Inspired by the characters in "The Beggar’s Dance." Zakiya holds Juma’s hand, and shows compassion, love and gives him hope. “You have to believe in yourself, Juma, break the cycle. Yes you can dream.” (Thank you to my husband Sadiq Somjee for the incredible artwork - follow: Instagram @sadiqsomjee)
Sharing an excerpt from my novel, The Beggar’s Dance (pg. 117 paperback), on Idd (Eid) festival. In this scene, Juma (protagonist—a street boy) is receiving Idd gift from his secret friend, Zakiya.
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I look forward to the Idd festivals in the next two days, at the end of Ramadan. Dada Zakiya has promised to share the offering she receives for Idd. After Idd Namaz, prayers, in the morning, family and friends will exchange mithhai, Indian sweets. Dada Zakiya tells me that she gets lots of money from her uncles and aunts. She does not fancy mithhai but looks forward to the Cadbury Whole Nut chocolate from London that her aunt sends her every Idd. “I love chocolates. It’s a once-a-year treat, so scrumptious.”
Mithhai photo courtesy: Gulnar Fazal
The butcher on the street is busy with orders. A fully loaded pickup arrives with whole halal goats. The workers’ long white jackets are smudged with blood as they put one goat at a time over their shoulder and take it to the butchery. Mama Fatima rushes out of the salon and makes her order.
“Hamisi will be preparing goat biryani for the family and himself the day before,” Dada Zakiya says, revealing the feast menu. She asks me to meet her by the Darkhana gates on Idd at twelve noon when she comes for a community lunch and dandhiya-raas, festive dances and music.
“Idd Mubarak, Happy Idd, Juma,” Dada Zakiya says, wearing a beautiful white dress and a stylish silver clip on the right side of her perfect shoulder-length hair. “For you.” She hands me two full bags. “I have lots of assorted mithhai, goat biryani and soda.” She smiles and tucks twenty shillings in my pocket. “I got a total of one hundred shillings cash in gifts. I will spend the remaining eighty on Hindi cassettes,” she whispers secretively. I accept the auspicious meal and think of Josephine. I will share the spirit and celebrate with her tonight when her pimp is not watching.
Dada Zakiya twists her left wrist, showing me her watch. “It’s my grandmother’s. Mother tells me that at nineteen, I am responsible and old enough to own it.”
Her friend comes by and they hug each other. “Idd Mubarak.” Holding their dandhiya, dancing sticks, painted in red and green, they walk into the gates of Darkhana and join the happy crowd. I hear live drums playing and dance to the end of the street till the sound fades off.
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Here is an excerpt from my novel, The Beggar’s Dance (pg. 107 paperback).
In this scene; a young middle-class girl, Zakiya, brings a beggar boy, Juma (protagonist), home. She serves him lunch. The story is told by Juma (first person POV).
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I stack the rice on my plate, heaping it with three chicken legs and a huge potato. Dada Zakiya hands me a spoon. I laugh at her. “How can I fit the chicken into this spoon?” Dada Zakiya laughs too. I eat the food with my hands. The rice and curry are juicy and salty, and the cardamoms and cloves make it flavourful. We have it with yogurt and banana. Dada Zakiya eats a green chilly dipped in salt with every bite. I decide against that. Her welcoming home makes me forget my pain, and I silently pray that this lasts forever.
“Thank you, Dada, thank you so much,” I say after our meal.
“Shukrana,” she says. “Sharing brings barakat.”
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Cooking and sharing food is one of the pleasures of my life. In the photo, I'd cooked lamb biryani for a family reunion at my home a while back. Hope you enjoyed the excerpt from The Beggar's Dance.
When I was ten years old, growing up in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, one evening, I watched a young boy (about eight years old) with his mother, begging. I wondered why I was in the comfort of a car, enjoying an icecream treat and he was on the sidewalk begging? I couldn’t understand so I went back to find him, but never saw him. For a very long time, I would think of him and try to figure out how he’d have spent his day and survived—not realizing that I was writing The Beggar’s Dance all along. It took me many years to understand that there was nothing special about me; I was just born lucky. This childhood encounter was the seed that led to the unfolding of Juma’s story. The protagonist, Juma, is my imagination of a beggar I once met. He seeks freedom from the life of a beggar. It's his inner spirit that leads him on a journey of hope and survival.
I was three years old when my dad took me to the movie theatre, in Mbeya, Tanzania, where we lived. I discovered how grand our world was through the Hindi Cinema. It was magic. I was mesmerized with the songs, colours and language as I watched the movie Rajkumar, starring Sadhana. I was completely in love with the actress. She was a beauty—her voice, her hair, her smile, her fashion—everything about her was a reflection of what I wanted to become. I can go on forever speaking of this beauty queen.
By age five I was certain that Sadhana and I were destined to be together. So I asked my dad if he could marry her.
“I’m already married to your mother,” Dad said.
“But Sadhana is so beautiful,” I said.
"So is your mother."
Now let me make it clear that I love my mum very much and she is a complete beauty as well. But Sadhana was someone I desperately wanted to meet. Sure enough my scheme of splitting my parents and having my dad marry Sadhana didn’t work. So I captured her in my imagination, think up a dialogue then act and pretend to be her. She became my imaginary guru.
When I watched her in Waqt, a Yash Chopra production, released in 1967, I wished I had a piano to play music and sing like her. Instead I danced and swirled my body around a curtain and sang the song, smiled, played pretend. My family would laugh at me. But I did not let my imagination die, because Sadhana kept me alive.
I remember every Sadhana movie and where I'd watched it. Such as Ek Phool Do Mali at Shan theatre, in Nairobi, Kenya. Or many more memorable movies like Intequam, Arzoo, Mera Sayaa, Mere Mehboob, I’d seen them in Dar es Salaam with my parents, mostly at Empire Cinema or Avalon theatre.
I had not seen Woh Kaun Thi, which was released in 1964. Mum had told me the story and I’d dreamed to watch it one day. Then finally, it was showing at Cameo Cinema when I was around eleven years old, but it was rated as not suitable for children due to a ghost story. I was really mad at my dad when he could not convince the ticket master to allow me to watch the movie. I cried and cried. Then at age thirteen, when I lived in Arusha, Tanzania, Woh Kaun Thi was showing at Metropole Cinema, a special Saturday afternoon show. No one realized how important this movie was for me. I could not convince any one to go with me, but my aunt gave me money for the admission. So I walked to the theatre, got myself a ticket, and finally watched the movie—alone.
Though, Sadhana quietly disappeared from the Hindi Cinema in early seventies, she remained my imaginary guru.
Rest in Peace, Sadhana Shivdasani (September 2, 1941 - December 25, 2015)
(video clips shared from various You Tube channel)
The month of April in Vancouver, British Columbia, is breathtaking. The showy mountains and colourful gardens bring smile to my whole being. Soon my front garden will turn red and pink with azalea flowers, and the favourite of all, the magnolia tree will bloom in abundance. And of course, the best is walking my dog in the neighbourhood under the cherry trees (quite a few around).
Datsun 240z East African Safari Rally - Shekhar Mehta1971
Photo: JPG file on Pinterest via Vintage East Africa. (See Link).
This takes me to my childhood, how different the month of April was in Africa. The monsoon season was truly magical. I felt joyful when the water from heavens poured.
My most cherished memory is a family holiday. Dad drove us from Dar es Salaam to Arusha to Ngorongo Crater for a wildlife safari trip. It was during the Easter week holidays, and the East African Safari Rally was happening. Every time the race cars zoomed by, Dad pulled aside to let the drivers pass. We honked and cheered. Wow! what an experience.
I discovered Kazuri beads—Swahili word for small and beautiful—a couple of years ago when attending Fraser Valley Bead Show in British Columbia. The person selling Kazuri beads told me the story of how these beads were handmade by women in Kenya. At the time, I had completed one of the chapters in my novel The Beggar's Dance, where there is a subtle mention about the handmade beads. Was this a coincidence or was it mean't to be? I love such mysteries of life, and suddenly this subtle scene in the novel became meaningful.
On the weekend, I was at the bead show again and purchased Kazuri beads for the bracelet I made (see photo). The reddish brown beads represent the earthy soil in Africa, the antique findings is for the rich cultures of Africa and the bird's wing charm stands for a falcon—all symbolic in my novel.
While on the beach, capturing my childhood memories, a young
man comes by, asking me to excuse his cow so they could pass. This memory
remains deep in my heart. And every time I think of this day, I hear the
roaring of the ocean waves, the laughter of the children and the moo of the
cow.
Oyster Bay, Dar es Salaam, Tanzania 1987
Come hear me whisper my writing journey through my past—the life in Africa that defined me, and through my present—the life in Canada where I found growth. Without
both, I could have not written my novel, The Beggar’s Dance. It's been over three years in the writing of The Beggar's Dance, and
now it's ready to publish. Whether it chooses a traditional or self publishing
route, neither one is going to fail me. Why? Because this is what I am supposed
to do, share a story.
