BIDESH, a NOVEL a Thesis Presented to the Faculty Of
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BIDESH, A NOVEL A Thesis Presented to The Faculty of Graduate Studies of The University of Guelph by SHOILEE KHAN In partial fulfilment of requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts August, 2009 © Shoilee Khan, 2009 Library and Archives Bibliotheque et 1*1 Canada Archives Canada Published Heritage Direction du Branch Patrimoine de I'edition 395 Wellington Street 395, rue Wellington Ottawa ON K1A 0N4 OttawaONK1A0N4 Canada Canada Your file Votre reference ISBN: 978-0-494-57116-3 Our file Notre reference ISBN: 978-0-494-57116-3 NOTICE: AVIS: The author has granted a non L'auteur a accorde une licence non exclusive exclusive license allowing Library and permettant a la Bibliotheque et Archives Archives Canada to reproduce, Canada de reproduire, publier, archiver, publish, archive, preserve, conserve, sauvegarder, conserver, transmettre au public communicate to the public by par telecommunication ou par I'lnternet, preter, telecommunication or on the Internet, distribuer et vendre des theses partout dans le loan, distribute and sell theses monde, a des fins commerciales ou autres, sur worldwide, for commercial or non support microforme, papier, electronique et/ou commercial purposes, in microform, autres formats. paper, electronic and/or any other formats. The author retains copyright L'auteur conserve la propriete du droit d'auteur ownership and moral rights in this et des droits moraux qui protege cette these. Ni thesis. Neither the thesis nor la these ni des extraits substantiels de celle-ci substantial extracts from it may be ne doivent etre imprimes ou autrement printed or otherwise reproduced reproduits sans son autorisation. without the author's permission. In compliance with the Canadian Conformement a la loi canadienne sur la Privacy Act some supporting forms protection de la vie privee, quelques may have been removed from this formulaires secondaires ont ete enleves de thesis. cette these. While these forms may be included Bien que ces formulaires aient inclus dans in the document page count, their la pagination, il n'y aura aucun contenu removal does not represent any loss manquant. of content from the thesis. 1+1 Canada ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to express my gratitude to my advisor, Janice Kulyk Keefer, whose gentle guidance and unwavering support made the writing of this novel a truly rewarding experience. Her patience is unmatched and her valuable insight will always be appreciated. I would also like to thank Connie Rooke and Catherine Bush whose efforts in directing the Creative Writing program at the University of Guelph have already had a lasting effect and will continue to be deeply appreciated by future writers. A sincere thanks to Michael Helm whose valuable writing advice stayed with me long after his fiction workshop concluded. His expert advice is the kind that never goes out of fashion—I know I will continue to rely on what he taught me for years to come. I thank Susan Swan for her feedback during workshops and the time she took to help me explore the shape of my novel. I must also thank Camilla Gibb for her time, effort, and patience while serving as my Mentor during the summer of 2008. Her timely advice helped me realize the true direction of this novel and for that I am very grateful. I also thank Smaro Kamboureli for her time and insight while serving as my second reader. Finally, I thank my fellow classmates for sharing their talent and their positive spirits. A very special thank you goes out to Professor Colin Hill at the University of Toronto without whose encouragement I would not have considered pursuing graduate studies in literature. His commitment to Canadian literature is truly inspirational and his continued support and academic advice is something I take to heart. I also extend a heartfelt thank you to Professor Jeannine DeLombard whom I looked to as a role model during my years at UofT. Her passion and dedication inspired me to strive harder and her kind advice and support will always be appreciated. I also sincerely thank Professor Guy Allen, director of the Professional Writing program at the University of Toronto Mississauga, for his keen advice and support. My family and friends I can never thank enough. Their patience and belief in my work have helped me in ways that I cannot repay. In particular I must mention my brother Tanhar for always believing I am smarter than I actually am; Dilwara Parveen Banu and Aditi Mahmud for their love and trust; Anika Bhatti for her patience and support. My parents, Lulu Bilkis Banu and Shahid Khan, above all others, are the reason I was able to complete this work and will continue to pursue what I love. In conclusion, I recognize that the completion of this work was aided a great deal by the financial assistance provided by the Connie Rooke Scholarship and the University of Guelph Graduate Research Scholarship. For these, I am very grateful. 1 TABLE OF CONTENTS Acknowledgements i Text 1 References 279 11 CHAPTER ONE In the sun, the jute glistened as if freshly oiled. The barricade, carved by their father Rahmat, was a new addition to the garden. Raised to protect their mango tree now heaving with fruit, it was sliced from lengths of bamboo and tied with jute purchased from Riaj at the Kolshi bazaar for an unreasonable price. The mango tree, its leaves flipping in the breeze, looked as if it were rising and prostrating itself with every push of the wind. In its jute-gilded cage of bamboo, the tree looked enormous to Asha, as if its swooping branches were heaving against the loops and braids their father had spent a month knotting along the bamboo posts. In the evening, when the light from the hurricane lamps cast long shadows across the path, Asha thought the barricade a romantic gateway, its finely crafted arches almost liquid, like ink sketches of the dome of a mosque. In the midday sun, the bamboo and jute were bright, very solid. A month ago, when their mother Soniya slammed down her teacup and streaked down the verandah steps broom in hand, Rahmat had folded his newspaper in half, set it down on his white and blue wicker chair and followed. From the bedroom window, Asha had seen the boys skittering over the ledge of the back wall, and dropped her ink bottle when she saw her father chase after her mother, teacup still steaming in his hand. He stood in the back courtyard thumbing his chin as Soniya swatted at a tangle of bosti boys who slid down the trunks, and then down the street, arms full of ripe mangoes. Asha must have sensed the beginning of something extraordinary, seen it in the gleam of sweat on her father's upper lip as his wife flung the broom into the air, screaming insults into the dust. After Soniya had rearranged her shari and tucked the achol into the waistband of her petticoat, he handed her the teacup, told her it was nice and cool now, easy to sip. Once 1 Soniya settled into her chair on the verandah and dipped back into her embroidery, Rahmat drifted into the house and changed out of his lungi into a pair of slacks. In a few moments he was out in the drive fumbling with the door of the Beetle. When Asha reached the verandah, ink dribbling in long lines down the length of her arm, Soniya was on her feet watching Rahmat gently pull the door of the Beetle shut. "Your Abba is a good man, Asha. But he thinks me too severe. Does he know how much it costs in market for a bushel of mangoes? And how do I make mango achar with mangoes that have been abused by those boys? I am not a miser, Asha, if those boys want a mango, I will give them one. But they are not to come leaping into our home to steal them, those haramjadhas!" Soniya sat down and spread the seam of her achol across her lap. She clutched at the arms of the chair and glanced over her shoulder. "Men are so tedious, Asha. They are such trials." Asha scraped at the stripes of ink on her fingers as the little blue Beetle scuttled its way up the drive, pods of dirt exploding like small bombs beneath the tires. Riaj at the Kolshi bazaar thought Rahmat a good man. Everyday for a month, Rahmat purchased rolls of quality jute from Riaj and loaded them into the trunk of his Beetle without knocking Riaj around for a better price. When Rahmat poked his head into the stall, Riaj imagined himself the proprietor of a fixed-price store—like Aarong— where the customers milled about in quiet contemplation, picked up an item to check its price, and paid it without question at the counter. For a moment, as Riaj watched Rahmat wind a length of jute around his finger, he considered how glorious it would be to paint prices on pieces of board and set them up around the stall. He would paint the numbers in red. He could siphon a few coins to purchase a small pot of paint from the landlord and 2 he could paint them that very night. The children would help while Madhuri arranged the finished signs to dry on the roof. Ah, but Madhuri would never allow it. Was he crazy? Did he think himself some sort of businessman? She would sit in her corner winding jute into ropes and would probably want to wind the rope around his neck. "This is quality jute, eh Riaj?" Rahmat patted the jute.