Semeen Ali in conversation with Reema Ahmad

A note from Semeen Ali:

Understanding a writer is key to understanding not only what they write, but why and how they write. In my conversation with Reema Ahmad, I seek to explore the influences that have shaped her as a writer, tracing the origins of her creative voice and examining how these origins permeate her work. The goal is to look beyond the written word and uncover what drives her to write and express herself. To what extent is her expression authentic, and how much of it is shaped by external expectations? These are just a few of the questions I explore with Reema in this piece. This conversation took place over Zoom, and while I have omitted some of our casual banter to maintain the flow of the written text, I have done my best to preserve the camaraderie we shared, as I believe that element is just as integral to the conversation. Transcribing a piece also involves some editing, but my aim has been to retain the spirit of our exchange.

S.A: Hi Reema, it is a pleasure to have you as my first guest to kick off this series of interviews and conversations that I will be conducting throughout the year. I couldn’t think of anyone better than my former co-editor to start this journey with. So, let me ask you – at what age did you begin writing? There often comes a moment when one feels compelled to express themselves, so I would love to know when you first started writing as a form of self-expression.

R.A: I think it was around the age of 17. That is when I first remember writing for myself. I wrote this awful poem for Valentine’s Day because I did not get a flower. [Both laugh] So, when I look back at my old diary, that is the first piece I see. It must have been around ’99.

S.A: Okay.

R.A: Before that, I would write for school, and I wrote well, but writing for myself as a form of self-expression started at seventeen.

S.A: Hmm, okay. And the genre you chose was poetry?

R.A: Yes, poetry. It just came very naturally. There was no form or structure in mind. I did not know any specific form or structure; it just flowed that way. So, yes, it just came naturally.

S.A: Since we are on this topic, why did you begin exploring the idea of expressing or discovering yourself through prose? I know you write beautifully in poetry, so what led prose to enter the picture?

R.A: It happened purely by accident. I started writing for my social media, specifically Facebook. There were things I was experiencing, and I began writing about them. These writings were always in long form, and they were always nonfiction. Prior to that, as I have mentioned, I wrote fiction, essays, and school assignments. I won a few competitions in school and was regarded as a good essay writer. But as a form of self-expression, prose really began – of all places – on Facebook. The connection I felt through that, with people both known and unknown, created a kind of community. People started relating to my pieces, and that is how it all began. Later, this became the inspiration for my book. It all started from a place of loneliness; I wanted to express things I could not share with my immediate family. I found a community of strangers who were welcoming, and they were not scary at all.

S.A: This ties into a question that comes to mind – when you were writing as a published author, did you approach your writing differently than when you were sharing on Facebook or social media? Back then, the goal was often to express what you felt in your heart, and in doing so, you might find someone who resonates with it and shares their own perspective, creating that sense of community you mentioned. But when writing your book, did you have a specific audience in mind, or do you feel that, as you write, an organic readership naturally forms without conscious effort?

R.A: So, things have always happened somewhat randomly for me, and the structures, whether in writing or in life have come later. The feeling always comes first, and that has almost always governed my writing. When I started writing the book, I was coming from a place of feeling that this is a lonely experience for many parents, and I have been that parent. I thought, maybe there are others like me. So, when I wrote, my core thought was to be a familiar voice that people could turn to, a voice that would not shame them. When you are thinking in this way, your readership naturally becomes less about intellectuals or critical readers. I would not say ‘non-intellectual,’ but it is more about not boxing the book into some literary or intellectual structure. The book was meant to be part memoir, part self-help, and something like, “Oh, I can turn to this person…”

S.A: So, it is not exactly a highbrow, academically inclined book. Writing along those lines could distance you from general readers because it limits the audience.

R.A: Yes.

S.A: It brackets the book into being written for a particular audience.

R.A: Exactly, for a particular audience.

S.A: You wanted to reach a wider audience and not be confined to writing for a set group of people.

R.A: And that was never my intention. While I was writing, I also realised that this book could be appreciated by non-parents as well. It could resonate with anyone who has been a child, which, of course, is everyone. And that is what happened; it is not just parents who picked up the book. It is written from various perspectives: from someone who is a woman, someone who has been a child, someone who is a mother, someone who has been a single parent, you know.

S.A: Hmm.

R.A: So, because the internal perspective was constantly shifting and I was trying to bring all of me into it, I wanted the book to be open to a wide variety of people. And it has been read by many, including people from the field of literature. So, no, I did not have a specific reader in mind when I wrote. My focus was more on the tone; making sure the tone felt friendly, as if someone were sitting beside you, talking to you.

S.A: Hmm, okay. So, going back to the first question I asked about the age at which you began writing, and the answer you gave, I would like to explore that further. When I began following your posts on Facebook, what stood out to me was how evocative and powerful your writings were. At times, they were precise, at other times longer, but what you were able to convey emotionally in those pieces was striking. It made me wonder – was that something inherent in you, something always within you that allowed you to express yourself so freely? Or is it something that developed over time, and you were only able to express it later?

R.A: I think it is a bit of both. My friends tell me that even in college, when I talked about something I was passionate about, it would come across as powerful. But yes, if your mind works in a particular way like mine does, what happens is that the visual and the feeling come first. Then I have to translate those into words. When that happens, it is very felt and visceral. That is how I talk, and it is how I am with people I am very close to. So, because of that, when I write, it is like an immediate outpouring. I would write straight away on Facebook or whatever medium I was using; I was not thinking about structure until much later, when I started writing professionally. Then, I would think about those things. Because of this, the aliveness of what I was feeling, because it hit me deeply, would be reflected in the writing. It was not a deliberate decision; it is just how I am.

And because my writing was mostly for me – not for others – it was my space to vent, to speak, to really be myself. There were few other spaces where I could do that. Maybe that is why it came across as powerful or evocative. But, of course, later, as I grew as a writer especially after writing the book, when I am now asked to write pieces, I do bring more thought into how I write, how much of my feelings I share, because you cannot write something purely based on feelings when you have been formally asked to write about something. You also have to bring in research, context, and how you tie it all together. But in almost everything I write; I find myself trying to connect what I am being asked to write about with who I am. That is usually how it either begins or ends.

S.A: Yes, you don’t write in a dry manner…

R.A: Right. I can’t write that way. I find it difficult, and I have accepted that it is part of my personality.

S.A: Okay, so as you mentioned, now when you write, you need to research and you write with a specific idea in mind, being more deliberate about it. But there must have been a time when you were writing in its rawest form – just putting it out there, not caring how it would be received. It is like you’ve written it, you’ve felt it, and then you just sent it out. Have there been moments like that, and when did they begin for you?

R.A: I think that began in poetry. It also started a lot in writing circles, where we would sit together, and someone would give us a prompt, and we would just write without editing. I have sent pieces out without properly editing them, only to later realise they might have a lot of errors. But once I send them, I don’t feel like going back to revise. For example, the piece I sent to Indian Express, that was the first draft, and that is how it went. In a way, I am so afraid of what I have written that I want to send it out before I change my mind about it. If I sit with it, then I start thinking, “Let me change this, let me change that…” So, 90 percent of the time, I feel like I am not using any craft when I write, but it’s more like blurting out what I truly feel, though I still keep the context and structure in mind.

S.A: But don’t you find it liberating, the blurting out? I have always believed that it’s relatable because, personally, I think that the more you refine your voice or revise your work, the more the original voice gets lost or modified according to the conventions of writing.

R.A: I agree. When you are not trained to write, and you don’t know what craft is, you are kind of writing from a place of …well, for lack of a better word, ignorance.

[Both laugh]

You just think, “This is what I know, this is how I am going to write.” It is liberating, but then it surprises you when people say, “Oh, this was nice…” Because in your head, you are like, “I don’t know anything. I’m just having fun while writing.”

S.A: [laughs] Having fun!

R.A: Yes, exactly! [laughs] I am writing for myself, and then when people resonate with it, I think, “Oh, maybe I should learn more about the craft of writing.” But that has never really happened. So, you are right, it is liberating. When you do not know the technicalities, you are almost setting up a disclaimer like, “I don’t know.” So, who can judge me and say, “Write it this way, or write it that way?”

S.A: Okay, so you also co-edited an anthology featuring writings and visuals by women and those who identify as women. I remember that during this time, you were also writing your own book.

R.A: Yes, that is right.

S.A: Do you think there is a thematic connection between the two books? Did they influence each other in any way?

R.A: Absolutely. There is a deep connection between the two. My book was written from the perspective of a woman, a mother, and it explored themes of childhood, parenting, and the way you, as a woman, are seen in the world. And the anthology was also about that, right? As we were editing the anthology, and reading all those diverse perspectives, there were several pieces where women were reflecting on their own mothers. So, in that sense, there was a resonance between the two. When you write about your child or about parenting, you cannot separate that from your own experience of being mothered, or your relationship with your own mother. And, how you view your mother as a woman; how you see the woman who gave birth to you and raised you, that inevitably influences how you write about your own childhood.

I wouldn’t say there was a conscious overlap, but I do think it’s what I would call the ‘messiness of our experiences’. There is no clear way to separate everything; it all blends together. I think that blending, or composting, of ideas and emotions happened naturally, and it made both projects richer.

S.A: Adding to the ‘messiness’ bit, I also feel that when we were working on the anthology and approached a few publishers before settling on one, the attitude of some publishers was very condescending. They made us feel like we were just a speck in a world dominated by big names, and it used to boil my blood as an editor. But, as a writer, do you feel there are entrenched ideas about how writings by male writers are received compared to those by women? I have observed online that when a male writer releases a book, they often seem to have an edge over writers from other genders. Do you feel that? Have you experienced it?

R.A: To be fair, I haven’t experienced it personally. For me, the more prominent aspect was being a newcomer, a first-time writer. I never felt any discrimination as a woman, possibly because my editor was very supportive, and the people working on my book were also women. But the one area where gender did make a difference was in how people understood the material. Let me explain: if an editor, perhaps a younger person who hadn’t had certain life experiences, looked at my work, they’d approach it differently compared to someone who had lived through more and understood that this book wasn’t as light or fun as it might appear from the cover. From that perspective, I felt gender played a role. A man might not have been able to see the darker undertones of the themes, but a woman, particularly one who had experienced similar things, could understand it better.      

Looking back, I feel that if I had worked with an editor who had more life experience, they would have brought that empathy and understanding into my work and supported me emotionally in a better way. But my primary concern at the time was feeling like, “I’m new. No one’s going to pay attention to me”. I think I had ‘experience blindness’ because I was entering a field I was unfamiliar with. I did not really notice gender differences in how I was treated at first, and I was lucky in how men responded to the book, especially fellow writers. One writer, who was part of a panel, was so passionate about it.

Later, though, I did notice how the book, despite being marketed for both men and women, seemed to resonate more with women. It took a lot of effort to get men to engage with it, especially in the North of the country. But when I went to the South, I was taken aback; more than half the room was filled with male readers! They were genuinely interested, asking questions, and engaging with the themes. In the North, however, the rooms were mostly filled with women. That is where I felt the impact of gender, but it was not so much in the way I was treated as a writer, just in how the book was received.

S.A: So, my final question to you is this: Both of us come from small towns, and we have hardly had access to the literary circles often found in metropolitan cities. With that in mind, and reflecting on all your writings over the years, do you feel that your origins influence your writing? Or have you managed to compartmentalise where you are from and the way you write?

R.A: There is no way to separate the two. If you are writing from an honest place – by which I mean, an authentic and whole place, especially for someone like me who writes from life, that is the only way I know how to write. That is why I find it difficult to approach fiction. I struggle to ask, “What do I base this on?” Even when I do write fiction, it stems from my life experiences; it grows from that. So, when you mention origins and life experiences, a big part of that is the small-town me – the conventional, Muslim, North Indian family background. I continue to live within that space while also evolving, but I am still very much part of it –culturally, politically, religiously, in all those ways. I believe that in every aspect of my life whether as a therapist, a counsellor, or a writer there is no separation. Life doesn’t fit neatly into boxes where you can say, “This is this identity, and this is that identity.” Our material is drawn from life, after all. So, for me, there is no separation. It influences everything I write whether it is for newspapers, a poem, or my book. It all comes from that place of “This is my lived experience.”

S.A: That’s beautifully put. Thank you so much, Reema, for taking the time to have this lovely conversation with me. I wish I could ask you more questions, but for now, let these responses serve as a window into how you think and feel about writing.

R.A: Thank you so much.