by Aysha

I recently confessed to a friend about writing a blog. I waited nervously for her to ask me for the URL, and was inwardly relieved she didn’t. But it got me thinking, are we Brown Girls sometimes too reticent about the subjects we tackle for fear of our parents/families/communities seeing our work?

I do not enjoy complaining about the lack of South Asian women writing for my favorite websites (of course, not including Brown Girl Magazine) because I like these websites for their good writing. But, I remain conflicted over loving publications whose staff excludes the very necessary voices of brown ladies like us.

I have loved writing since I was a tween where my hobbies involved writing short stories and scripts, fake articles about my favorite bands or constructing fake NME covers (I was an embarrassing indie kid). The passion for self-expression, coupled with a fascination for Friday night chat shows, was the main reason I thought studying Journalism in college would be a good idea.

I sat uncomfortably as lecturers would bellow at us that we should have and maintain an online presence to showcase all our work and to be better employable. I shied away from participating in the regular raise-your-hand-if-you-have-a-blog activity all through university. It was a sensible idea, no matter how much I hated the thought of it, but I couldn’t do it.

I felt anxious imagining someone I know looking at my work and being shocked by it. Writing is so personal. I kept thinking about a familiar person’s eyes scanning my words on the screen and starting to unravel all of my deepest and darkest feelings! Undeniably, writing has some strong impact on the reader. It can be so telling and can reveal a lot about the writer. This may seem extremely dramatic, but these thoughts made me nervous.

Finally, I followed a friend’s footsteps and signed up for a Blogger. The fact that I knew someone who had their own blog lifted a weight off my shoulders, especially because I felt she and I were alike; writing because she loved it and wanted a career in it. I was confident in my anonymity and felt secure that all I would do is post music – nothing personal. Eventually, I ditched the blog – it felt boring and my words felt vacant. I longed to write fully and critically about my own experiences. I felt that these stories were much more deserving of having a platform and an audience.

I remember the few dozen tears that fell off my face and onto the pages of the journal as I wrote my sister’s reaction to learning that I was fed up of dudes patronizing me. After I told her why I was so upset, she mockingly repeated one of my words, joking ‘Ugh feminism!’ I felt betrayed. It was her dismissing something that I truly believe in and spent an entire academic year reading and writing about.

I have watched women being silenced through first-hand observations of close family. It is not necessarily done in a violent or overt way, but more subtly, through jokes or saying ‘you can’t do that’ in a demoralizing tone; as the youngest in the family, everybody feels the need to protect me.

There are so many experiences, conversations and jokes that I want to put out there, with my own by-line, rather than anonymity – I want to be credited, I deserve to be credited – but alas, I am scared that by straying from the box that my family has put me in, they will judge me, question me, “what is this?” or there will be some major awkwardness underlying the total silence, even though I actually do want to talk about it.

In her book, “Remembered Rapture” (1999), the feminist writer Bell Hooks talks about her family’s response to her writing dreams. Most importantly, she talks about a bias that white writers from a privileged background have and one that is, of course, absent from people like me:

“Even though writers from privileged class backgrounds may write work that alienates family members, there is a much greater chance that shared educational backgrounds will enable them to understand the process of writing even if they do not agree with what is written.” (Bell, 1999, p. 101)

My parents, who moved to England in the 1980’s with a Pakistani education, do not comprehend the diversity of creative careers open to me, and this may be because of coming from backgrounds that do not emphasize the importance of writing.

I do not say this begrudgingly or even as a complete representation of my family. They would not disallow my aspirations that make me happy. They trust me. They are not strict. (A phrase echoed from high school when I would reassure my friends that no, I don’t advocate terrorism).

Largely, it is my own problem. Perhaps it is a fear of reeling from a life-long habit of pleasing them but mostly, I feel it is a fear of embarrassment, of talking about it to people that have shown themselves to not understand my individual experience as a British Pakistani. Like, when my sister expressed her misunderstanding of Feminism with her mocking tone, it meant that she did not share my experience. And that’s okay, but there is something totalitarian about this attitude, a sort of monolithic rejection of difference.

Not all British Pakistani women are writers and not all of them experience racism and sexism the way I do. I am not saying that they don’t experience it at all but rather that they don’t feel highly intense emotions that can only be resolved by expressing themselves creatively. I realize I am tired of my fears and realize that I do want to write publicly and most of all, I want to share with other brown women. This would be largely freeing, especially if my immediate family were to accept that I am a writer and I care about certain issues that I would like to express in writing.

I struggle with the notion that perhaps it is my cultural upbringing that brings about this reticence to write publicly. I wonder if this may be because I do not see many of my fellow South Asians on mainstream websites that I love to read. One thing is for sure, to the ones that I do see and admire constantly – you are my biggest inspiration.[divider]

Aysha is an anonymous contributor.

By Brown Girl Magazine

Brown Girl Magazine was created by and for South Asian womxn who believe in the power of storytelling as a … Read more ›

 I grew up in a household of strong Trinidadian women. I wanted to write about strong Trinidadian women, the roles they play, their histories and their backgrounds. — Sophie Jai  

“Wild Fires” by Sophie Jai is a story about one Trinidadian family’s journey through grief, identity and memory. Jai’s debut novel takes readers on a journey of a past Trinidad and present-day Canada. 

 

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In conversation with Jai, we talk about Caribbean stories, the psychology of a house and what makes a family. The following answers have been abridged and edited for clarity and concision.

[Read Related: Author Kirtie Persaud on Representation for Indo Caribbean Girls, Motherhood and Balance ]

 What inspired you to write “Wild Fires?”

I first started writing it for submission to a competition with the Borough Press. I wasn’t sure what story I wanted to write because I felt obligated to write certain stories or write in a certain style. I pretty much got fed up and started questioning myself. When I put pen to paper and got serious, the story that came out was a story of grief not necessarily specific to my life. I knew I wanted it to be about a family going through grief for decades, and how grief can arrest and impact the family structure.

When you first started writing, which part of the story came out?

It was the very first chapter. The first three chapters of the book came naturally. What you read in the book is untouched from the first draft that I submitted. I knew it was about a family that was going through grief. I knew I wanted it to take place between Trinidad and Toronto because I was born and raised in Trinidad and lived in Toronto. I wanted that sort of cross-generational mixture of family in the book as well – to see how each generation dealt with grief.

Did you always want to be a writer?

I don’t think I knew. It’s just one of those things that you think is impossible, so there’s no point dreaming about it. But when I was a young girl in Trinidad, I imagined myself carrying a leather briefcase and I don’t know why, but I knew I was going somewhere important, and I had something important to do. I always loved writing, but the truth is people get in the way and they dissuade you. It’s all around you – that the arts is not a viable career and if you pursue it, you have a 95% chance of failure. But after working 10 office jobs in three years, I’m like, ‘I’m not happy,’ so this is actually the failure. I knew I needed change.

How do you navigate the space of being told that art is not a viable career, especially in the Indo Caribbean community?

Those challenges were around me all the time. It wasn’t even my family, but it even comes from friends and acquaintances. When you’re young, being an artist is hard, and you’re told there’s no point in doing it. I listened to people who said that, and got office jobs and did what everyone else was doing because apparently, that was the way to be happy. Five years passed by and I realized I wasn’t happy and I should have never listened to those people. I started writing. I started doing something that made me happy and treated it as a serious craft. I did not treat it as a hobby, but as something that was going to pave my path. I really worked in a tunneled vision. So I never told anybody what I was doing – I didn’t want to be dissuaded. I had to be my own champion. I know that doesn’t sound healthy, but back in 2012, I didn’t know about community. 

Cassandra, the main character is a writer, like yourself. How much of Cassandra’s story is your story?

My family is very supportive of my writing and it took some time for them to get there. Like many families, they kind of saw it as a hobby. Once they saw that I got published, they took it more seriously. Now, they are supportive of my writing and I think in the book, Cassandra’s family is not that supportive. They just weren’t interested in her writing, which is why she didn’t talk about it. It is a little bit reflective of my own experience. 

 

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Is the rest of the book based on a true story?

It wasn’t based on a true story. That is something I get asked often – a lot of people say ‘she’s Trinidad and you’re Trinidadian.’ The places I wrote about are from my memory, but the plot itself is fiction. I wanted to challenge myself to write something truly fictional. I grew up in a household of strong Trinidadian women. I wanted to write about strong Trinidadian women, the roles they play, their histories and their backgrounds. The characters aren’t necessarily based on anyone particular in my  life. Overall, it was a joy to imagine and write it because each one of these characters are very different from the other.

The novel has nine major female characters and at most three major male characters. Why did you want to tell a female-driven story?

I grew up in a family of predominantly women, and most of my Caribbean friends also grew up in families of predominantly women. They really are, in my experience, our caretakers. For me, my family and my friends, our mothers are our worlds – we love and admire them. Family is their priority; raising their children is their priority. I wanted to write about Trinidadian women because I wanted to tell each of their stories. I want more Indo Caribbean and Caribbean women in fiction. I think anything that I write will always be about Caribbean women. I want to contribute to that field of literature. I have such enormous respect for them; all the sacrifices that they’ve gone through to bring their kids to new countries – some of them single moms. There’s nothing else I really want to write about, to be honest.

One of the other things I noticed was keen attention to the setting. How many of these precise details came from your own life, if any of them?

For Trinidad, a lot of it is based on my memory of the island and my home there. But I did have to turn to my family for specific details that I thought I may have imagined. Because I grew up mostly in Toronto. I was insecure about writing about Trinidad, so I went back to my mom and my family, who lived there for over 40 years. In terms of the house in Toronto, some of that is from my experience and some from imagination. I’ve written and talked about this book before, “The Poetics of Space” by Gaston Bachelard, which examines the psychology of houses. I tried to construct a house that would accommodate the psychology of the characters. If the house seems very detailed, it’s because I made it so, to accommodate certain secrets and people’s personalities.

Why explore the psychology of a house?

It’s not an original thought, but I think the way space is organized around us, or the way we organize ourselves in a space dictates physical behavior. If you’re in a wide open space and you don’t know anyone, that can seem intimidating. If you’re in a closed space, that can also seem intimidating. I tried to organize the space to give each character privacy from the other, but then once they were in a common room, it really changed the dynamics of their interactions.

What makes a family?

I think people who have been through challenges with you for years make a family. That’s not even a blood thing – I have friends that are like family because we’ve been through things together over decades. It’s people you’ve experienced highs and lows with, but managed to stick with throughout the years. But ‘family’ can also be people who you haven’t talked to for years, who you’ve had a fragmented relationship with. For those sorts of relationships, it can be an unhealthy loyalty or a wondering of what could have been.

The book doesn’t have a happily-ever-after ending. Why?

Not ending the story in a neat little package was very important to me. I think there’s a certain expectation in storytelling by readers that a story needs a conclusion. And, to me, this is not what actually happens in the real world. The reasons people read a book are different – some people are reading for escapism, others are to better understand cultures and other people – so it depends on the reader and what they’re looking for. In literary fiction, readers are more open to an inconclusive ending because literary fiction can take things to a darker, more serious place than other genres. If I wrapped up the story with a nice little bow, it would be untrue to what this family has gone through. I wanted to show how unsolved issues can pan out. I didn’t want to take the story from a sad beginning to a happy ending. Not all stories end happily.

 

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What do you want readers to take away from “Wild Fires?”

I set out to write a story that had a universal theme. I wanted to feature a somewhat normal story with Caribbean characters. It wasn’t centered around race or indentureship because a lot of the Indo Caribbean literature that I’ve read has been – and rightly so. That’s where I learned about our history and our stories. But that was not a story that I wanted to tell first because it was not the story that was closest to my heart. When I started writing, I realized the story was really about grief. I wanted to show Caribbean women and Indo Trinidadian women, in a universal light. We are a result of  these histories yet go through normal things like grief, secrets and family dysfunction.

Following the publication of “Wild Fires,” Jai is pursuing her Master’s at Oxford University as a Kellogg’s Scholar. While attending school, she’s looking to write a short story about Caribbean joy to contrast the dark themes of her debut novel and portray Caribbean women in unrepresented ways.  

“Wild Fires” is available in Canada and the UK and will be available in the U.S. in Spring 2023.

Featured Image Courtesy: Sophie Jai

By Usha Sookai

Usha Sookai is an undergraduate student at New York University, studying Journalism and Social and Cultural Analysis. With a passion … Read more ›

Photo by Biscotto Design via Shutterstock.com

NAKED: The Honest Musings of 2 Brown Women was born in the autumn of 2018, when Mimi Mutesa and Selvi M. Bunce began sharing their poetry collections. It was scary, beautiful, and terrifying when they decided to trust each other with their most intimate thoughts. Not only did they feel relieved after doing so, but Selvi and Mimi also felt more seen as women of color. They embarked on their publication journey, so others may feel as seen as they did on that fateful autumn.

“Ingrown Hair” deals with the themes of societal and family pressures that are reflected throughout NAKED. Mimi and Selvi have always written for themselves. They see poetry as an outlet, and their poems exemplify their personal frustration and vulnerability. “Ingrown Hair” speaks to Selvi’s experience with the societal pressures of South Asian women, such as getting married, being a good wife, becoming a good mother, and leading a certain kind of life.

[Read Related: Exploring the Endless Possibilities of who I am In the Mirror]

Ingrown Hair

There is something strange beneath my skin
telling me to build a house,
make a home,
mother children.
I am not sure how to reconcile it.
My mother was strong
and a mother after all.
My philosophy has been to spend my time
on myself and the world.
I have always thought
I could simply address the thing under my skin
when it finally crawled out.
But when my family starts guessing
who will get married first, and my father
has been saving wedding money for years,
I begin to wonder
if I will have to pluck it out.

[Read Related: Reconstructing and Deconstructing our Ideals]

You can purchase your copy of NAKED on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Waterstones, Bookshop, and The Black Spring Press Group. Follow Selvi on Twitter and Instagram. Don’t forget to check out her project, Brown & Brazen.

The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.

By Selvi M. Bunce

Selvi M. Bunce (she/they) has written for academic and creative journals and spoken at diversity conferences and TEDx. Selvi currently … Read more ›

Photo Courtesy of Varsha Panikar

“After so Long” is a poetry film created for Simha’s EP, which is streaming on Spotify, Apple Music and Amazon Music. The poem was collaboratively written by Simha, a U.S. native, and Jae, who is based in India, during the 2020 lockdown. “After so Long” was recited by Simha and their parents. In 2022, I directed and produced the film through my studio, Star Hopper. “After so Long” premiered on Nowness Asia in March 2022.

By Varsha Panikar

Varsha Panikar (they/he) is a filmmaker, writer and multi-disciplinary artist from India. They are the co-founder of Star Hopper, a … Read more ›