Firesmoke - Sheniz Janmohamed

It’s been four years since Toronto poet Sheniz Janmohamed published her first collection of English ghazals. 

Bleeding Light was a bold attempt at fitting into a form that is not natural to the language, but she seemingly enjoyed the “discomfort of squeezing yourself into a form.” 

She described ghazals as “the cry of the gazelle when it is cornered by a hunter and knows it will die.”

Her first collection had some memorable ghazals.

The one that stayed with me was In Crimson because of its rich imagery.

In Crimson

A man sells packets of socks in a gully where most men walk barefoot.
What can he do but rest his head on that ledge, hastily painted crimson?

In Old Town, Allah hu Akbar pounds the walls of crumbling Fort Jesus.
A taxi cuts us off, Allah is Great plastered on his window – in crimson.

At the Coast, we bargain shillings for bags and kisii stone elephants.
Indians are not good customers. The seller brands our skin crimson.

Bombs detonate at the steps of every mosque, in the throat of every believer.
If Allah is a war cry, how can we lift Bismillah from asphalt stained crimson.

If only we planted a thousand trees for each page we discard and crumple.
When her last pen snaps, Israh will draw blood and scrawl words in crimson.

Recently, TSAR published Sheniz’s second collection of poems Firesmoke. It’s a combination of ghazals, free verse and short verse. The poems are in three sections – kindling (ghazals), fire (free verse) and smoke (short verse). 

In the Preface, Sheniz says, “…to write this poems, I had to locate, gather and lay down the kindling of my past – my attachments and fears – and watch them burn. I had to let go of my idea of what the future would hold and watch it disappear like smoke. The only presence that was present was the life of the fire itself.”

Time transforms everyone, ageing us, slackening our muscles, making our bones brittle, turning our breath sour. For all of us it’s an entirely avoidable process, especially because it doesn’t make us any wiser. Time transforms the poet, too, but in an entirely pleasant manner. It helps the poet discovers her voice, and although the journey is perhaps no less painful for the poet as it is for you and me, it is tremendously more enriching for the poet than it is for us, this is because time doesn’t necessarily mean the same to the poet as it does to us.

In Firesmoke, Sheniz has found her voice – wanderer, lover, mendicant, and activist, a lover of nature, and, of course, a woman. Some poems have a rough texture to them, the hoarseness of sloganeering. Some are impervious, impermeable. As in the first collection, the ghazals in the second collection weave a rich tapestry of imagery and emotion.

I liked Unleashed – perhaps because it describes a common Bombay occurrence.

Unleashed

They believed a witch unleashed a storm when she loosened her hair.
How many hurricanes have hurled through towns because of your hair?

Leaning against a traffic light, a ragged street doll clasps her hands together.
A couple of coins will never rinse the pain out from her dirt-streaked hair.

Each strand of her hair is silk spun from the night. She will never tie it.
She tells me her power is not in her hands, lips, eyes. It’s in her hair.

Her glance is an arrow cracking the oak of your heart.
Even thunder whispers when Israh unties her hair.

Israh is Sheniz’s takhallus

Sufi Poets Series - III: American Sufi

Sheniz announcing the launch of Sufi Poets Series III

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Anand Mahadevan’s American Sufi is a story of a family based in Pakistan one of whose member has turned into an Islamic fundamentalist, is jailed in an Indian prison, and released in exchange of hostages taken in an airplane hijack.

The fundamentalist’s cousin goes to the United States for education, and returns to Pakistan with friends (including a white woman friend) for a brief sojourn.

But in the post 9/11 investigations, is apprehended by the FBI and deported to Pakistan.

Anand Mahadevan,
reading from his forthcoming novel
American Sufi

Anand’s reading from his soon-to-be-published novel was the mainstay of the third episode of the Sufi Poets Series organized by Sheniz Janmohamed’s Ignite Poets.

The blurb of the novel posted on the event’s online poster describes the novel thus: “The novel weaves in elements of Sufi storytelling, sub-continental history, and Urdu poetry to reveal the tragedy of a land and its people rent between their devotion to the pacifist strain of Sufi Islam and the growing clout of Saudi-funded militancy.”

Anand has a sonorous cadence to his reading. It became intricately enmeshed with the muted ambience at Beit Zatoon, Toronto’s favourite arts and culture venue that has unmistakable political underpinnings, in an evening of music, poetry and prose.

Jawaid Danish, theatre veteran and filmmaker, whose film Bada Shayar Chota Aadmi was released to wide acclaim in 2013, read Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s Urdu poems.

Tariq Hameed, on his harmonium, sang devotional and romantic Sufi songs and qawwalis. The pièce de résistance was Lal Meri Pat “Oh red robed” (Amir Khusro, Bulleh Shah), which led to the audience demanding an encore.

 

Anand Mahadevan, Sameer Shahid Khan,
Tariq Hameed & Ravi Naimpally

Sameer Shahid Khan, strumming his guitar, and interpreting Bulleh Shah’s classic Bulla Ki Janna “Who Knows Who I AM” was soulful, original and adventurous, even.

The dexterous Ravi Naimpally was on the tabla.

Among the other Sufi compositions performed that evening included Maula Naam (Shahbaz Qamar Fareedi), Saeen (Junoon), Allah Hu, Aukhe Painde (Bulleh Shah).

Sheniz Janmohamed

Sheniz has become a master at organizing such culture-rich events, and that cold December evening, she had once again woven her deft magic to bring to life an evening that had everyone enthralled and asking for more. 

Photos by Ashutosh and Shivankur Sharma

'My identity depends on who is identifying me (including myself)'

'My identity depends on who is identifying me (including myself)

Therefore, what is really real about me? 

What is inherently me? 

I don’t know.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe everything.'

Interview with Sheniz Janmohamed

In the Sufi Poets Series of events you have created a unique blend of music, poetry and art. What inspired you to start the series?

Three things inspired me to start the series:

The work of Rohail Hyatt, the producer of Coke Studio Pakistan. He is an incredible facilitator of creativity and collaboration and the pieces he produces are transformative and revolutionary – not just for the audience, but for the participants as well.

I have a lot of wonderful friends who are talented artists, writers, poets, musicians, spoken word artists and performers and I always thought, “What if I introduced this person to that person? I wonder what they would come up with!” But in order to do that, I had to create a purpose, and a central theme.

My love for Sufi poetry became that central purpose. I wanted to see how people who have never heard of Bulleh Shah would interpret/connect to his work – and witness that process of discovery. It’s about creating community and provoking creativity. There’s no room for ego. Everyone is working to revive the poetry of a poet who is remains alive through their words, their music. It’s about exposing people to Sufi poetry for its heresy, passion and humanism. And people in the audience feel that energy and bask in it (I hope!)

What is special about the forthcoming Sufi Poets Series?

Sufi Poets Series III: American Sufi is a different format than usual because we’re featuring Anand Mahadevan’s novel of the same title, not a Sufi poet.

In Mahadevan’s words, “American Sufi weaves in elements of Sufi storytelling, sub-continental history, and Urdu poetry to reveal the tragedy of a land and its people rent between their devotion to the pacifist strain of Sufi Islam and the growing clout of Saudi-funded militancy.”

It is the central focus and arching narrative of the evening. Mahadevan will narrate sections of this story and the musicians will support it and respond to it with their voices and instruments. The lyrics and poetry to be sung/performed hail from Pakistan. We’re trying to recreate the feeling of being at a dargah (sufi shrine) but also to follow the journey of a young man who is torn between his life in the West and his sufi calling. It contexualizes the relevance of the sufi message for the post 9/11 world.

Why did you start Ignite Poets?

I started Ignite Poets because I wanted to collaborate with spoken word artists, poets and musicians, not compete with them. When I began the series, most of the poetry events in the city were either slams or open mics. I wanted to create a platform for spoken word artists/poets to speak to each other and with each other through collaboration with performance sets that flowed seamlessly from one piece to the next. Most of Ignite Poets’ previous shows have been scripted/organized poem by poem- I spend a lot of time trying to connect each individual piece with the other so that there is a sense of cohesion – without taking away from each poet’s voice.

Now about your work – ghazals and spoken word: Ghazals and spoken word make for a different sort of combination – while both draw upon personal experiences, the ghazal is a subtle, elusive, indirect form, the spoken word poetry is direct, often brash, in-your-face. Creatively speaking, don’t you find the dichotomy daunting?

I don’t find the dichotomy daunting, and sometimes it doesn’t even feel like a dichotomy.

The spoken word form allows me to be more flexible and creative in how I play with my words. It relies on the performative quality of the poetry and how my voice can amplify the message behind the words. In that sense, spoken word can be ‘direct, often brash, in-your-face’ because of the nature of the form itself – the rhythm, the inflections of voice, the tone and the body language.

However, the ghazal form can also be ‘direct, often brash, in-your-face’ because I’m using a pen name. Using a pen name is liberating because I’m not hiding behind the persona of “Sheniz” and the ego that comes along with it. My pen name, Israh, is the inner voice, which is often harsh and brutally honest. It sometimes forces me to see what I don’t want to see. So while the form of the ghazal is more structured because there are so many rules to abide by (internal rhyming, couplets, repeating/rhyming refrains and pen name), there’s also immense freedom in the content itself. I’m not presenting myself to an audience, I’m presenting myself to myself.

What is the most common comment you get about writing ghazals in English?

I can’t really say there is one- it depends on who I’m speaking to and their knowledge of the form. People who don’t have knowledge of the form normally ask me what it is and what it entails. People who are very familiar with the form are often shocked that the form exists in the English language- some of them assume that I translate existing ghazals, and I have to clarify that I write original ghazals in English. Then the second comment/question I get is “Why don’t you write in Urdu?” I don’t speak Urdu, I don’t write in Urdu. My mother tongue is English and I’m trying to maintain/re-invent the form in this language. To claim it, in a sense.

Sufism inspires you. Sufism is a way of life; it abjures orthodoxy, questions convictions, modulates attitudes and ultimately challenges belief. But it is at variance with the emerging belief systems in a multicultural world where identity is overtly important, especially when one belongs to a minority – ethnic, linguistic, religious, gender. Sufism is antithetical to the notion of identity because it inspires you to lose your identity and become one with divinity. If you agree, how do you reconcile the two elements as an artist?

Identity, for me, is not static. My identity is constantly shifting/evolving/developing. It’s not stagnant nor is it independent of the environment around me. I occupy many labels and identities. Some people refer to me as South Asian. To someone else, I’m a Canadian. My identity depends on who is identifying me (including myself). Therefore, what is really real about me? What is inherently me? I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Maybe both.

The artist is constantly interacting with the world around him/her in some shape or form. To create the same thing over and over again is artistic death- we’re always looking for something new to inspire and challenge us. We’re constantly shapeshifting, questioning and re-inventing. Questioning our relationship to the world is part of the creative process. 

At the same time, in order to truly give myself to what I write or perform, I have to forget myself. If I start thinking about how I look on stage while I’m performing, I forget my lines. If I start judging myself while I’m writing a poem, I’m no longer writing. The art of creating is letting go of this exoteric notion of identity and embracing the moment the poem unravels, or the words spill out of my mouth.

SUFI POETS SERIES III: American Sufi

Time: 7pm

Date: December 7th, 2013

Venue: Beit Zatoun House, 612 Markham Street, Toronto

Ticket price: $15.00

The third installation of the popular Sufi Poets Series, this event will feature musical interpretations, poetic recitations and narrations of Anand Mahadevan's latest novel, "American Sufi", inspired by the music and poetry of Pakistan.

The novel weaves in elements of Sufi storytelling, sub-continental history, and Urdu poetry to reveal the tragedy of a land and its people rent between their devotion to the pacifist strain of Sufi Islam and the growing clout of Saudi-funded militancy.

Performers and musical guests:

• Anand Mahadevan, Author of American Sufi
• Jawaid Danish, Urdu poetry
• Sheniz Janmohamed, Poetry and Spoken word
• Tariq Hameed, Harmonium and Qawwali vocals
• Samer Shahid Khan, Guitar and Vocals
• Ravi Naimpally, Tabla

IFOA-Markham

Left to Right: Mayor of Markham, Frank Scarpitti, Janie Chang, Author, Lauren B.Davis, Author, Margaret Drabble, Author, Nicole Lundrigan, Author, Lewis DeSoto, Author & Host, Helen Argiro, Executive Director of the Markham Arts Council, Sheniz Janmohamed, Arts Administrator, Nirmala Armstrong, Chair of Markham Arts Council, Mary Pan, Vice Chair of the Markham Arts Council. — with Jeremiah Hill at Cornell Community Centre and Library.

The International Festival of Authors (IFOA) Markham had an all-women panel of authors comprising Janice Chang, Lauren B. Davis, Margaret Drabble, and Nicole Lundrigan reading at the Cornell Community Centre and Library. The theatre at the library has a warm feel to it, allowing for a more intimate relationship between the audience and the writer.

The little theatre at the Cornell Community Centre and Library in Markham has a warm feel to it. It allows for a more intimate connection between the audience and the writer. The connection turns magical when the writers are an eclectic group of woman that represent diverse experiences, even of three of them – Janice Chang, Lauren B. Davis and Nicole Lundrigan – were from Canada, and only one of them – Margaret Drabble – was a true celebrity.

Chang, from Vancouver, has lived in Philippines, Iran and Thailand. She read from her debut novel Three Souls, a historical novel narrated by a ghost. The novel “was inspired by the tragic story of her grandmother, whose life, like so many generations of women in China, was not her own.”  

Lauren B. Davis read from her semi-autobiographical novel The Empty Room, which is a story about a woman whose “worst enemy – and only friend – is the bottle.” Davis quit alcohol 18 years ago. A memorable line from the passage she read was: “The apartment was impossibly, accusingly quiet.”

Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire Margaret Drabble read a passage from The Pure Gold Baby about a single mother of an unusual daughter. When asked by moderator what compelled her to write, start a new novel, Drabble, who is the author of The Sea Lady, The Seven Sisters, The Peppered Moth and The Needle’s Eye, and biographies of Arnold Bennett and Angus Wilson, replied in all seriousness: “Boredom.”

Nicole Lundrigan read from The Widow Tree, “which finds three teenagers facing life-altering consequences after they conceal a valuable discovery in a small village post-war Yugoslavia.

The Mayor of Markham Frank Scarpitti not only inaugurated the festival, and gave a brief speech, but sat through the entire session, visibly enjoying himself. 

International Festival of Authors Markham – 2013

IFOA Markham is an event organized by the Markham Arts Council, a non-profit organization in Markham that focuses on supporting, promoting and fostering the arts in our community.

Each year, IFOA Markham has been held in different locations across Markham.

IFOA 2011 took place at the Markham Museum and featured authors Francisco Goldman, Shilpi Somaya Gowda, Dany Laferriere, and Bharati Mukherjee (host: Thom Ernst).

IFOA 2012 was held at Flato Markham Theatre and featured Ayesha Chatterjee, Marjorie Celona, Chan Koonchung and Giller-winner Vincent Lam (host: Bert Archer).

Generally About Books was a community partner for IFOA Markham 2012. Read the blog on IFOA-2012. Click here: An evening of rain & readings.

This year, Markham Arts Council is proud to host IFOA Markham at the newly inaugurated Cornell Community Centre and Library- and we’re thrilled to celebrate women’s literature with an all-female lineup of authors: Janie Chang, Lauren B. Davis, (Dame) Margaret Drabble and Nicole Lundrigan (hosted by Bert Archer).

Generally About Books will be a media partner.

So, what's the Third Annual International Festival of Authors 2013?

It'll be an evening of delicious food and drink, stellar author readings and book signings, a curated literary exhibit and much much more.

Date: Friday November 1st, 2013,

Venue: Cornell Community Centre and Library (3201 Bur Oak Ave, Markham).

The evening will begin at 6:30pm (doors open at 6pm) with a Meet & Greet the Authors Reception, followed by readings and book signings. ($50.00).

If guests prefer to only attend the readings, they can opt for the readings-only ticket, and arrive at 8pm for a night of stories we won’t soon forget!($18.00).

For more information click here: ifoamarkham

Author profiles 

Janie Chang (Canada) spent her childhood living in the Philippines, Iran and Thailand, and now lives in Vancouver. She has a degree in computer science from Simon Fraser University and recently attended SFU’s Writer’s Studio. Chang presents her unforgettable debut novel, Three Souls, which was inspired by the tragic story of her grandmother, whose life, like so many generations of women in China, was not her own. Readers meet the ghost of young Leiyin, who must sift through her memories to uncover what is binding her to this world and denying her entrance to the afterlife.

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Lauren B. Davis (Canada) is a critically acclaimed novelist, essayist and teacher whose bestselling books include The Stubborn Season, The Radiant City and Our Daily Bread, which was longlisted for the 2012 Scotiabank Giller Prize and named best book of the year by both The Globe and Mail and The Boston Globe. Davis will present The Empty Room, a story about a woman whose worst enemy – and only friend – is the bottle. The result is an unforgettable portrayal of the turmoil and pain of alcoholism.

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Margaret Drabble (UK) became a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 2008 for her contributions to contemporary English literature. She is the author of The Sea Lady, The Seven Sisters, The Peppered Moth and The Needle’s Eye, among other novels. She wrote biographies of Arnold Bennett and Angus Wilson, and edited two editions of The Oxford Companion to English Literature. Drabble presents The Pure Gold Baby. Jessica Speight is on the cusp of a promising academic career in 1960s London until a relationship with her married professor leaves her the single mother of a darling – but very unusual – daughter.

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Nicole Lundrigan (Canada) is the critically acclaimed author of four previous novels, including Glass Boys, which received glowing reviews and was a NOW magazine top 10 and an Amazon.ca top 100 book of the year. Unraveling Arva was selected as a Globe and Mail top ten, and Thaw was longlisted for the Relit Award. Lundrigan presents her latest novel, The Widow Tree, which finds three teenagers facing life-altering consequences after they conceal a valuable discovery in a small village in post-war Yugoslavia.

 

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Images: Courtesy IFOA-Markham. 
Copyrights: Lauren Davis (c) Helen Tansey, Margaret Drabble (c) Ruth Corney,

An evening of rain & readings

Not owing a car is a choice, and it isn’t a huge sacrifice as it sounds.

Although, every time I speak about my conviction of staying carless, Mahrukh and Che avoid eye contact, and try hard to talk of something else. 

Then they walk away to the balcony of our apartment and gaze uneasily into the distant horizon, when I don’t stop hectoring.

A lot of people think I’m not quite all there when I tell them that not only do I not have a car, I don’t even have a cellphone. They emit a short nervous laugh and slowly edge away from me.

Living in Toronto without a car has been easy.  

The transit is great, especially when one compares it to Mumbai. There is a bit of a problem in getting outside of Toronto to suburbs such as Mississauga, Brampton, Markham, and Oakville.

A trip to one of these places turns into an expedition.  Again, it’s not so much connectivity but time that is an issue.

I do get around, especially to Mississauga because of some truly great events organized by the South Asian community there.

IFOA Markham

Tuesday, braving the gloomy weather, and a complete absence of transit connectivity, I reached Flato Markham Theatre just in time for the readings to commence at the International Festival of Authors (IFOA) Markham. 

Throughout an unending and circuitous journey, thanks to misreading Google Maps, I was circumspect whether my herculean effort would be worthwhile.

I needn’t have worried.

IFOA-Markham was an exquisite mix of different cultures, different genres and altogether riveting readings from writers who were obviously creative, and surprisingly confident. Marjorie Celona, Ayesha Chatterjee, Chan Koonchung and Vincent Lam made the evening memorable.

Celona read a passage from her debut novel about Shannon who is abandoned outside the YMCA as an infant. There is an obviously raw and an edgy quality to her novel, and Celona’s evocative reading brought alive the unpleasantness her protagonist’s life.

Ayesha Chatterjee made me feel at home in a place I had never been to before when she greeted Subho Nabami to everyone in the auditorium.

Ayesha read from her collection The Clarity of Distance – poems she wrote when she moved from Germany to Toronto, and a few of them from and about Calcutta.

Her poetry is steeped in Indian traditions, and she narrated the story from the Shiva Purana of the Hindu trinity and the Ketaki flower.

Story from the Shiva Purana

Here’s an abridged version of the story for the uninitiated but interested:

Once Shiva had to intervene in a quarrel between Brahma and Vishnu.

He turned himself into a flaming pillar without a beginning or an end, and told Brahma and 

Vishnu that whoever found the end or the beginning of the pillar would be declared superior.

Vishnu took the form of a boar and burrowed to seek the end of the pillar, and Brahma took the form of a swan and soared up to seek the pillar’s beginning.

Vishnu returned after a while, admitting defeat.

Brahma couldn’t find the beginning, but took the help of the ketaki flower (which Shiva used to put into his hair) and lied that he had reached the top of the pillar. Ketaki corroborated the lie.

An infuriated Shiva cursed Brahma that he wouldn’t ever be worshiped in physical form like other gods in the Hindu pantheon, and he banished ketaki flower, which is not used in Shiva’s worship.

Chan Koonchung’s The Fat Years is story of a missing month, and a bunch of kids who kidnap an official to confess the truth.

Chan’s reading was peppered with commentary that brought the novel alive and gave it immediacy and a meaning.

In his novel, Chan said, he had forced a bureaucrat to confess to the truth. Such a thing can only happen in a novel; in real life the bureaucrat would take the secret to his grave.

Finally, it was Vincent Lam’s turn, and he read Percival Chen’s story. Lam gave a brief glimpse of why The Headmaster’s Wager has received glorious reviews everywhere.

As the evening moved on to the Q&A session, I left because I’d have to take a cab to the nearest subway station.

That’s a bit of a problem because I don’t have a cellphone, but an obliging volunteer used his cellphone and Ahmed Taha from Jordon of Rush taxi took me from Markham to Don Mills subway station. 

It was late and raining and I was tired and drenched by the time I reached home. Tired but happy.

Thank you Sheniz Janmohamed for a great evening and for thinking of involving Generally About Books as community partner of the event.

Cook / Book

Sang Kim

I envy those who cook, and I envy those who write fiction. 

I can’t cook, and I struggle every morning with my fiction writing.

I compensate for my deficiencies in the culinary arts by loving my food, and constantly experimenting.

My love for food is in inverse proportion to my ability to cook. I love food, I don’t cook.  

Over the last three years and some months in Toronto, I've have developed a palate for cuisines I couldn't possibly have imagined I’d ever eat when I was in India.

Primarily, this is because I didn’t even know they existed, or had read about them only in Vir Sanghvi’s food columns when I was in India.

I had Moroccan Tajine at a restaurant in downtown Toronto not too long ago. My friend told me that the meat was optional, but I did the right thing having it with meat. It added substantially to the taste and the aroma.

Tajine is a North African delicacy that gets its name from the earthen vessel in which it is made – not unlike the traditional method of cooking the masterpiece of Gujarati delicacy – the Undhiyu.

A few days ago, I had the Iranian Shole Zard – a delicacy that I’m convinced is a divine concoction that humans only accidentally discovered.

Some time ago, a group of friends had warm Japanese sake in small clay cups and we sat on wooden benches enjoying deep fried oysters with three kinds of sauce.

I compensate for my deficiencies in creative writing (and every day I discover new ones) by enjoying good writing, especially good literature.

Whenever I meet someone who is a natural at both cooking and writing, all I really want to do is just go back to bed, and never get up. 

And I make it a point to acknowledge their talents.

I recently discovered that MG Vassanji, the two times Giller winner, is also an accomplished chef – his Hyderabadi-style eggplant recipe is as magnificent as his prose.

Jasmine D'Costa makes exquisite chicken biryani.

That brings me to my friend Sang Kim.


Every time I meet Sang, I feel completely inferior.

He’s everything that I want to be and will probably never be.

This is how he describes himself on his Facebook page:  “Author, Playwright, Social Entrepreneur, Restaurateur, Accidental Chef.”

He is also the Co-Director of the Small Press of Toronto (SPoT), a bi-annual book fair at various venues throughout Toronto. 

Last month, I visited the fall edition of the SPoT fair to meet Sheniz Janmohamed, Doyali Farah Islam and Ava Homa.

I met Sang. too.

And he gave me yet another reason to crawl back to bed and hide.

He stood in the middle of the book fair, completely oblivious of his surroundings, and recited first of Rilke’s Duino Elegies.

In case you don’t know, that’s one long poem!

I was stunned; as, I’m sure, were Sheniz and Ava.

He later wrote to me, “One of my life's goals is to memorize all 10 Elegies - they say EVERYTHING.”

Sang also told me that he was working on a book and a television project called Cook / Book where he'll be interviewing Toronto writers in their kitchens and cook together.

Acclaimed novelists Katherine Govier, Austin Clarke and Joy Kogawa, have confirmed their participation in the project.

I believe Sang has also convinced Ava Homa to be a part of the project. 

It’s a book worth waiting for.

Image: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10150730419885534&set=a.10150354283735534.594165.718330533&type=3&theater

Sheniz Janmohamed at Writers' Forum

Sheniz Janmohamed

Last Sunday, Toronto’s Writers’ Forum organised a reading by Sheniz Janmohamed of her ghazals in English from her collection Bleeding Light, published by TSAR. 

I wrote about the book earlier when I covered TSAR's annual launch in Fall at Gladstone last year.

After the initial hesitation to accept ghazals in English, I quite liked Sheniz’s collection because of its raw appeal. 

Although the audience at Gladstone launch was generally appreciative of Sheinz’s experiment, too, I couldn’t help feeling that most people there were unfamiliar with the form.

Hence, I was keen to see how an audience seeped in the glory of ghazals would react to her experiment. When Writers’ Forum organised an event featuring Sheniz, I decided to attend, even though it was on Sunday afternoon. 

Writers’ Forum “promotes Pakistani / Urdu literature, culture and personalities.”

Sheniz read several ghazals from her collection. She appeared relaxed, sure and at home with this audience than she seemed at the Gladstone launch.

Importantly, the audience loved her ghazals; I even heard muted “wha, wha” behind me – something that is quintessential to a ghazal recitation: a learned and appreciative audience.

Here’s one of ghazals she read:

Ladders Without Rungs

On deep sleep, our children sip nectar from the snow of Kashmir
At dawn, blood soaks their bed sheets like dyed cashmere.

We have swallowed black stones washed up on the shore,
And on the heavy pit of our stomachs, we idolize our fear.

They drill oil from oceans, drag seals to slaughter, unsalt seas.
But whose hands will control the boat when there is no boat to steer?

Call the saint a fool. He welcomes death in a puddle of sunlight.
Declare the fool a saint. He refuses death until his body is revered.

Build your skyscrapers and towers, stretch your hands towards God.
Israh scales the ladder without rungs. Without rungs, the sky appears.

Bleeding Light

Sheniz Janmohamed

Earlier this month I attended the annual book launch of TSAR. This year, I knew a few more people than last year. This was my second year and as last year, I was again in the midst of innumerable writers.


My friend Dawn Promislow read from her collection Jewels and Other Stories, Ava Homa read a passage from Glass Slippers, probably the best story in her collection Echoes from the Other Land, Sheniz Janmohamed read from her book of ghazals and H Nigel Thomas read an extract from his novel Lives: Whole and Otherwise.

This blog is about Sheniz Janmohamed’s book of ghazals Bleeding Light.

The ghazal is a unique concept in poetry where the singer is as important as (or perhaps more important than) the poet. This amazing confluence of words and music makes ghazals not merely a pleasant experience, but a transcendental, even spiritual one.

Two of the best contemporary ghazal singers are Jagjit Singh and Ghulam Ali and the best ghazals they have sung are:

Jagjit Singh: Tum ko dekh to (poet: Javed Akhtar)
Ghulam Ali: Hangama hai (poet: Akbar Allahabadi).

I had never read ghazals in English before and quite frankly, it took some getting used to and re-readings before I began to enjoy Sheniz’s ghazals. All the ghazals are refreshing and make you see the world differently. Once the light touches your soul, you can’t remain unmoved.

Here’s one that I liked the most because it evokes so many images.


In Crimson


A man sells packets of socks in a gully where most men walk barefoot.
What can he do but rest his head on that ledge, hastily painted crimson?

In Old Town, Allah hu Akbar pounds the walls of crumbling Fort Jesus.
A taxi cuts us off, Allah is Great plastered on his window – in crimson.

At the Coast, we bargain shillings for bags and kisii stone elephants.
Indians are not good customers. The seller brands our skin crimson.

Bombs detonate at the steps of every mosque, in the throat of every believer.
If Allah is a war cry, how can we lift Bismillah from asphalt stained crimson.


If only we planted a thousand trees for each page we discard and crumple.
When her last pen snaps, Israh will draw blood and scrawl words in crimson.


Israh is Sheniz’s takhallus
Image: http://www.philosufi.com/blog/2010/11/sheniz-janmohamed.html