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Niaz Zaman: You have written about thirty novels. Which do you like best?
   Dilara Hashem: That’s difficult to answer as usually I like what I am doing at the moment. After I finish something, I want to go on to something new.
   NZ: Did you have something new for the Boi Mela this year?
   DH: Yes, Shesh Bikeler Alo. For the last two years, Annanya was serializing my novel Bhitey Mati Bhit. The story begins at the time of the Second World War and I intended to bring the narrative down to 1971. However, for some reason, Annanya stopped the serial after the Partition.
   NZ: Apart from your writing, many of us know you as the person who brought a suit against the VOA for discriminating against women. Do your novels show strong women?
   DH: Yes, my novel Hamela has a strong woman protagonist. In this novel, an old man who is already married falls in love with a young woman and marries her. The young woman is the daughter of a carpenter who makes beds. She is in love with one of her father’s apprentices and has had sexual relations with him. She is pregnant when one day the young man disappears. In order to give her unborn child a father, she agrees to marry the old man. In order to survive people have to do many things. This does not mean that they are bad. The old man dies. And the woman’s stepson comes back home bringing his wife. Meanwhile the young apprentice returns from Dubai where he had gone to earn money. The woman has had another child with the old man but she decides to elope with her former lover. At the end, however, they cannot. There is a cyclone and there is a rush of water. The woman has long hair which becomes entangled in a date tree. Her lover has tied himself to her woman’s anchal and the two of them are unable to escape the cataclysm.
   NZ: You have lived for quite sometime in America. And in several of your stories there are characters who have some connection with America. For example, in Hamela the old man’s son returns from America. His wife is a woman who has gone to America as a child. But are any of your stories situated in America?
   DH: My novel Twin Towers is based in Manhattan. I wrote this after the attack on Twin Towers. After the attack there were stories that a lot of people who had been thinking of getting divorced were getting back together and trying to save their marriages. My story was inspired by this idea and is about a couple who wants to get divorced. An old woman tries to help them patch up their marriage. The couple talk all night and in the morning, after the attack on the Twin Towers, they visit the area. They find that a nearby church has been left intact after the attack. In the midst of death there is life in the symbolic episode of a pregnant woman giving birth inside the church.
   NZ: Do you like to experiment when you write?
   DH: Well, in Twin Towers, the whole narrative is in the form of dialogue. The writer is absent.
   NZ: Why not turn it into a play? Or call it a play?
   DH: No, it isn’t a play. It is a novel
   NZ: How would you characterize your characters?
   DH: I would say all of them are strong. I believe that women cannot often do many things because they are women. In my novels I show them trying to overcome these barriers. Thus in Bhitey Mati Bhit, in which I cover a time period from the Second World War to 1971, I show a strong woman. She is a village woman whose husband has left on their wedding night. She remains in her father-in-law’s place. The husband marries again and has a child. The second wife dies and the man returns to his village. The wife accepts the child. After the man comes back there is a quarrel and the man kills his brother and becomes a fugitive. The son goes to Kolkata. The heroine does not leave her in-laws’ house and will die in the village. I have brought in some real people into the narrative as well: Quamrul Hasan, Feroza Begum, Shaheed Suhrawardy. The narrative will end in 1971. As I mentioned earlier, the story was being serialized in Annanya, but was abruptly discontinued after the Partition. I will, however, complete the story and publish it later.
   NZ: Can you tell us something about how you work? Do you write the entire story before it starts being serialized?
   DH: No, I work in instalments.
   NZ: Do you change the story when you send it to be published as a nobook?
   DH: No, I let it go as it is serialized. Shesh Bikeler Alo was being serialized in Bangla magazine published in the US. It is now being published as a novel in book form.
   NZ: Have any of your novels been translated into English?
   DH: Not yet. But Bangla Academy asked me to translate Twin Towers into English. I have translated it — myself. Clinton B Seely will be writing a foreword for it. Writers who write in English have an advantage as they get a wider readership. It is necessary for our stories to be translated to get a wider audience. The story that Saeeda Khan translated for the Galpa anthology [to be published by Saqi Books UK], had been translated earlier by Carolyne Wright, the poet and Fulbright scholar who visited Bangladesh some time back. Kalpana Bardhan has also translated two of my stories but I didn’t quite like her translation.
   NZ: Would you call yourself a feminist?
   DH: No, I think I can write from the perspective of men as well – which you know from the example of the story of the boy you and Firdous Azim chose for Galpa. Men have both strengths and weaknesses like women have. But, because I am a woman, I can understand women better. I also want women to stop allowing themselves to be victimized. I want them to be strong and independent, to hold their heads high. Education and employment will give women independence, but education and income alone will not help. There are social pressures that hold women back. For example, because of social pressure they cannot divorce their husbands. In my novel Amloki Mou, for example, I have shown that Sahara is a highly educated woman but she cannot do many things because she is a woman. I have shown the double standard that exists in society.
   NZ: Are you writing anything at present?
   DH: Yes, I’m writing a novel for the Baisakhi issue of Anyadin.
   NZ: Is there a common theme, a common message in your writing?
   DH: That’s a difficult question as I have written on so many issues. But perhaps I would say that I believe that friendship is the most important of all relationships.
   NZ: Thank you for your time.
   DH: Thank you.

The author's debut story collection, Interpreter of Maladies, took the literary world by storm when it was awarded the prestigious Pulitzer Prize in 2000.
   This time, Jhumpa Lahiri has woven her magic with her first novel_ a finely wrought family drama that touches on the expatriate experience and the clash of cultures. It also describes the tangled ties that separate generations of South Asian immigrants after they have settled in the USA or in Europe.
   The book traces the ordeals of the Ganguli family from tradition-bound Calcutta and their gradual transformation into main-stream Americans. It sensitively portrays the family's transition over four decades.
   Like many others from South Asia, including Bangladesh, Ashoke and Ashima Ganguli settle in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Ashoke does his best to adapt while his wife pines for the Bengali way-of-life that she has left behind. The conflict of culture boils over when their son Nikhil (Gogol) Ganguli is born. The task of naming him creates unexpected difficulties. The desire to conform with old ways in a new environment not only reveals tension but also the need to compromise.
   As the novel progresses, we find Gogol stumbling along his first-generation path, discovering nuances with his sister Sonia. Their evolving lives are sensitively portrayed alongwith "comic detours and wrenching love affairs." The contrasting characters of Maxine, the lover of Nikhil, also highlights the subtle differences between the traditional Bengali household of the Gangulis and that of the urbane and liberal American family of Gerald and Lydia. The distinction in their circle of friends and accompanying life-styles, are realistically accentuated through their respective approach to the undertaking of holidays. This is carefully continued in subsequent pages in developing the character of Moushumi, a girl of Bengali origin, who marries Nikhil but is unable to give up her obsession with western practices.
   Lahiri uses empathy and penetrating insight to explore expectations which define what we are and what we want. The author, herself of South Asian background, now settled in the USA, paints a family portrait and handles issues of assimilation with remarkable candour and quiet observation. Sometimes she punctuates the narrative with humour.
   The book will appeal to a wide audience. It will include millions of expatriates who have migrated from South Asia to the USA to live the American dream. It will also be of great interest to sociologists or those interested in understanding integration of immigrant communities within their host country.
   In this context, one is reminded of the term "ABCD" (American born confused deshi) which has gained currency within the USA. It refers to the thousands of young American-born children of South Asian stock who experience confusion over whether to continue with deshi traditions or adopt the polyglot mixture that is identified as American culture. The transition that every immigrant family goes through on arriving at a foreign shore encompasses not only physical changes but also differences in psychological values. This book, a moving first novel, sustains the reader's interest by conveying the émigré's disorientation, nostalgia and yearning for tastes, smells and customs left behind.
   The Namesake is a poignant work. It spans two generations and continents. While doing so, it highlights the universal struggle that all expatriates undertake to gradually free themselves from the past_ from family and obligation left behind.
   A social vision is disclosed as the story unfolds. What is significant however is the uncommon grace and sympathy with which the author bridges two different societies and their morés. At the same time, she incorporates depth into her theme by associating change through love, sorrow, betrayal and parting.
   This talented writer has touched a raw nerve, a sociological twist. Many of us in Bangladesh are already passing through this experience. This includes sensitive areas like children and grandchildren forgetting how to speak Bengali without an accent, to read Bengali and to understand Bengali music. Lahiri has captured this anxiety that spans generations and religious backgrounds. The Ganguli family, who profess the Hindu faith, have difficulties continuing religious traditions, but their problems are the same as a Muslim family, where the children are unable to read the Quran in the Arabic script.
   The novel also has another dimension. It will be enjoyed by readers from the West who are beginning to interact socially with South Asian cultural traditions. They will discover in this book psychological perceptions that will enable them to better appreciate sensitivities of others.
   The characters in the book are developed by the author in simple prose. It is an emotional journey that opens many windows.
   This time round, the book that I have just reviewed did not come from Panthapath. It was a present from my son Zarif who came to visit me from the USA. He has been there for over ten years and wanted me to understand, as he put it, "the dilemma of being a Bangladeshi in an alien environment." I must admit that he has made a point.
   Muhammad Zamir is a former Secretary and Ambassador. He may be contacted at mzamir@dhaka.net

O Woman, with what courage
   You traverse this life of pain.
   The sky showers arrows of lighting,
   The wind brings bitter snow,
   Yet, patient and strong, you stand on my left,
   Holding the sword of God.
   
   Translated by Nahid Kaiser
   Nahid Kaiser is a student in the
   Department of English, University of Dhaka

You’re a girl
   and you’d better not forget
   that when you step over the threshold of your house
   men will look askance at you.
   When you walk down the lane,
   men will follow you and whistle.
   When you cross the lane and step onto the main road,
   men will revile you and call you a loose woman.
   
   If you are weak,
   you’ll turn back.
   And if you’re not,
   you’ll keep going –
    as you’re going now.
   
   Translated by Farida Sarker and Carolyne Wright
   Farida Sarker passed away on March 6, after a brave struggle
   with cancer. Carolyne Wright is an American poet

I am strong
   As strong as the waters
   that carve rock
   I am weak
   As weak as water
   that flows from ocular spaces
   I am pliant
   As pliant as the waters
   that mould over all known shape
   I am brittle
   As brittle as water
   that fractures into splintered icicles
   l am lucid
   As lucid as the waters
   that let through
   All that is luminary
   I am opaque
   As opaque as water
   that clouds the very source of light
   I babble like shallow running water
   I brood like deep still waters
   I am light, I evaporate
   I am heavy, I fall in pregnant drops
   I form and reform myself
   for the many ways I am used and misused
   That I am needed and unheeded
   The ninety percent water in me complies
   The ten percent woman defies
   
   Rumana Siddique is Assistant Professor,
   Department of English, University of Dhaka

Love is no longer enough. Give me some triumphal song
   Filled with honeyed life.
   No more humiliation, no more.
   
   To live a life of endless endurance,
   To cover the body with shame,
   To be scorched by life _ meaningless survival _
   No more, no more _
   This meaningless existence no more _
   Little by little, revenge turns to resistance.
   Throw off the shameful folds of
   Needless ornamentation.
   
   Leave your beds.
   Listen to the call of war
   Liberating humanity.
   The revolution now is
   For life, for freedom.
   
   Translated by Shabnam Nadiya
   Mahbooba Mahrnood is a woman activist and poet.
   Shabnam Nadiya is a short story writer, poet and translator.