Ammi by Saeed Mirza

Shortlisted for Indiaplaza Golden Quill Award, 2009 in the category of Readers Choice Award for Fiction

A brilliant debut by the master filmmaker. Mirzas narrative interweaves memories of a mother with the living political creed she believed in the egalitarian ethos of a democratic faith coupled with a deep, inquiring faith in religion. The book begins as a letter that contains within itself a vast repertoire of literary genres ranging from the short story, poetry, interior monologue, memoir and diatribe, to travelogue, novelisation and film script. Mirza writes simply and, with a filmmakers passion for authenticity, he makes everyday events tell a deeply complex story. In 1938, his mother, while walking back with his father from an evening show at the Eros Cinema in Mumbai, casually removed her burqa and never donned it again. This was one of the quietest revolutions ever witnessed.
Indiaplaza Review:
The USP of this book is that it is a mystery unto itself. Even when you are almost at the end of the book, the thought keeps coming back: What on earth is this book actually about? It is a memoir, an essay, a travelogue, a love-story, a film script, or perhaps a new look at history, a fresh perspective on Islam? What? It is all these and more. It is a mind-scape of a man who has a lot of questions that plaque his soul. It is the heart of a man who loves his neighbors. It is the search of a tourist for his beloved in a strange new country. And yes, it is also a letter that stems from the yearning for a mothers presence.
According to his mother, Jahanra begum, a regular letter, with a How are you, I am fine... blah blah is a waste of time and effort. A letter should be what one wants to say, and not what the other wants to read. A perfect teaching for creative writing. A perfect parent for an artist to blossom. With this kind of creative license, it is no wonder that Saeed Mirza has laid open his heart, like a long red carpet, for us to trample upon.
At the beginning of the book, Saeed reminisces a little about what his mother was like, the stuff his childhood was made of. And then he takes us one step back. He relives his parents enchanting love-story. There are not many ways in a which eighteenth century traditional Muslim couple could meet, and fall in love, and marry. However, when it does happen, as it did with Jahanara Begum and Nusrat Beg, the intensity of the romance is so deep and so fulfilling that it can lay a foundation for the reader to forgive the writer when he leaves the lovers far too early in the book.
Without much warning, or rhyme, the storyteller turns into a philosopher. A philosopher who has more questions than answers. What kind of country is ours? he asks, when he meets a cab driver who has cut off his long hair to hide from his Sikh identity when the Sikhs were being killed. What is the value of money, he asks, when he turns back and walks toward a tribal couple with a sick child, and gives them a note, not knowing if they would know how to use it even. Whose side is god on? he asks, when a peaceful hilly tribe who once welcomed him and his crew are killed in an avalanche.
But he doesnt always question, sometimes he chills too. He smiles in agreement when a farmer tells his crew to fuck off, as he is too busy to give an interview. And then he finds time to enjoy haggling with a salesmen in Turkey over goods he does not intend to buy. And finally the film maker Saeed Mirza does something he has never done before. He asks his wife to click a picture of his, standing with the statue of a Sufi saint. Probably something his mother would have done.
By the end of the book, Saeed Mirzas mother is almost forgotten, the one to whom the entire book is addressed. She is not really the issue, as such. Somewhere down the line, she silently merges with the writer and disappears.
What I didn’t like about the book: Too many questions, thoughts, musings of the author b