In honor of Jack Hirschman, may his soul roam the streets of San Francisco, as he makes a guest appearance in my unpublished novella Postcard from a Stranger

     

     

     After sitting in the park soaking in the morning heat, we decided to walk around the neighborhood and see if we ran into a beat poet or someone connected to the movement. We said it as a joke, but as we began walking, we’d spot people who fit our stereotype of the beat people, of hippies, their diluted versions, often with long and unkempt hair, a beret or a hat on top, their general attire scruffy and casual looking, a leather jacket or tweed coat with elbow patches. On spotting a person, men in this case, one of us would say, Hey, that’s Ginsberg! Then, as we crossed Columbus near the North Beach Public Library, Ambika elbowed me gently and drove my attention to an older man walking downhill on Chestnut and said, “Now, that’s Jack Hirschman. I can’t believe I recognized him!”

     “Is he a beat poet?” I asked.

     She called his name aloud, “Hi Jack!” waving. He looked across the street and without worrying who we are, waved back with a smile. He’s used to it, I told myself. But, then, he really noticed us, two young, attractive Indian looking women and he visibly cheered up. Good to see ya smilin’!  he hollered as he moved on Columbus Street. 

     “Jim Morrison was his student when he taught at UCLA,” Ambika filled me in.

     “Oh, wow!” I exaggerated my surprise. I had never like The Doors. Not really. Even though I had visited his grave in Paris.

     We crossed over and saw Jack’s diminishing back. He reminded me of a wandering poet in medieval India, like Kabir, his long hair like a mane, a thick rebellious moustache covering his lips, begging bowl in hand. 

     “He’s a poet of the streets and cafes. I used to see him occasionally at Adobe Bookstore on 16th Street. He was friends with the store’s owner Andrew . . .

(An excerpt from Postcard from a Stranger by Moazzam Sheikh)

 

My Re-evaluation of Altaf Fatima's Urdu Novel Chalta Mussafir

 When novelists take on historical events or embed their characters into watershed moments of history, they complicate narratives peddled by the state, and even historians, whose primary concern revolves around countering a popular narrative set in motion by state actors via textbooks, patriotic songs, popular media and compromised journalism.

A historian’s focus is on facts extracted from primary or secondary sources offering a counter-narrative. For example, in the US ‘the no taxation without representation’ narrative persists. Some historians have however argued that the fear of losing slaves caused the revolution. There were slave rebellions. Then, King George III issued the Royal Proclamation of 1763, forbidding white settlers from usurping more land from the natives.

Historian Gerald Horne argues that the revolution was, in fact, a counter-revolution spelling disaster for African Americans and Native Americans. When novelists enter the fray, they draw a narrative arc with ordinary humans at the centre. Altaf Fatima’s novel Chalta Mussafir was written about a decade after Pakistan army’s unconditional surrender in Dhaka.

Except for the weak ending, I loved her book Daskat Na Do (The One Who Did Not Knock, translated finely by Rukhsana Ahmed) for its diction and for situating two outsiders at the heart of the story. One would think that a decade was a long enough time to gain perspective about an emotionally charged moment in history, and weigh official and unofficial narratives and counter-narratives to offer an undidactic lens. An equal number of Hindus and Muslims don’t have to die and an equal number of perpetrators of violence should not also be lined up. Since no one has a complete grip on the truth, the author must look far and wide.

You can read the rest Here.

Kind words of praise trickle in for my upcoming collection Cafe Le Whore and Other Stories.

Read *Cafe Le Whore and Other Stories* for a magic carpet ride . . . Sheikh may be the Pakistani immigrant Woody Allen of our times, wringing guilt and manhood torments out of his multicultural backdrops. (Indeed, Woody Allen gets a wink in the title story.) Sheikh's consciousness of style sometimes drives things to the point that he throws words at the page a-la Jackson Pollack - it's worth it, especially as the syntax becomes more of an illustration of the kinds of challenges and barriers the characters must confront. Most readers will find this is a great collection to take on the plane or the subway, or just to sit around the house and read. These stories will relieve your inner tension and add a little spice to your diet.                                                                                   - David Lincoln

For Moazzam Sheikh the human, the political, and the sexual are inseparable. In these ten delicately nuanced stories, full of humor and pathos, Sheikh pushes the limits of language and our understanding of the world. His stories offer a poignant meditation on our place, or the lack of, in the new global reality.                                                                                                                                                             - Balaji Venkateswaran

An extraordinary collection of tales by a Pakistani writer. Moazzam Shaikh’s stories are not confined to a ‘tradition’, but are refreshingly modern in tone and sensibility as they range over a wide range of locales and themes.                                                                                                                                                           -Khademul Islam

The stories in Café LeWhore are many marvelous things, but they are always ghost stories.  Ghost stories full of life.  Stories about the places that once were, but are lost to a flood, or an infidelity.  There are ghosts of difficult mothers and kings of Bollywood and Punjabi gypsies.  There are surprises in every story—and in every sentence, because Moazzam Sheikh is the rare storyteller, who knows that it is, in fact, as important that a writer tell as it is for the writer to show.                                                                -  Brian D Bouldrey

Best of East, written in west. Moazzam  Sheikh's stories are absolute gem, a pleasure to read, he packs more details and depth in a short story than a novel by Rushdie. Lost in east, lost in west, sad and lonely, they resonate, echo and shadow what one has lived and what one has left behind.                                      -  Syed Afzal Haider

  Moazzam Sheikh's new collection reveals the amazing possibilities of the short story.  His stories encompass a range,  traversing borders and modes of telling, evident even within a single story.  There are diary entries meshed within narratives,  dreams alternating with soliloquies,  and musings that tell you that the mind exists in its own rich maze of stories. Then there are stories within stories, blending the 'unreal' with the imagined,  past and present. There are stories set in Pakistan and also in America,  but all these touch insistently on the lone voice of the individual,  rich with longings, wants and desires; the confusions evident in a seemingly crowded life,  but always in the end, very alone.  Especially in stories speckled with humour and as diverse as 'The Mourner', 'Rose'.   'Aunty Nimmy' and 'Film Librarian', it is the pathos that lingers, hauntingly always.                                                                          -  Anu Kumar