64 THE WEEK • AUGUST 4, 2019

@LEISURE

SOCIETY

I

t is an overcast Saturday in the capi-

tal. Taslima Nasreen potters around

her home. A true Delhiwala, she

has moved home more than once.

Getting a flat was not easy. She had

the money, but very few landlords

want to make a point about literary

freedom. For three years, she has

been in this house, where, through

the window, she gazes into the

green—from the pale green gulmo-

har leaves to the darker neem. Nas-

reen is chattering with the gardener

in Bangla to plant seeds. Language

is her home, she says. Her tiny ter-

race is an explosion of plants—cur-

ry leaves, lilies, periwinkles and a

potted palm—a sort of recreation

of the garden of her childhood. “I

only have plants that existed in my

garden when I was growing up,’’ she

says. “I collect them.’’

Twenty-five years an exile, Nas-

reen has not mellowed. She blazed

on to the literary scene as a rebel.

Her book was banned. Hers was,

and is, a voice that refuses to be si-

lenced. She has switched publishers

though and is now with HarperCol-

lins India. (Her new book—Shame-

less—will be out soon). Provocative,

and often controversial, she has

chosen to speak her mind, despite

death threats. Perhaps, because of

it. “I feel scared. But because of that,

will I shut my mouth?’’ she asks. “It

is not my fault. My opinions made

fundamentalists furious. Lajja

made the government furious. I

blamed the government for not

giving the minorities enough secu-

rity. I was threatened. Cases were

filed against me. I was thrown out

of Bangladesh. Is it my fault or is it

society’s? A writer should be free

to write. A writer should feel safe.

If I can’t express myself freely, then

there is something wrong in the so-

ciety.”

In India, Nasreen was asked to

leave Bengal by the CPI(M). Under

the United Progressive Alliance

government, she was under house

arrest. She has more fatwas in Ben-

gal than in Bangladesh, yet India

is where she has chosen to live

since 2004. “Love for the country

is sacrifice,’’ she says. “You forsake

all other offers and luxury life and

come here to live with pollution and

worries. You don’t know whether you

will get permission. It is love for the

language, or the land.’’

Nasreen, who has an enviable

European Union passport and an

American green card, still struggles

to live in India. During the interview,

she gets a call about her residence

permit. It was granted for a year, after

she took to Twitter to question only

a three-month extension. “After 25

years in exile, I am still worried about

getting permission to stay,’’ she says.

“Even though I am an European cit-

izen, I settled in India—physically,

psychologically and in every way.

I have a cat. I got her from Kolkata;

she is like my child.’’