Kite Strings got some good reviews in The Hindu and Deccan Herald as well. I’ll be putting them up here shortly. My journey with Kite Strings has been wonderful and I should have documented it here but just wasn’t able to. Still, better late than never!

Thanks Judy…it means a lot to me to see my review on your blog! Mmmuah!!

Here’s the link to her blog. Please post comments there as well as here!

I have been writing something or the other since the time I was ten. Most of it was gibberish, direct or indirect plagiarism of Enid Blyton but I realised that it was fun to write and the idea stuck in my head.

Many years later when I was expecting Saboor, I was bored and I had not given serious thought to writing. I sat down and wrote a short story about a girl who looks out of the window in class. On a whim I sent it to Open Sesame and forgot about it completely.

A few days after Saboor was born, an uncle called up and asked me to look at the paper. They had published my story! I was euphoric and it was the immediate impetus for me to pen down another short story. Soon, I was writing for Open Sesame regularly, and then one day I wrote a story about a Marwari seth who runs a shop in Vellore. I don’t know why I wrote it, but till date, I feel it is one of my best stories. However, there was something different about this story and I couldn’t send it to Open Sesame. I realised that it was not something children would enjoy or understand.

The realisation that I could write fiction, proper short stories, was thrilling and once again I wrote a few stories, but couldn’t find publishers for them. On one of my quests to get the short stories published, one publisher gave me the idea to string them together into a novel. The idea seemed farfetched but I gave it a try. Of my seven stories, only two could fit in, and thus Kite Strings was born.

When I wrote Kite Strings, the original version was different from the one that got published. Obviously! Apart from being very long, it told the story from three perspectives. Mehnaz, Rehana and Basheer. Rehana at least had around 4 chapters to her name but I had given Basheer only one chapter.

For some reason, I couldn’t write more about him and when I started sending it around to publishers, everyone thought that the single chapter with Basheer’s perspective ruined the linear flow of narrative.

There were times when I wished I was a famous author and could get away with eccentric addition of chapters etc, but then I had to be practical and remove it.

I also changed the chapters which spoke of Rehana’s perspective, until they became Mehnaz’s story, told through her eyes.

So, what happened to Basheer? Where did he go? Maybe I could use this chapter if I decide to write a sequel to Kite Strings!! Guys…let me know what you think!

So, here goes….

Part 4

Chapter 31

Basheer sat on the edge of his chair, as he had done for the past five years since he had joined this shop. A customer could walk in any moment, and he had to get up immediately. Sometimes, he wondered why he even bothered to sit down. But his throbbing ankles demanded that he sit down at least once in two hours.

The steel-edged chair was uncomfortable, but Basheer had grown accustomed to it. The other boy in the shop was flicking the duster over the shelves, a little recklessly. “Aye!” Basheer called out to him “Be careful!”

The new boy had joined recently, and Basheer discovered that everything that he did annoyed him. He looked around the darkened shop, at the rows and rows of shampoo, jam, ketchup, and a myriad other items that were sold here. The owner of the shop, Raheem bhai didn’t like to switch on the lights, until it was nearly six-thirty. The evening sky had darkened considerably, and Basheer looked out at the teeming road.

Raheem bhai would be coming in another half an hour. He usually went for lunch at three in the afternoon, and returned leisurely at six-thirty. The customers never stopped coming, and Basheer rarely found the time to sit down, for ten minutes at a stretch. The other boy, Suleman had finished dusting the shelves, and was now wielding the broom like a sword, brandishing it about. Basheer looked at him irritated. Suleman was just twelve, and around the same age he had been when he had come away from Vellore. Yet, he had never been so jovial, nor had he found ways to make the mundane job of sweeping the shop so much more exciting.

Basheer wanted to get up, and twist the ears of the little scamp till he cried. But he didn’t feel like getting up. He edged back into the chair, a little more comfortably. This time, usually there weren’t many customers. Suleman was now sweeping the pavement in front of the shop with flourish. The dust swirled up in the evening sky, and Basheer thought back to the day when he had come here for the first time.

He hadn’t accepted his mother’s death as yet. How could she have just died like that? He knew that she had been sick from many days. He had come back from his evening stroll and he lied down beside her. Usually ammi would ask him how he was, if he had anything to eat, if he was going out somewhere. He had put his wrist across his forehead, and he thought he could take a small nap before ammabi came and woke him. When ammi didn’t ask him anything, he didn’t think it odd.

She was so tired and drawn these days. Let her sleep, although that was all she did these days. He woke after that nap, surprised that neither ammabi nor ammi had woken him up. He turned to ammi and saw that she was still sleeping. Her eyes were closed and Basheer realised there was something strange in the way she was sleeping.

He got up and leaned closer to her. He couldn’t see her chest move up and down. He waved his hand under her nose, and when there was no warm breath, he snatched away his hand and looked at her stricken. NO! This was his mother here! He brought his hand to her forehead and touched it gingerly. Stone cold.

He jumped back from the bed, and backed away in horror. He had been sleeping next to her all this while. The thought made him feel like throwing up. He crouched near the corner and screamed. Ammabi came running inside, and looked at him and then at the bed.

“Fatima! Fatima!” she screamed. She shrieked and he looked at her feeling more and more disgust well up in his heart. Disgust for himself that he could no longer think that she was his mother lying there on the bed. She was just a body. A body. A body to be buried. He couldn’t bear to see them put in her in the cold earth.

He watched as ammabi sat by the bed, hitting her forehead repeatedly, lamenting at her own fate. Ammabi’s words aggravated him until he could no longer stand there passively. He walked out of the room, and the walls of the house suddenly seemed nearer. He looked at them fearfully. They loomed closer, and he shrunk back in terror. The house had become a living, breathing thing. He could feel its pulse beating madly, somewhere inside the walls. His mother was dead, but this house was alive.

He walked to the other room, but how could he find solace when his loving mother was dead? She was gone. She would never smile again, would never rustle his hair, would never reprimand him gently, she would never look at him, eyes shining with love. She would never stare at him in wonder, that she had created him. His mother was dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. The word bounced and echoed in his brain until he thought his head would burst. Clenching his teeth, he stepped out, not knowing what to do. The pulsating walls seemed closer now. He walked to the telephone, ignoring the walls, pretending that if he didn’t see them, they wouldn’t be there.

Ammabi’s moaning was doing strange things to his insides, making them contract and he knew that he was going to throw up before the day was over. With trembling fingers he dialled Mehnaz’s number. He wished he could talk to her. But then, he didn’t want to talk to her also. Shabana mami picked up the phone. Glad that it wasn’t his mamu who answered, Basheer told her that his mother was dead. He didn’t give any more details. Hanging up promptly, he dialled Rehana’s number. Relaying the same news to Sadiq mamu, he hung up while a shocked Sadiq mamu was still asking him questions.

He stared at his mother’s still form on the bed. When had she died? Had she been dead all day? He had gone out in the afternoon, after lunch, and when he came to tell her he was going out, she had been sleeping. When had she died then? The thought that his mother had been lying there, dead and cold, numbed him, terrified him as well as angered him. Ammabi could have at least checked up on ammi. But all that woman did was gossip and argue with the maid and the neighbours.

Ammabi now lumbered outside, and sat down heavily by the phone. She had to call someone to help her. Her forehead was wrinkled with numerous lines, as she recalled the number. Basheer didn’t have the patience to sit by her side. He was scared to go inside ammi’s room, but he had to. The walls throbbed again, and he looked at them fearfully.

He walked inside, without looking at ammi, and went straight to the cupboard. That wasn’t his ammi there. It was just a body. Just a body. He repeated the words over and over until they made him feel sick. He pulled out a black travel bag that was there on the top shelf, stuffed it with some of his clothes. He also took out the old chocolate tin in which he had kept his money. Three hundred rupees. All of it. This was all he had. He had tried to save money from the eidi that his two mamu’s gave him every year during eid. He had also done a few odd jobs for some neighbours, and had saved some of that also. Bundling the assorted notes together he stuffed them into his pocket.

When he left, no one noticed. Ammabi had gone to the bathroom, and ammi, ammi was dead. No one to stop him, and say, “Aaja beta, mat ja”

He didn’t look back at ammi, and he didn’t turn and look back at the house as he left. He walked quickly, briskly. His steps would take him away as far as possible from this pain, this huge, and horrible gap that seemed to have opened up in his chest.

As he sat down in the Madras-bound bus, he looked around for the first time. He was leaving Vellore, once again. Years ago, he had made the mistake of going to Bangalore, and he had promptly been brought back by mamu. This time, there was no one to return to, and he was not taking the chance of being discovered once more.

Basheer stared at the darkening walls of the shop, and got up with a start. He saw Raheem bhai parking his scooter outside the shop. He stood up and switched on the light and the tube lights flickered to life, dousing the shop in its bright white light.

The shop instantly looked more cheerful, more acceptable and totally different. He looked around once more, and stood waiting for Raheem bhai to come inside. He would sit only after his yejman had sat down.

Raheem bhai was a portly man in his forties. He was a loud man, easy with his praise, and even easier with his criticism. Basheer remembered the times Raheem bhai had lashed him with a cane, because he couldn’t add up the total fast enough. That was when he was new here. Each lash of the cane cut into his back, and with each spasm of pain, he thought of his mother, and how there was no one left in the world for him to care for. The thought dulled his pain. There was no mother who would cringe and cry on seeing his bruises. No one who would soothe away the pain with some cream and a gentle pair of hands. His loneliness doubled during such times; yet he was glad that he had no one now.

Raheem bhai stepped inside, smiling to himself. The man was often happy these days, as his daughter was getting married. One would think, getting a daughter married meant a lot of problem and headache, but it wasn’t the case with Raheem bhai. He seemed to enjoy the challenge. And well, such challenges can be enjoyed if one was a rich and well-to-do person like Raheem bhai. In fact, a daughter’s marriage can almost become a pleasure; something to look forward to, if one was in his situation.

Basheer wondered if Mehnaz or Rehana were married yet. He often thought of them, remembering the happy times they had shared playing together. Yet, he had always felt the outsider among them. He was a boy, he lived in Vellore, and he knew that his education was very poor compared to both of them. The feelings of inferiority had hardened over the years, and whether they tried or not, they couldn’t reach out to him, to know him.

At times when he thought of both his sisters, he wished he could meet them at least once. See how they were. The thought was immediately curbed, as he would remember that both probably had done very well for themselves, while he was in almost a menial position. He earned only 600 rupees a month, and he had no hopes of ever rising in life. He was mediocre and mediocrity had stilted him, had wrapped him in a cocoon of security, which he didn’t want to leave.

A customer walked in, and Basheer stood behind the counter respectfully. Another day, about to get over soon. A multitude of customers to serve in the interim.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This was one day in my life when everything fell in place beautifully and I was calm and composed throughout. So, I should have actually been shouting from the roof tops about how Ms. Wendy praised by novel and how I was able to sit at the dais and not feel even a smidgen of nervousness. And yet I didn’t. For some reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to share it.

I can’t really analyze why or what, but I decided that I better get down to updating my blog and telling all you people how it went and of course, you would have seen the pics already on Facebook and everything…and this isn’t a minute by minute explanation of what happened! Yes, thank god for that!!

So anyway, 5th November came and I was still not getting butterflies in my stomach. That was  a worrying thought considering that I had yet to decide what to say on the stage once the book was released. I jotted down a couple of thoughts but nothing seemed to really capture the spirit of the book and so I decided to do something I hadn’t ever done in college, except probably at the Extempore classes in 1st yr CEP.

By afternoon, everything was in place. I visited Landmark, Jayanagar to see the arrangements and they had done a pretty good job. I went back home, got ready and was picked up by Ayesha who so sweetly arranged for a car and then we went to JNC and waited for Ms. Wendy to come. Once she came, we travelled together to Landmark and I was so pleased and happy to see that almost ALL my family had turned up! I mean my extended family,with the chachas and the chachis and cousins and everyone else..kids included.

Saboor and Azhaan were with Ammi that day and they came a little later. Then Ms. Wendy, Christina and I sat on the dais and Neha welcomed everybody and introduced me to the audience. Ms Wendy went on to release the book and then she spoke for around ten to fifteen minutes at the end of which, everyone in the audience (including me) were spell bound.

She spoke so warmly about the book, and there was pride evident in her voice because I had been her student.  Her praises for the book brought a permanent smile to my face throughout the evening and I couldn’t believe she was actually talking about the book I had written! In fact, Ayesha later said that Ms Wendy’s speech was as good as being in class when she taught us Faustus and believe you me, we were lucky to have her teach us all that literature.

After that, Chris spoke for a little while about the book and her words of praise also mean a lot to me because I really look up to her. Following this, Neha read a few excerpts and then I had to speak. I expected my throat to close up and my hands to get clammy but nothing happened. I stood up at the podium and just spoke whatever came to my mind. And I suppose I made sense. Don’t ask me what I spoke because I couldn’t remember it immediately after itself! And now it’s more than ten days since the event.

Several copies of Kite Strings were bought and I had to sign every one of them.

Overall, it was one of the most wonderful days in my life and I thank Allah for making it possible for me.

We got back home amid several bouquets of flowers and gifts and we were all really happy about how it had turned out. The next day, there was another surprise for me. Shazu, Sidra and Anjum had so sweetly organised a pani puri party for me! That was a blast and we all enjoyed ourselves.

Since then, two newspapers covered the event, and in the space of one week, my photograph came in the papers three times! One of my uncles has apparently cut out a photo from the paper and he keeps it in his wallet to show to everyone he meets!!! :B

Ammi has also cut out all the pictures and she’s pasted them on a cardboard which she keeps propped up at a prominent spot at home! :B :B

Anyway…that’s all that has happened since then. Anything else will have to come later.

And yes, if you buy a copy of Kite Strings, please do leave a message at my website or blog about what you thought of it!!

So, nearly two months after Kite Strings has been out on the stands, its getting a formal launch into the world of books. Plenty of people I know have already bought it and read it and given me feedback regarding it. It’s been positive feedback so far, and it’s pleasing to hear that everyone who’s read it found it extremely readable and most of the young girls seem to identify with Mehnaz so well! I think teenage angst rises above community, religion and everything else that might make Mehnaz different from other girls.

Apart from likening me to Mehnaz, many other people want to know how long I took to write it. When I answer 2 years, they are very impressed. But I find it a little uncomfortable because there’s nothing to be impressed about it. I mean, I didn’t sit and take 2 years to write it because I was busy doing many different things. I would write maybe a chapter and then forget about the book for a couple of months, or I would write myself into a tight spot and then leave it for another few months wondering how to get out from it!

Anyway, I remember that feeling of exhilaration when I was close to finishing it. It was so exciting and so thrilling to come to the end of the book, because I was letting the story take me there, in stead of the other way round.

Well, back to the point. If you’re in Bangalore on 5th November, which happens to be a Thursday, and you don’t mind traveling to Jayanagar, please attend the book release at Landmark. Former students of JNC (and current students as well) will be happy to hear that Ms. Wendy Dickson is the chief guest. I admire her greatly as a teacher and person and I’m really happy she agreed to come. Thanks Ms. Wendy!

So, please do make it a point to attend, and you can bring anyone else who would be interested too. See you there!

While I am a bit tech savvy, I am not that well co-ordinated als0 (like my brother Jun), so while he explained to me the different systems I could use to build my website, I would most often end up confused.I tried Joomla but ended up very perplexed. Then, Jun swears by Drupal, so I tried that, but I found it to be very restrictive although he says its the most flexible CMS there is. Finally, I made him uninstall everything and install good ol’ WordPress.

The good thing about WordPress is that it’s simple. The bad thing is that there are SO many options to choose, so many wonderful themes that I just can’t make up my mind!! I finally settled down on the one that you can see on my website currently. I have a feeling that it’s not permanent and if something else comes up, I will gladly take it up too.

Since my website is mentioned on the back cover of Kite Strings, I think those who are interested enough to find out a little more about me might want to visit the website and see. I just hope they are not too disappointed because there’s so very little there!

I recently added a page, asking people to give me their feedback about Kite Strings, and someone has actually done it! It’s not anyone I know so it felt really wonderful to read the feedback from a reader who has probably picked up the book at random. Check it out here: www.andaleebwajid.com.

Meanwhile, if you happen to have read Kite Strings, I would greatly appreciate hearing from you about the book and what you thought of it. Please leave your feedback at my website.

So this morning Neha sends me an SMS saying, HT has said that Kite Strings is a beautifully written tale. My heart almost stopped when I read that message.

I immediately messaged her back asking frantically, where, when, which page?

Then she told me the details and I looked it up on the e Paper version. She had warned me that it was not a full review per se, but a few lines. Aah, but even then, brevity is better in such cases right? To the point! Beautiful tale. Pat my own shoulder. Ok, enough! This is just the beginning and who knows,I might even tearfully write about some reviewer who didn’t like my book. Or I might not. Like I said, it’s my blog.

For now, I will not worry about those who will not like Kite Strings. I mean, I know I am a chronic worrier. And the number of things about Kite Strings that has me worried are too many to list here. But for today, for now, I will not worry about criticism. Let me just lie back and grin like an idiot. Beautifully written tale! Wah wah!!!

Oops, I’d published this without giving the details of the review. Here it is.

And in case, you’re feeling too lazy to click on the link, here’s a quick dekko again!!

When Curtains was released in 2005, it was available there but I don’t think I actually saw the book there on the book shelf.

It was an amazing feeling in the Delhi Book Fair, seeing my book in the new arrivals section, and people lingering near it, picking it up, reading the blurb at the back. Most returned the book to the shelf, but some bought it much to my delight.

But having my book in Landmark gives me a totally different high!

I’ll probably head out there tomorrow to check it out and see for myself.

And yes, Landmark is having their annual sale which goes on till the 13th of October I think. They’ve agreed to hold an event for Kite Strings, after their sale. Well, I hope it works out! What could be better than having an event for my book at my favourite book store?

If you want to pick up a copy of Kite Strings, please walk in to Gangarams or Higginbothams on MG Road or any of the Sapna Bookstore outlets. Ask for the book if you do not see it on display for some reason. The stores where you might not find it would be Oxford in Leela or Strand because Pustak Mahal do not have their supply there as yet.

I am still in the process of finding out its availability in other cities. Those who don’t mind shopping over the internet can buy it from the Pustak Mahal Website - http://www.pustakmahal.in/ or Rediff – Kite Strings

One word of caution although – Please don’t go by the synopsis on Rediff. It’s completely wrong! For some reason even though my publishers have asked Rediff to correct it, it hasn’t been corrected yet. If you’ve been a regular visitor to my blog, you’ll know by now that it’s the story of a young Muslim girl Mehnaz.

So, people, if you do get hold of your copy, please let me know what you thought about it! Waiting eagerlyfor feedback from you people!