Shelving this in place of Zinda Bahar/Bihar Lane, which is the first novella/travelogue/memoir in this three part collection because ZBR doesn't have any separate entry on Goodreads. I won't try to review or summarise it because it feels like a gargantuan task. But a few thoughts: This book bears witness to, gives shahadat for, the violence created by these three Nation States India, Pakistan, Bangladesh on the people of this land. It begins with Fehmida Riaz arriving in Dhaka two days before the Country's independence day. In the following days she bears witness to the details of how the country she is a citizen of killed real people, real people whose relatives now speak to her from the TV screens. In the same days she also falls in love with Dhaka.
The feeling that this book evokes at times is of deep discomfort, like the deep discomfort of the Bengalis to whom Fehmida Riaz keeps posing questions about the 2.5 Biharis in camps throughout the country (some of what she visits). There is a lot of pain in this book, understandably as one of its many tasks is of grappling with a fractured identity split into three jagged edges that keep cutting each other. But in these pages you also find Fehmida Riaz herself, and parts of her that are sorrowful, scared, funny, caustic, sarcastic, enthusiastic, and enchanting. At one point, annoyed by the opinions of a Journalist at Dhaka press club she begins to playfully flirt with him. He gets visibly flustered, and asks "Mr.Riaz kahan hai?" She replies "Wo tou mar gaye". She waits for him to pin her down as a flirtatious widow before casually saying "mai bohat choti thi jab wo mar gaye. Aap shaid meray shohar ka poochna chahthay thay. Wo Karachi mai hain, khariat sai." At other points she chastises herself for speaking too much, she hints for matchsticks to light her cigarettes.
Ultimately the book offers no clear answers, no dogma, only a deeply disturbing contemplation: who are we? Kon hain hum log?