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Hindi Writers' Guild |
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Anindo Hazra & Ted Goossen (seated) with other participants |
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Sheniz Janmohamed |
Inspire – the first Toronto International Book Fair was a major success, both in terms of the participation of authors, publishers and readers.
The three-day festival saw some big name authors discuss
their work, they included the perennial favourites such as Margaret Atwood, and
also rising stars such as David Bezmozgis.
The festival attracted 400 authors, and thanks to my friend
Meenakshi Alimchandani, who was part of the organizing team, I had the
privilege of being associated with the festival, facilitating the readings of Canadian
South Asian authors.
The authors who read at the South Asian kiosk included
Cheran, Cheryl Antao-Xavier, Kumkum Ramchandani, Braz Menezes, Farheen Khan,
Samreen Ahsan, Vicky Bismillah, Kwai Li and Fong Hsiyng, Meena Chopra, Tula
Goenka, Jasmine Sawant, Sheniz Janmohamed, Anindo Hazra, Pushpa Acharya and the Hindi Writers’
Guild led by Shailja Saksena. Eminent diplomat and author Navtej Sarna also read
from his works, but at a different venue at the sprawling Metro Toronto
Convention Centre.
The festival gave me an opportunity to meet and make friends.
I met the suave Antanas Sileika, who gifted me a copy of his novel Underground;
and I also met the enterprising Robert Morgan of Bookland Press.
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South Asian panel {l to r: Jasmine, Anosh, Manjushree, Anirudh, Priscilla (at mike)} |
The main South Asian event at the festival was the collaboration
between Inspire and the Jaipur Festival. The panel comprised AnirudhBhattacharyya, a veteran journalist-turned novelist; Manjushree Thapa, novelist;
Anosh Irani, novelist; Jasmine D’Costa, novelist; Priscilla Uppal, poet,
moderated the readings.
Here’s an excerpt from Manjushree’s novel:
Being Nepali
An American woman, a
schoolteacher, earnest and frizzy, once came up to Prema and asked, ‘Mind if I
ask where you’re from? Originally, I mean?’ But when she heard the answer she
just stammered, unable, perhaps, to admit that she didn’t know where that was.
Most Americans did better.
They would say, ‘Oh’ or ‘Wow’ or even ‘Cool’ and nod in a friendly manner.
Sometimes Prema would help them out by adding, ‘It is near India,’ or ‘Where
Mount Everest is’ or ‘You heard of the Sherpas?” so that they might say, ‘Geez,
that’s real far,’ or ‘I could have sworn you were Mexican / Italian / Spanish,’
or ‘You speak very good English.’ And then she would smile: ‘Thank you.’
Every now and then,
though a response would stop her. One day, a woman on the bust heard her say
Nippon and expressed her disgust at the practice of eating raw fish: ‘That’s
like eating you-know-what!’ she exclaimed. Another man, a dark-skinned grocer,
South Asian himself, baffled her with, ‘Aren’t you usually from Pakistan?’ It
was Prema’s turn to stammer. She had also learnt that to the foreign ear, the
country’s name could sound like ‘nipple’. More commonly, though, what Americans
heard was Naples, as in: ‘I love pasta,’ or ‘My husband and I went to Rome for
our honeymoon, but we never made it to Naples.’
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