because we can see it, smell it, inhabit it and drink of it, we imagine that we know it. We certainly fall into the trap of thinking that we know what human culture is (or what it ought to be) because that’s how we already live, and we’d like to keep it this way. At most, we might need to stretch the frontiers of what we can achieve, how far we can travel, and the limitations of our bodies. That’s the kind of science, and also the kind of fantasy, we like to conjure up. But every once in a while, along comes a story that shakes our self-assurance, and forces us to reconsider humanity...

Read the full essay in Outlook magazine: https://www.outlookindia.com/books/because-we-live-in-this-world-and-no-other

Essay: White sheets and white lies

Imagine then, my perplexity when I found myself trudging from hotel to hotel, baggage in tow, and my friend refusing to check in anywhere. The rooms looked fine to me, the hotels reasonably secure. What could be the matter? At the third hotel, my friend finally explained: she refused to stay at any hotel that didn’t have white sheets.

White bed linen. White towels. White robes. Code for luxury. All five-star hotels have them, and most four-star and three-starred hotels too, since they model themselves on the five-starred ones. But oh! The quiet boredom of five-star décor! Over the years, I have also written a few stories for travel magazines, which involved staying at five-star hotels with the implicit understanding between the editors and the hotels (who were also advertisers for the magazines) that the article should subtly nudge the reader towards the joys that were on offer. For a writer like me, this is a hard ask. Part of the problem is that I don’t like to do as I’m told, but even when I am willing, there’s the additional problem of not having much to write about. Every fancy hotel is more or less like another fancy hotel. They celebrate this monotony by putting out advertising jargon that describes the experience of staying at such hotels as ‘home’.

Now, my home is nothing like a fancy hotel. For starters, my sheets aren’t white...

Read the full essay in Frontline: https://frontline.thehindu.com/other/travel/luxury-hotels-white-sheets-class-illusion/article70486103.ece

New year, and a new book review

'Annie Zaidi’s The Comeback is about one man’s journey from self-absorption to consideration for others staged as an ode to theatre as an artform. It asks important questions of popularity, selfishness, stoicism and leadership, about life on social media, and about working in cinema, TV and OTT — all of which represent contemporary India. Also thrown in is a bit of the magic of small towns and possible models for theatre to thrive there.'

             - Akankshya Abismruta in the Hindustan Times

Link: HT review of The Comeback

Surma eyes and how we're taught to see

Extract from a new essay on representation of Muslims (Muslim men in particular) in Hindi movies:

 
In and of itself, the Muslim-as-terrorist trope would be less damaging were it not for a quiet lie surrounding these narratives. The lie is that only Muslims are responsible for terrorism, that Muslim trauma is dangerous only because it leads to radicalisation. In real life, this falsehood is generated by politicians who have a monopoly over the terror discourse: who experiences it, who gets tainted by it, who gets off scot-free?...

In a country like India, complexity of representation is a big ask at the best of times. Most communities have been stereotyped in Hindi movies, including people from Hindi-speaking regions – the paanwala, the gun-toting gangster, the dacoit, the princeling or nawab, the jolly Sikh, and so on. In fact, most communities have not been represented at all. There are over 3,000 castes, more than 700 tribes, and each religion also has distinct sects, each with their own culture. A Bohra Muslim woman, for instances, looks nothing like an Ismaili, and a Kashmiri Muslim is different even from a Ladakhi Muslim. Their problems, like those of any film protagonist, are simultaneously unique and universal, and they deserve to be treated as such, for we cannot separate the invisibilisation of a community from their sociopolitical marginalisation.

Read the full essay in Frontline magazine: 

https://frontline.thehindu.com/arts-and-culture/cinema/bollywood-muslims-terror-tropes-islamophobia-cinema/article70432997.ece

A prize for short fiction

One of the good things that happened over the last year: my short story, ‘Zinnias in the Graveyard’, won third prize (shared with Brecht De Poortere) at the Hudson Review Short Story competition 2024-25. It took a while but the story has finally been published in the Summer 2025 issue of the Hudson Review. Here's a brief excerpt: 


The last gardener Shafiqa had hired asked for three months’ advance on his pay and disappeared. Just as well. He didn’t do much without supervision, and her every waking minute was consumed by a sick man who could barely chew or swallow without gagging. Mashing his rice and daal, putting fruit and spinach into the blender. A whole hour would pass between bringing a tray to his bed and coaxing a few spoonfuls of goop into his mouth. Scolding him for not sitting up, yanking at his wrist, prodding with increasing degrees of impatience until he uttered a soft oath and allowed her to shovel the spoon into his mouth.

She had scolded him with every spoonful. Eat! Eat! Eat a bit more, for God’s sake! Will you kill me with trying to keep you alive?

She hadn’t been able to keep him, of course. Five months of turning him this side and that side and, yet, bedsores all over his back. Between the feeding, there was the cleaning, the bandaging, the laundry. Wiping the corners of his mouth. Shaving his chin. She barely had time to bathe herself. At the end of the day, she would simply lie prostrate beside him and whisper her prayers, underlining each Arabic phrase with just one thought: Let him stay alive.

He slipped away, complaining about the lack of salt in his porridge. By the time she returned from the kitchen with the salt shaker, he was gone.

He could have asked for a bit of sugar instead, she thought later. He hadn’t tasted sugar in years. She often left out a bowl of temptation, disappearing into the garden for a bit so he could sneak a spoonful. If he asked, she was duty bound to refuse. No, the doctor said, no. Sugar is poison for you. Still, she would leave a bowl of kheer to cool on the dining table. One spoon wouldn’t kill him, but he never touched it. She always knew when her kids stole a few spoons of kheer or halwa. She’d know if the surface of the dessert bowl had been disturbed, no matter that they made clumsy attempts to level it flat again. But her husband?

He had wanted to live. But five months ago, he had begun to murmur in the dark. Enough. Enough. Enough what? she wondered. Pain? Being turned, his sores suppurating, smelling his own shit? He never said anything more than that word, enough...


You can read the fully story here:

https://hudsonreview.com/2025/08/zinnias-in-the-graveyard/

Interview in Helter Skelter magazine

From an interview in Helter Skelter magazine:

The first thing that struck me when reading The Comeback is that it feels like it takes place at a distance from where the quote unquote “action” is. I found that such an interesting choice, where we’re hearing about things from a distance, and we’re not on the stage itself. What made you want to set it at that distance? 

That’s interesting you pick up on that. It was not done consciously, but I think one of the reasons I wrote the book at all was that I felt like I was at a distance from everything. I was missing theatre. I wasn’t writing theatre anymore, I wasn’t even watching too much professional theatre. It came out of my own sense of feeling like I was missing out on something and wanting to be at the centre of things, but at the same time, being in a smaller place and recognising that being at the centre of things doesn’t necessarily mean being in a big city. Sometimes you can be in a big city and still have serious F.O.M.O. because all the cool things are happening somewhere else, you know? 

Also, a little bit consciously, I was thinking about our commitments to big cities in the arts. I think it’s unconscious and we can’t always control it, because we go where the money is, and we go where the big industries are. Writers tend to congregate around places where the publishing hub is, [actors] to where the film scene is. But at the same time, I think that we also are then controlled by the big scene. It’s a trade-off, and we trade our own sensibility. The other possibility that is traded in is of actually having control over what you want to do, setting up your own thing in your own social context. So I think it comes a little bit from there, the sense of wanting and not wanting to be in the thick of things.

Link to the full interview: https://helterskelter.in/2025/03/interview-annie-zaidi-the-comeback/

Reviews for The Comeback

'Annie Zaidi’s new novel, The Comeback, is a delightful journey into the heart of Indian theatre, with a focus on small-town India...' 
- Jahnavi Acharekar in Frontline magazine

Link to review: https://frontline.thehindu.com/books/theatre-life-review-the-comeback-annie-zaidi/article69385271.ece


'... economical and absorbing. It contains more than a few touches of broad irony, especially when it comes to the business of art and the way eastern and western dramatic traditions are appropriated by the cognoscenti.'
- Sanjay Sipahimalani in The Hindu

Link to review: https://www.thehindu.com/books/book-review-the-comeback-author-annie-zaidi-theatre-films-friendship-betrayal-drama/article69412332.ece


'Through the story of a somewhat successful actor, Zaidi imagines how corrupting any kind of adulation can be. If being ruthless in the guise of ambition is bad, then being conceited as a natural result of one’s success is even worse.'
- Sayari Debnath in Scroll.in

Link: https://scroll.in/article/1080920/the-comeback-annie-zaidis-short-and-sweet-novel-about-second-chances

'Zaidi gently unfurls several interlocked questions about art, friendship, and the perpetually ugly business of making a living. Is "true" or "honest" art necessarily decoupled from the needs of the marketplace? Is the converse true, then, especially in a vastly inequitable country like India? What does "performance" even mean for someone pathologically incapable of being honest with themselves and their closest friends?... This is an accomplished, compulsively readable short novel that may force you to take a good look at your own dormant friendships.'
- Aditya Mani Jha in the Mint

Link to review: https://www.livemint.com/mint-lounge/art-and-culture/book-review-annie-zaidi-the-comeback-friendship-stagecraft-11740722742207.html


'The book grapples a lot with the worlds of theatre, cinema, and television; and through this, triggers contemplation on an interesting hierarchy that's right in front of us but never paid heed to - that of the politics of where a play should be performed.'
- Garima Sadhwani in the Financial Express

Link to review: https://www.financialexpress.com/life/lifestyle/the-comeback-by-annie-zaidi-review-returning-to-your-roots/3778064/

'At its core, The Comeback is a meditation on lost dreams, fractured relationships, and the possibility of redemption. With a narrative that is both intimate and expansive, Zaidi masterfully captures the emotional turmoil of betrayal, the quiet resilience of those left behind, and the unexpected ways in which life circles back.'

- Anjali Chauhan in the Deccan Herald

Link to review: https://www.deccanherald.com/features/books/meditation-on-broken-bonds-and-lost-dreams-3456598

'The author’s own training in theatre is evident in how the novel is structured. She sketches the backdrop with an enviable economy of words, then allows the characters to take over. The dialogue is crisp, the characters (including the supporting characters) are well-developed, and the plot moves forward at just the right pace.
- Natasha Ramarathnam in Youth ki Awaaz

Link: https://www.youthkiawaaz.com/2025/02/a-story-of-friendship-and-betrayal-set-in-the-theatre-world/ 

'Novelist and playwright Annie Zaidi turns to this trope in her latest, The Comeback, and sets the novel in a milieu that she knows intimately — the world of the theatre. The result is a slim novel that is part parable and part a fairy tale.'

- Shuma Raha in The Asian Age

Link to review: https://www.asianage.com/books/book-review-can-theatre-reunite-offer-redemption-1876623

'What follows, thereafter, is a tale of soured friendships, bruised egos, fluctuating fortunes, starting from scratch, and, of course, drama in every which way. An award-winning dramatist, Zaidi has seen the world of theatre, up-close and up-front, and is clearly partial to it. Her descriptions of rehearsals, the shoe-string budgets, the uncompromising determination to stage quality stuff, make for inspiring reading.

This is a book that many from the world of grease-paint and arc lights will identify with. Others will enjoy a story, well-told.'

- Alpana Chowdhury in The Free Press Journal

Link to review: https://www.freepressjournal.in/lifestyle/book-review-the-comeback-by-annie-zaidi-a-captivating-story-of-ambition-friendship-and-betrayal

'Asghar’s journey, from brokenness to renewal, is rendered with a sensitivity that avoids clichés, making his evolution not just compelling but deeply affecting. His rediscovery of theatre serves as both an artistic and personal revival, showcasing his resilience. The supporting characters—family, friends, and the theatre troupe—enrich the narrative...'

- Namrata in Kitaab

Link to review: https://kitaab.org/2025/03/27/book-review-the-comeback-a-novel-by-annie-zaidi/

'The novel begins on a note of restlessness where the writer deliberately carves a distinct image of John K. and Asghar based on class. It cannot be denied that art, especially in the present time, is heavily tilted towards capitalism and becoming either politically distant or neutral. At the same time, with accessibility, most artists have grown susceptible to policing and fear losing what they possess. In the novel, John K. says something that lands his friend, Asghar in trouble. Zaidi captures the anger of the latter but keeps ‘care’ in the forefront.'

- Kabir Deb in Outlook

Link to review: https://www.outlookindia.com/books/all-the-world-is-a-stage

'The Comeback tells us that relationships can be old and strong, yet, fragile.. It deftly delves into the anxieties of people in the contemporary world and the issues that crop up with fame along with personal egos and social status.'

- Newsbits.in

Link to review: https://newsbits.in/the-comeback-annie-zaidis-novel-on-friendship-and-a-strange-betrayal-charms-the-readers#google_vignette

'Though slim, The Comeback travels a full circle in a consistently engaging story that reads like it could be a lively movie (or a series?). Held up against Zaidi's other books, including the acclaimed Prelude to a Riot and her memoir Bread, Cement, Cactus, The Comeback can seem lightweight, but it is warm and large-hearted.'

- Neha Bhatt in India Today

Link: https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/books-by-annie-zaidi-of-ties-that-bind/ar-AA1GcIIf

'Zaidi approaches the narrative with subtlety rather than spectacle. The drama here is not loud or exaggerated; instead, it lies in the emotional spaces between the characters. Through carefully drawn scenes and internal reflections, the novel captures the quiet turbulence that accompanies ambition, the desire to succeed, the fear of being forgotten, and the pride that sometimes blinds people to the consequences of their actions.'

- Veda Pahurkar in the Asian Age (Mar 25th, 2026):

Link: https://www.pressreader.com/india/the-asian-age/20260325/282321096536708?srsltid=AfmBOooKOmqcpULZEatcn_u3CkUHJDQa6Y6OGwZrQ9NfSqtsABVj7eDW

A first review for The Comeback in Youth ki Awaaz:

 A first review for The Comeback in Youth ki Awaaz: 

'The entire novel is built on the perceived hierarchy of the performing arts, and the author subtly makes a point about how many of the attempts at decolonisation end up magnifying the same systems they were supposed to overthrow. Through Asghar’s stubborn decision to insist on centring his theatre in his hometown, Baansa, the author pays homage to the theatre, which could flourish in smaller towns but is subsumed in an attempt to reach a wider audience. At least in this novel, Asghar is able to resist the temptation to do so!

The blurb promises that The Comeback “is a story of the price of betrayal, friendship and forgiveness, second chances, and the transformative power of art,” and the book certainly lives up to that promise. In this book, Annie Zaidi demonstrates yet again why she is considered one of the finest Indian novelists writing in English today.'

Link: https://www.youthkiawaaz.com/2025/02/a-story-of-friendship-and-betrayal-set-in-the-theatre-world/

An extract from my newest novel

An extract from the first chapter of my newest novel, The Comeback. Read, and if you find yourself enjoying it, do pick up a copy.

There were five missed calls. By the time I got around to calling Asghar back, it was past midnight but he wouldn’t mind, I was certain. We often talked into the wee hours even on weekdays. He never said a word about having to be up at six in the morning and dropping the kids off at school at a quarter to eight. My own brother might say something like, some of us have real jobs, you know? Not Asghar.

I used to get drunk a few times a year and call him, raving and ranting about how I was passed over yet again, the injustice of it, and how I was sick of everyone, mostly myself. Asghar would get me through the night and into the pale dawn of a new day. Me pouring myself cheap gins, him rooting about in the fridge for a midnight snack. He didn’t get fat, no matter how many kebabs and cream rolls he ate, and his eyes never failed to crinkle when I called him a good-looking bastard with his head of curls, hazel eyes, and lanky frame. If he spent any time at all in the gym, he’d have the kind of torso that sells business suits. He could sing and I bet he could dance, too, if he took lessons. I, on the other hand, with my short legs, big nose, and square jaw, would never turn any heads. Yet, I had ended up the actor and Asghar, the bank manager.
It could so easily have been the other way around. Asghar had a better grip on literature and stagecraft. I had a better head for math. But then, I cleared high school with less than 80 per cent marks and all hopes of getting into engineering college died. Not that I especially minded. I didn’t particularly want to be an engineer, or, for that matter, a banker. Because my own father was a banker, I had signed up for a Bachelor’s in commerce but my first week on campus, I ran into Asghar and I never attended a lecture again. Asghar and his group of friends had founded an undergraduate theatre club in Baansa and I had started acting only because he picked me to play the lead in the club’s first production. That’s all I had been trying to say in the Buzz interview that set off a storm and blew all our boats off course.

For over fifteen years, I had hung about on the fringes of Bollywood. While I waited for my big break, I did whatever jobs came to hand. Plays, theatre lighting, bit parts on television, radio jingles, audiobooks. Fifteen long years of auditioning for meaty roles but, zilch. Then a film producer happened to listen to a Hindi novel that I had narrated. He didn’t just buy the adaptation rights, he insisted I play the narrator’s role in the film. This character was supposed to be an unattractive guy, fortyish, and with a mean streak, and the producer thought that I looked and sounded the part. The film was shot on a low budget. I was paid peanuts but the day I was invited to see the rough cut, I knew, from now on, things were going to be different for me. And they were.

The week the film released in theatres, Buzz called about doing a profile. Now, a profile is already different from merely being interviewed. First, the magazine sent a photographer who shot my face with some love, bringing light to its creases, gouging the hollows under my eyes even deeper. There I sat, holding a book under a lamp, cast into shadows that made me look like a man of obscure and dangerous origins. There I was again, leaning against a balcony railing in a rumpled night suit. Unwashed, unbrushed, almost sexy.

Then a journalist came over to interview me. She insisted on visiting me at home because, she said, she was looking for texture. So I made her a cup of tea and talked about growing up in a small town called Baansa, north of Lucknow but south of Bareilly. How I’d cut classes to meet girls, how swirls of dust rose up in the first week of June and how they filled your nostrils and throat until you felt as if you’d choke to death, and how December brought a sort of rolling fog that blinded you and made you jump at the sound of footsteps so that you started to believe in ghosts. That sort of thing.

This chapter was published here: https://scroll.in/article/1078778/by-annie-zaidi-devastated-by-betrayal-asghar-retreats-to-his-hometown-and-rediscovers-theatre

Kedarnath Singh's 'Mukti'

Making an attempt to translate one of my favourite Hindi poets, Kedarnath Singh's 'Mukti'.


When I found no other path to liberation
I have sat down to write

I want to write 'tree'
Though I know that to write is to become tree
I want to write 'water'

'Man' 'Man' - I want to write
A child's hand
A woman's face
With all my strength
I want to hurl words at man
Though I know nothing will come of it
On a bustling street, I want to hear the explosion
Of word colliding with man

Though I know nothing comes of writing
I want to write.

-

Original poem in Hindi


मुक्ति का जब कोई रास्ता नहीं मिला
मैं लिखने बैठ गया हूँ

मैं लिखना चाहता हूँ 'पेड़'
यह जानते हुए कि लिखना पेड़ हो जाना है
मैं लिखना चाहता हूँ 'पानी'

'आदमी' 'आदमी' - मैं लिखना चाहता हूँ
एक बच्चे का हाथ
एक स्त्री का चेहरा
मैं पूरी ताकत के साथ
शब्दों को फेंकना चाहता हूँ आदमी की तरफ
यह जानते हुए कि आदमी का कुछ नहीं होगा
मैं भरी सड़क पर सुनना चाहता हूँ वह धमाका
जो शब्द और आदमी की टक्कर से पैदा होता है

यह जानते हुए कि लिखने से कुछ नहीं होगा
मैं लिखना चाहता हूँ।

- Kedarnath Singh

[Translation: Annie Zaidi]

MA as fantasy

Julia Kristeva has written of consecrated motherhood as a fantasy of lost territory that is nurtured by all adults. In the religious sphere, we see it in the form of a Mother Goddess or as Mother Mary, while in culture, we see it as the ordinary-seeming Ma who holds her son’s heart in her fist. In politics too, it emerges as the motherland, although politicians also tap into the power of consecrated motherhood when they bring their flesh-and-blood mothers into political discourse. We saw this most recently when Kamala Harris described her mother as an immigrant in the US – “a brown woman with an accent” who was tough, courageous, and yet, never lost her cool.

What Harris doesn’t quite say is that her mother, being human, is fallible. Instead, she sticks with the fantasy Ma – an unfailing, temperate presence who compensates for other lacking, including an absent or distant father...

Interestingly, the Hindi screen Ma looms larger if she is widowed, divorced or has been abandoned by the father. In this form, she is nearer to the primal Mother – the unrivalled creator and provider whose primacy cannot be challenged. In this way, she becomes an article of faith rather than a flesh and blood woman. The tricky part, of course, is that articles of faith never have any longings of their own. In Of Woman Born: Motherhood as Experience and Institution, Adrienne Rich writes that it is only as mothers that women’s bodies are seen as “beneficent, sacred, pure, asexual, nourishing”. In order to be deemed worthy, a woman must be seen as maternal, or at least potentially maternal, and these ideas still play out in public discourse.

Read the full article here: https://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/kamala-harris-salim-javed-mother-9539227/

Of love as fodder for fiction and a self-concious formal experiment

Is a novel a beautiful thing? What of a novel that is presented as an “outline” for the first draft of a novel that the narrator intends to write? Should the reader approach it as a finished aesthetic product or should it be taken for what it claims to be: a loose skein of ideas and character notes? Rahman Abbas’ On the Other Side is a tricky novel to read partly because it poses these questions even as it sidesteps genre conventions through the device of a narrator who claims to be working on a “bulky novel” based on the diaries of his deceased protagonist, the novelist-teacher Abdus-Salam.

Abdus-Salam is not necessarily a likeable or an admirable character, and the unnamed narrator does not tell us why he (or she) cares about him or his legacy. In many respects, Abdus-Salam is a fairly ordinary man. He chews a spiced-up tobacco mix and teaches at a suburban school while harbouring creative ambitions. While he has complex and conflicting thoughts about religion, in this, too, he is not very different from most people. He veers between opting in occasionally (going to the mosque once in a while, if only out of long-standing habit), to claiming that “God is everyone’s shield”, to doubting god privately even as he fears divine retribution in moments of crisis, such as illness. His amorous adventures, however, do make him an exceptional protagonist, if only because of how long the list of his paramours is, and how he uses them as fodder for fiction.

Read the full review in Frontline magazine: https://frontline.thehindu.com/books/rahman-abbas-on-the-other-side-indian-translated-fiction-experimental-writing-review/article68553415.ece

Against the Death of Dream (in Wasafiri, 40th anniversary issue, Autumn 2024)

I've written my first essay for the lastest issue of Wasafiri, themed Futurisms. Here's a very short extract from my essay, Against the Death of Dream: 

One of the most dangerous things, Pash warned, is the clock that moves on your wrist but not in your eyes. For years I wondered at this image of a stopped clock in the reader’s eye, and the way the poet juxtaposes frozen time against water frozen inside eyes. (Sabse khatarnaak vo aankh hoti hai/jo sab dekhti hui bhi jami barf hoti hai). If to dream is to have a vision for the future, then the death of dream is to accept that the present moment is all of time, and that we must lose all hope for a safer, more loving, more leisurely time. Read in this light, I would argue that the danger is not restricted only to the loss of hopeful dreams; it is just as dangerous to lose our nightmares.

In Radical Hope, philosopher-psychoanalyst Jonathan Lear writes that anxiety can be a realistic response to the world, which suggests that anxiety-induced dreams serve to alert us to individual and collective threats. If we know how to ‘read’ our nightmares, we may find that they serve as timely warnings. In my own experience, I find nightmares to be a useful aid in reconnecting with my instinctive ‘self’. Last year, I had woken up from a miserable dream...

Please read the rest of the essay in the lastest issue of Wasafiri (119, 40th anniversary issue, Autumn 2024).

Annie Zaidi

طشتری میں چائے کو پھونک مارتے ہوئے مجھے فیض مل گئے۔

I've tried my hand at translating a poem from English into Urdu. The poem is 'I find Faiz Blowing on his Saucer of Tea' by Imtiaz Dharkar. You'll find the same text in Nagri letters and Naskh. 

طشتری میں چائے کو پھونک مارتے ہوئے مجھے فیض مل گئے۔

 طشتری میں چائے کو پھونک مارتے ہوئے مجھے فیض مل گئے 

پڑوس کی دکان میں. 

فیض چچا، میں نے کہا، اپنا پرانا محلہ پہچان میں نہیں آتا۔

مکان مالک نے کرایہ بڑھا دیا  

اور جن لوگوں کو ہم جانتے تھے، سب چلے گئے۔

اکال میں اجڑنے کو آپ کا باغ چھوڑ آئے۔

کسی نے آپ کی کتابیں طاق سے اتاریں  

اور دوبارہ چھاپ دیں الفاظ بغیر۔  

ساری کوئلیں اٹھا لی گئیں اور پنجروں میں بند کر دی گئیں۔

وہ گلوکار جو آپ کے نغمے گایا کرتے تھے  

سامعین کے سامنے ہی ان کے گلے دبا دیے گئے۔

فیض نے طشتری اٹھا لی اور چائے پی۔  

جب دل بھر جائے، وہ زمین کا چہرہ

چیر دیتا ہے۔

تم اسے دکھ کہتی ہو،  

میں اسے امید کا ایک پھول۔

انہوں نے کہا، مجھے ایسا لگا مگر  

شاید مجھ سے سننے میں کوئی غلطی ہوئی ہو۔

ہو سکتا ہے ترجمے میں ان کے الفاظ  

الٹے ہو گئے ہوں۔

- Imtiaz Dharkar/Tr. Annie Zaidi

Many thanks to Saif Mahmood for discussion on a couple of tricky lines, and for correcting any mistakes he found in my Urdu spellings.

तश्तरी में चाय को फूंक मारते, मुझे फ़ैज़ मिल गए

पड़ोस की दुकान में

फ़ैज़ चचा, मैंने कहा,अपना पुराना मोहल्ला पहचान में नहीं आता

मकान मालिक ने किराया बढ़ा दिया

और जिन लोगों को हम जानते थे, सब चले गए

अकाल में उजड़ने को आपका बाग़ छोड़ आए

किसी ने आपकी किताबें ताक़ से उतारीं 

और दोबारा छाप दीं अल्फाज़  बग़ैर 

सारी कोइलें उठा ली गईं और पिंजरों में डाल दी गईं

जो गुलुकार आपके नग़मे गाया करते थे 

सामाइन के सामने ही उनके गले दबा दिए गए 

फ़ैज़ ने तश्तरी उठा ली और चाय पी

जब दिल भरा हो, वो ज़मीन का चेहरा 

चीर देता है 

तुम इसे दुःख कहती हो

मैं इसे उम्मीद का एक फूल

उन्होंने कहा, मुझे ऐसा लगा मगर

शायद मुझसे सुनने में गलती हुई हो

हो सकता है तर्जुमे में उनके अल्फाज़ 

उल्टे हो गए हों ।

[From Imtiaz Dharkar's 'Shadow Reader', page 79]

'Mohabbat karti aurat'

I took the liberty of doing an Urdu translation of Manglesh Dabral's Hindi poem 'Prem karti stree'. It didn't take much translation to be honest. The basic grammer and syntax is the same in Hindi/Urdu and Dabral's poetic idiom is rooted in the sort of everyday Hindi that is quite similar to everyday Urdu. This poem in particular had very few words that needed translation. I have only changed a few words, substituting everyday Urdu words that are also common to Hindi.

محبت  کرتی عورت دیکھتی ہے

ایک خواب  روز 

جاگنے پر سوچتی ہے کیا تھا وہ 

نکالنے بیٹھتی ہے معنی  

دکھتی ہیں اسکو عام فہم چیزیں 

کوئی ریتیلی جگہ 

لگاتار بہتا نل 

اسکا گھر بکھرا ہوا 

دیکھتی ہے کچھ ہے جو نظر نہیں آتا  

کئی بار دیکھنے کے بعد 

محبت  کرتی عورت  

یقین نہیں کرتی کسی کا 

کنگھا گرا دیتی ہے 

آئنے میں نہیں دیکھتی خود کو 

سوچتی ہے میں ایسے ہی ہوں ٹھیک 

اس کی سہیلیاں ایک ایک کر

اسے چھوڑ کر چلی جاتی ہیں 

دھوپ اسکے پاس آیے بنا نکل جاتی ہے 

   ہوا اسکے بال پریشان کیے بنا بہتی ہے 

اسکے کھاتے  بنا ہو جاتا ہے کھانا ختم 

محبت کرتی عورت 

ٹھگی جاتی ہے روز 

اسکو پتا نہیں چلتا باہر کیا ہو رہا ہے 

کون ٹھگ رہا ہے کون ہے بدکار  

پتا نہیں چلتا کہاں سے شروع ہوئی کہانی 

دنیا کو سمجھتی ہے وہ  

گود میں بیٹھا ہوا بچہ 

نکل جاتی ہے اکیلی سڑک پر 

دیکھتی ہے کتنا بڑا پھیلا شہر 

سوچتی ہے میں رہ لون گی یہیں کہیں 

- منگلیش ڈبرال  

In Roman font:

Mohabbat karti aurat dekhti hai

ek khwaab roz

Jaagne par sochti hai kya tha vo?

Nikaalne baith'ti hai maa'ni 

Dikhti hain use aam-fahm cheezain 

Koi reyteeli jagah

Lagataar behta nal

Uska ghar bikhra hua 

Dekhti hai kuch hai jo nazar nahin aata

kayi baar dekhne ke baad 

Mohabbat karti aurat

yaqeen nahin karti kisi ka 

Kangha gira deti hai

Aaine mein nahin dekhti khud ko

Sochti hai main aise hi hoon theek

Uski saheliyaan ek-ek kar

usey chhod kar chali jaati hain

Dhoop uske paas aaye bina nikal jaati hai

Hava uske baal bikhraaye bina behti hai

Uske khaaye bina ho jaata hai khana khatm

Mohabbat karti aurat

tthagi jaati hai roz

Usko pata nahin chalta baahar kya ho raha hai

kaun thag raha hai kaun hai badkaar

Pata nahin chalta kahaan se shuru hui kahaani

Duniya ko samajhti hai vo

go'd mein baitha hua bachcha

Nikal jaati hai akeli sadak par

Dekhti hai kitna bada phaila shehr

Sochti hai main reh loongi yahin kahin. 

- Manglesh Dabral 

(Urdu rendition of his Hindi poem 'Prem Karti Stree'. The original can be found here: https://www.hindwi.org/kavita/prem-karti-istri-manglesh-dabral-kavita)