THIS is the young writer Andaleeb Wajid’s first novel and after you read it, your predominant feeling is that Kite Strings deserves a better editor. Mistakes mark the book, ranging from small typos to glaring grammatical errors but here’s the thing: they don’t mar the book. Which leads this reviewer to fall back on that old cliché, of Wajid’s story being a small gem of a tale, somewhat begrimed but still shining through.

Family ties
 On a terrace in Vellore, to which place Mehnaz and family return often and on, a small romance unfolds, full of potential but then, stops at the very verge of becoming a full-blown one. Mehnaz loves her father unconditionally, has a somewhat complicated relationship with her mother even though that, too, is underpinned with affection; she is negligent then sorry about her relationships with others, be it her brother Mateen, the young household help Aasia or her cousin Rehana. Ammi’s approval is the undercurrent that informs the narrative throughout, in a very credible manner.
 If Mehnaz is impatient of the unseen but very much felt Kite Strings that tether the girl to a stolid foundation, it is just that and not much more…the impatience every young girl on the threshold of life and love feels. It doesn’t turn to rebellion for Mehnaz only because she is firmly grounded in her feelings for her family, her concern for their well-being and actually, her unusually (for such a young girl) clear-headed thinking. There is no existentialist angst, in itself refreshing in a story about a girl coming to terms with all that life holds in waiting for her.

A little lost
 This is no account of someone breaking free from the hijab-burkha-purdah shackles. It would be easy for the reader to read more into the story of Mehnaz but clearly, Wajid does not intend this to be a ‘ freedom-at-21’ tale. Through Kite Strings, the reader gets a glimpse into the lives of a small clutch of Lababin Muslims from Tamil Nadu. To repudiate that this is a Muslim story would be to repudiate the very essence of Kite Strings. However, it is more than just a story about a set of Muslims. Substantially more.
 Wakjid’s style is fancy-free, direct. At some point, Ammi asks Mehnaz: “When will you learn which things in life are important, Mehnaz?” Well, we think Mehnaz, whom we have come to like, is doing just fine.
 I am Andaleeb, a writer
 I ‘m grateful, as a first-time author, for any attention my book garners. Having said that, I am flabbergasted when I meet with questions like: why didn’t you write this book in Urdu? How come you wear a burkha? There seems to be a big disconnect between my work and my personal appearance.
 Agreed, Mehnaz, the heroine in my Kite Strings is a Muslim girl, someone who has nascent rebellious feelings against the veil and all it implies. But Mehnaz isn’t me. I wear the hijab all the time when I am in public. I am comfortable with my headdress. It doesn’t escape me however that often, others become a bit uncomfortable when they see me in hijab.
 Why? I’m just another working woman, mother of two small children, juggling home, kids and writing, it’s just that I wear the hijab. Is that really such a big deal?
 Actually, Mehnaaz is not a rebel...the book is about growing up and part of that territory includes self -doubt, conflicted emotions about the slots we occupy in life.
 I finished Kite Strings in 2005 and then the hunt for a publisher began. Thirteen rejections and some major editing later, I was ready to shelve the book for a while. Only for a while, mind you; somewhere inside I believed it to be a good book and was resolved to even do the rounds of publishers all over again, after a brief hiatus.Then I found Cedar Publishers and they published the book. Most people who have read it have liked it. I’m glad but I do want to tell readers that I am not Mehnaz, my protagonist. I did my schooling in a convent, I come from a fairly liberal background, I have the most supportive of parents, husband and in-laws. I never had and still don’t have to do much explaining or justifying for my background, the way I dress or behave. Yes, I too had doubts about the burkha when I was younger. I used to wear Western wear to college, but very rarely. I don’t miss it and I don’t wear it at home either. I don’t think there is anything wrong with it, just that it’s out of my comfort zone now. I hope that people like me will bring about a change in the common perception that the hijab or burkha oppresses you.
 I do have a problem when my book gets slotted into the ‘chick lit’ or ‘young adult fiction’ category. It is the story of a young woman standing on the threshold of life and love and in my opinion, it cuts through categories.
 As for the undeniable fact that some people tend to judge me by my clothing: well, I dress this way because I want to. In my teens, I did go through a period where I found the burkha restricting. Some years ago, I enrolled for a class in Islamic studies and part of my evolution, spiritual and physical, was the total and complete acceptance of the hijab. Now, this is who I am, this is what I wear. It is part of me.
 Today, I am in a happy place. I am very comfortable with who I am, comfortable in my skin, with my religious identity. I get comments on my website from Muslims, saying they are proud of me. That makes me a tad uncomfortable because I really did not set out to be any kind of role model. I’m just me, Andaleeb, a writer.
(The Literary Review)

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