 She is a poet, writer and publisher, born in the UK and raised in Minnesota and India. She is a co-founder of the Great Indian Poetry Collective, a mentorship model press, publishing voices from India and the Indian Diaspora. Her poetry has been nominated for the Pushkart Prize and is featured in many publications. She was selected as Poet Laureate of San Ramon, California in 2016. She is a six-time AWP Poetry Mentor in their writer-to-writer program. Currently she is a Mosaic American Fellow and a member of the writer's grotto. Her first book of poems was Geography of Tongues and the latest one is Anandi Bai Joshi, A Life in Poems, published in 2023 and our library has copies for you to check out. And now I would like to stop sharing my screen so we can begin our conversation with Shekha. Good afternoon Shekha and welcome. Thank you. This is, you know, I'm, I'm, thanks so much for organizing this and I'm really excited to share, you know, Anandi Bai's life story and significance with all of you and why I wrote about her and et cetera. So thank you for having me. Thank you. To start with Shekha, can you share with us how you discovered Anandi Bai and what inspired you to write about her? Sure. So I wonder if I can share my screen for a second to show this photograph, you know, with all of you here. Just one second. Let me see. Can you all see it? Yes. Yeah. I was working on a poem about, well, you know, I grew up in Minnesota and as an Indian who had moved to Minnesota, I faced a lot of racism. And you know, I, as I grew older, you know, one of the ways I processed and assimilated my experiences was through poetry. And so I wanted to write a poem sort of talking back to those who had made racist comments at me while I was in school and so I decided, okay, I wanted to inform them that I was not the first one because one of the slurs that, you know, one of the most common slurs, which I think many of us have faced is go back to where you came from. And so I wanted to convey that notion that there were others who had come before us. But then when I started thinking about who those others were, the narrative which I had, which others had were that our parents moved here. And so that's why we are here or our parents moved here, that's why we were born here. But I thought, no, that can't be. There had to be others who had come before us. And so the problem was I didn't know who those people were. So I went online and I searched for who was the first Indian woman to come to the United States. And this photograph popped up. And so this photograph is a really iconic photograph because it shows three women from different countries who had all converged in Philadelphia in order to study medicine. So the leftmost one is Anand Levi Joshi. And she was the first Indian woman to come to the United States and study medicine and not just study medicine, but a lot of people say that she might actually be the first Indian woman who came to the United States in general. So when I saw this photograph, she exudes this confidence. I mean, just look at the stance that she has, right? And I was just riveted. And when you look at this photograph, no matter where you look at it from, it seems like she's looking directly at you. So I became really fascinated about who she was. How did she end up in Philadelphia in 1883? And that just led me down a really fascinating rabbit hole. So let me stop sharing my screen here. Yeah. So yeah. So that's how I discovered her. And the more I read about her and her challenges of how she got to the United States, I was just blown away by her sheer grit, by her determination, by all the challenges she had to face. And so I wrote a poem on this photograph, an ecstastic poem. And I'd love to share that with all of you. OK. So this poem was taken at a college reception. And the other two women who are in it, one is from Japan and the other one is from Syria. And it's really interesting that all three of them are together. And they're also in their native dress, right? And what are the implications of that? Who took the photograph? Obviously, it was a white person. And in those days, women were not encouraged to do photography, so it was a white man, right? And so what does it mean when a person through their lens is capturing a picture of the other? This really fascinated me for those reasons and many other reasons, of course. So this poem is called, When They Ask Us to Pose for a Photograph at the Women's Medical College Reception, Philadelphia, 1885. Forgive us if we don't smile. The ocean sent still on our clothes, still on our clothes, the stench of sea. We, visitors of another climb, of warmer lands, are we. With pride, we wear our native clothes. Silks and jewels, we proudly don. Sari kimono, headdress of coins. With lyre, sash, a handheld fan. No scalpel, stethoscope, or degree. Three female doctors of foreign pedigree playing dress up for western eyes. In our appearance, they see worlds wild. Forgive us if we don't smile. That was amazing. Thank you so much. It's fascinating to hear about how you did your research also on Anand Dibai, like the sources that you used. And could you tell us if there was something in particular about your research, as you did it, something that intrigued you or surprised you? Oh, there were, there were so many things. So, so, you know, when I went down this rabbit hole, I did a lot of research on the internet. And I found this book, which was written by a woman called Caroline Healy Dahl. And Dahl had met, she was an American. At the time, I guess they referred to a lot of people who did social work and wanted to work towards a better society. They called them reformers, right? So she was a reformer and a feminist. And Anand Dibai, unfortunately, passed away at the young age of 21. Right after she finished her medical education and went back to India, she died of tuberculosis. So this woman, Caroline Healy Dahl, was really impressed with Anand Dibai, whom she met quite a few times when Anand Dibai was in Philadelphia and in Pennsylvania. So she wrote this biography of Anand Dibai within a year of her death. So there are, you know, letters, quotes from letters that Anand Dibai wrote, and then she talked to the people who Anand Dibai stayed with. So in many ways, you know, it was something that was from that time, right? She was able to capture the essence of Anand Dibai, although she also colored it with her own Western take on things. But this was like, you know, discovering treasure for me, because this was written at that time. It documented Anand Dibai's life in the United States while she was there. And what Anand Dibai had shared about herself. So that was one wonderful source, you know? And then I discovered another book that was also written, you know, in the 20th century. And that was by a Maharashtan scholar. And she also had done extensive research on Anand Dibai. So those were my two sources. But some of the things that I discovered, one was that many, many things. Like when Anand Dibai came here, she came here alone. She couldn't afford, you know, it was very difficult for anyone to afford passage, right? And so how she got here, her husband was a postman. And he was also a social reformer of sorts, who really believed in women's education. So he encouraged her. But that was also very complicated, which I think we can get into later. But there was a letter published in a missionary. I mean, there's so many things that have to line up in order for things to happen. And in Anand Dibai's case, her husband wrote a letter to a missionary man. And he said, okay, I'll publish it, but there's nothing we can do to help you unless you convert. And Anand Dibai did not want to convert to Christianity. So they published it in a journal, which a woman in New Jersey read while she was at the dentist's office. And when she read this letter, this man was saying, my wife wants to become a doctor. There are no women doctors in our country, and she needs help. This other woman, this American woman in, you know, New Jersey read this and said, well, I want to help this woman in India. So there's a lot of serendipity and things like that involved in how she got there. And when she did get here, she stayed with this woman and her family. And she looked up to this woman as a second mother. And, you know, Anand Dibai fell ill and she sort of knew she was going to die. And although when she passed away, she had proper Hindu rituals because she was a Hindu, she requested that her ashes be interned in New York with the carpenter family. The Odosha carpenter was the name of the woman who became her host and like her second mother, her biggest ally in the United States. And I was really shocked that she wanted her ashes to be interned and buried in the United States. And there's a gravestone in Poughkeepsie, New York, which has Anand Dibai's ashes. So these are just some of the things that just blew me away. Well, I was doing research and also the fact that I didn't any of us in the South Asian community know about her. So those are just some of the things. But yeah, I've tried in this book to put down all those things that I discovered, but in her voice, yeah. And I know that in one of the poems you share her words or actually in many of the poems. Yes. For example, like the mental photograph one is takes from her an autograph that she gave, I believe. Those are the kinds of sources you had like to. Right, exactly. So, you know, let me share some of the quotes from the first page. So I have quotes that people had said thing about her. And even Mrs. Caroline Healy-Dahl, what she said when she first met Anand Dibai. Some of it might shock you, but at that time that was the language that was used. And this was somebody who really liked Anand Dibai, but just listen to how she describes her. So she looks like a stout, dumpy, mulatto girl, not especially interesting until her yellow face lights up and light up it did as soon as she gathered from a helping word of mine that I was familiar with the customs of her people. I cannot describe the effect. It was magical. She speaks seven languages of which English, Sanskrit, and Maratha are three. Her English is exquisite. There's hardly a flaw in pronunciation or construction. If I had not known, I should have thought her born in this country. Now, many of those things, they sound racist because, you know, in our day and age, they absolutely are. And, you know, this is also at the height of Orientalism and there is much exoticism associated with other cultures. So, you know, this comment, you know, you wouldn't think this is from an ally, but it was. But then there's this other quote by her, which I want to share. When it is remembered that the Brahmins are forbidden to cross the ocean, to eat food which has not been prepared by Brahmins, or to drink water touched by European hands, and that the violation of these orders involves severe penalties, Mrs. Joshi's heroism becomes strikingly apparent. So, at the time, women in India, their lives revolved around the home. In fact, Anand Lee Bae's family, in her family, none of the women wore shoes because the logic was you never leave the house. Why do you need shoes? You know, so to come from a situation like that where you don't wear shoes, you don't leave the house, to actually cross several oceans to cover the United States, it's an incredible feat, you know. Yeah. So, the one poem that you mentioned, I would love to share that to a mental photograph. So, when Anand Lee Bae came to the United States, at the time, it was custom to have something like an autograph book in which they had questions about what's your favorite color, what's your favorite book, what's your favorite flower, and I don't think these are questions that were asked of women at the time, especially where Anand Lee Bae came from. So, to have that available, to see that with my own eyes, it made me feel as if Anand Lee Bae was maybe being introduced to herself as she wrote these questions, answers to these questions. So, I'm just going to read a little bit of it because it is a long poem, but a mental photograph. September 3, 1883. I was ravenous, shoving the open mouth of my mind with morsels of knowledge held by my husband's hand, that after crossing two oceans, when I should be asked in the parlor of my sponsor, a kind American woman whom I called Moshi, mother's sister, in my native tongue, but whose love is like a mother itself. What my favorite things are, I'm truly overcome with joy. No one has ever asked this of me, not even I. And so I write in the album a Mrs. Theodosia Carpenter of Roselle, New Jersey, ever so carefully, answers that introduce me to myself. Color, white, flower, the rose, tree, the mango, object and nature, mountains, hour, sunrise and set, season, spring, perfume, jasmine, gem, diamond, style of beauty, perfection of form and manner, painter, I love all, musician, those who play in the violin and liar, piece of architecture, the Taj Mahal, and so on and so forth that goes on. But just imagine that one is able to find these things about somebody in 18, who lived in the 19th century, who's a historical figure. To me, this was just mind blowing, to be able to find things like this. And so I was really grateful that somebody like Mrs. Caroline Healy-Dahl documented all of this in the biography she's written on Anand Dibai. Yeah. Your book is a book of persona poems and Anand Dibai speaking in the first person in all these wonderful poems about different times in her life. Was it challenging to also think about the historical accuracy of what had to be presented and then also the imaginative side of persona poems? How to balance giving her a voice and also being a poet, putting it into poetry? It definitely was a challenge because I had amassed all these facts from different sources. There's this wonderful archive called the South Asian American Digital Archive which had pictures of Anand Dibai which had scanned letters of her as well as the Drexel Medical Archive. And then I had two biographies. And so all of these were facts, right? And how do you take fact and balance that with experience? And how do you balance that with the voice of a 19th century young woman who's, I mean, English was her second language. But interestingly, when she came to the United States, because she was speaking English all the time, she actually had forgotten Marathi, she had forgotten to speak Marathi. Like it became a little bit rusty and she really had to, you know, when she had to go back, you know, she was worried a little bit. But yeah, how does, I mean, I was intimidated by that task of trying to capture her authentic voice. But because I had access to her letters, you know, I was able to get a sense. At that time, you know, the English was very formal. And also it was quite dramatic, you know, and there was a certain romance, you know, that to it too that, oh my God, when I wasn't able to do this, I thought I was going to die. There were actually instances like that when, you know, she was trying to cook things in medical school because she wanted to only eat her, you know, Indian food and, you know, she wasn't able to cook her rice properly, like some of the descriptions, you know. So she's a young woman. She's only, you know, 18, 19, but also she's from the 19th century. I think you have to have a leap of faith when you have all of this information and you, you've read enough letters, you sort of tell yourself, okay, you know, you sort of have to invoke that feeling, that person, that atmosphere. And so that's what I did. You know, I literally had no joke. I, every time I would begin a poem, I would look up towards the sky and I would sort of invoke her spirit saying, okay, Anand Devi, what do you want me to write? So I feel that, you know, hopefully there was some sort of, you know, otherworldly guidance in this way. And like I was taking permission from her as I embarked on this. So, but I felt that persona poetry would be the best form to tell her story because all of her stories that I encountered, they were told by other people and her husband, who was a reformer, all of Anand Devi's success, especially when after she came back from the United States, it was all attributed to him that he is the one who helped her. And that's why she went to the United States, that his purpose of educating her was served. That's actually what the newspapers declared, that his purpose to send his wife to the United States to make her a doctor was fulfilled, you know, things like that. So I thought, you know, she should get her story in her own voice so that her agency comes back to her. And so that is why I chose persona poetry in a way because I thought, you know, this way we get to hear her tell her own story. It's her imagined voice. But so many of the poems have her phrases, her words, they're called from letters. So I tried my very best to bring her voice into it and to make her story powerful. Yeah. Did you want to share a poem? Yes, I'd love to. And, you know, I also want to say the challenge was also trying to capture the different geographies, right? And setting the tone. So like the first poem in the book, it isn't necessarily in her voice. It's just a voice that sets up the atmosphere, the history, because, you know, at that time, India was under British rule. And it, I mean, certain areas have been certain areas, especially the area where she lived. You know, it was not just plundered by the British, but also the Portuguese and the Mughals as well. So I wanted to just show that this is sort of the background where she came from geographically. So it's called Outside the Chaukat. And Chaukat means doorway. So outside the Chaukat. If you want to know what happens in this bustling town by the sea, Kalyan, which in Sanskrit means well-being, but whose shores have thrice been plundered by the Mughals, the Portuguese and the British, despite the shade of a fortress, and a long city wall with four gates and 11 towers, whose welfare is erased and renamed Kalyan and Kalyan. Ask the men, for they are the ones who wear shoes that take them outside the Chaukat. They are the lucky ones who donning their turbans, melladung of many homes, heard the hum of horses hooves, darken their hands with the ink of newsprint, read the cover of the day, while sitting on a Zopara in the courtyard, dragging a puff from a gurgling hookah. Whereas the women tiptoe softly, their bare souls hardened, walking from kitchen to cow shed to well, fingertips charred from stoking the chula, thoughts spilling over like water, from vessels balanced on their heads, of what lies beyond a door frame that make a splash and then evaporate. So I wanted to say that Zopara is a swinging, you know, it's a swing, but it's also like a chair. It's a traditional wooden swing, which is very common in homes in Maharashtra at the time. And so yeah, this sort of shows a demarcation between the men and the women, how men could go out, they could do whatever they want to, they could smoke, they could read the newspaper, they were educated, whereas women were confined to the kitchen. So I wanted to set the book up, so I had that. And then Anandi Bai and her ally, Mrs. Theodosia Carpenter, they wrote to each other for a couple of years. And I wanted to somehow bring out their relationship, how it was developed over those years, so I wrote 12 poems that are loosely sonnets and a lot of those poems have actual words from Anandi Bai's letters. So I'd like to share one of those if I could. Yeah, so let's just second him. Yeah, so this is like in the day, even the women were educated, like they had to ask permission from their husband, can I, like every time she'd write to Theodosia Carpenter, Anandi Bai would say, can I send a lock of my hair? Can I share my picture? So even then, like she didn't exactly have full agency. So she wrote and also because educational opportunities weren't available for women at that time, they did look to the Western world for educational opportunities, whether it was through the missionaries and they looked at America as a country of progress, even in that time. So here are some of her words. To achieve my object, it falls upon England or America to take care of us. Though proud and fond of her, I have no hope of India resuming her motherly duty to give her daughter's nourishment. The more I read and think of your favor, the more I think of you as a real sister. Nay, it is more than that as if entrusted the care of a child where the mother is absent. And I'm glad to hear America is not so orthodox. If you write to me in my name, there would be nothing wrong for my husband's good wishes allows me the privilege of direct correspondence. I beg your acceptance of my photo lately taken. So that's just one of the, you know, letters or responses that she gave to Theodosia Carpenter. Yeah. Thank you so much. That was wonderful. Thank you. For Anantibai, the waters that she crossed, they're considered forbidden waters as a Brahmin woman from India at that time. And in your poems, also, you touch on challenges she faced there as well as here in the U.S. But she had some significant allies. Can you tell us about who these were and how it was a little complicated? So her first ally, I mean, in some ways, her father was very encouraging. Her father, even though when she wanted to learn, her mother would get very upset and said, no, you can't study. You need to be in the kitchen and stuff like that. Her father seemed quite encouraging. But only to a certain point, because when she was nine, they were very worried that she wasn't married yet. And so they wanted her to get married and that was their and all be all goal for her. And she ended up marrying a widowed man who was 16 years older than her. And his thing was reformation. He wanted to be known as a reformer. He wanted to actually marry a widow because, you know, widow remarriage was a new big social reformation movement going on. And when he couldn't find a widow, only then he thought, okay, I will marry this young girl instead. But only if I can educate her. So she was interested in being educated, but her whole family, they were really vehemently opposed to it. And yet, you know, he said, no, I will educate her. And initially she was nine years old. She wanted to play. She wanted to do other things. And her husband would get very upset and beat her if she didn't study. So while he was an ally, the story of their relationship is quite complicated because later on, he actually became a little bit jealous of her, you know, when she started doing well and he wanted to control her. So, you know, the book also addresses all of that. So Gopal Rao Joshi was Anandi Vai's first, you know, ally. And then the missionaries were reluctant allies because, you know, Gopal Rao would go to these missionaries and say, can you please help my wife? She wants to study. Will you help sponsor her so she could go to the United States? And they said, yes, we'd love to. If you convert. So when they refused to convert, her husband was ready to convert, by the way, but she refused. Then one missionary said, okay, his name is Reverend Wilder, that I will publish this letter in the journal. But I don't know how that's going to help you. But I'll do that as a favor to you. And that letter basically was asking, you know, anybody to help his wife, you know, cross the ocean to become a doctor. So then, yeah, the missionaries were reluctant allies. But then when Theodosia Carpenter read her letter, she didn't have to, you know, help Anandi Vai. But she just felt this connection and said, I want to help her. And she didn't want anything in return. She didn't want Anandi Vai to convert or anything like that. So in the United States, she was her biggest ally. And then later on, the Dean of the Medical College, when she got admission, the Dean of the Medical College was wonderful because Anandi Vai was homesick and she was having a terrible time living alone. She actually invited Anandi Vai to live with her while she was studying. Yeah, so she had quite a few allies when she reached America. And then society there were, you know, they, when they heard her story and why she was there to study medicine, you know, articles in the newspaper were saying, look at this woman who's come from so far away. So she received a wonderful public reception in Philadelphia as well. Yeah, yeah. So she had quite a few allies. Yeah. And, you know, I can share some poems. Like one of the poems I wrote was how one of the poems is based on the letter that Theodosia Carpenter reads. So let me see if I can find that. I think it's page 50. And let me know how we're doing on time. Yes, we have at least I would say 10 more minutes. Oh, okay, wonderful. So this is a poem called If It Please God. Each time she tells the story, I'm convinced it isn't coincidence. Call it fate, Nashib, aunt's eye falling on the dusty cover of the missionary review, her tooth throbbing in the dentist's office as she flips through it till her eyes rest on my husband's plea. I should therefore, if it please God, like to take my wife to America for her being thoroughly educated. Our maker surely won in the same, conspiring to shrink oceans and bring us closer. Three years later, I say goodbye to Setempoor's Dark Shores, my new home now, Roselle, New Jersey, where hope bursts open like a rose, giving let there be light new meaning, making history as the first town to be electrified by Thomas Edison a few months before I arrive as the first Maratha woman studying medicine. And I bask in this newly lit town under the love of another mother, another land where I can be myself desirous of learning without others injurious glances burning bright as a bulb. So, you know, I wanted to mention that she came to the United States in a very interesting time. And it just so happened that the town she came to was the first town that was electrified, that had electricity. So just imagine, you know, it was a very exciting time. And when she was leaving India for the United States, there was a huge protest. So many people came, you know, and said, you know, that she'll be crossing waters that are considered polluted because for some reason leaving one's country was considered that you'll be tainted, you know, your purity and things like that, you know, in terms of food, in terms of, you know, water, things like that. And that basically was fear of the unknown, right? So people protested. And so she had to give a speech at the College of Sarampur, explaining why she was going to America, why I go to America, basically, yeah. So, yeah, so this is, you know, a poem which, you know, sort of explains, you know, how she went there and how a lot of it is luck and serendipity, you know. And I don't know if there's another poem here. Oh, yeah, I did want to share a poem called Under the Rail of Kindness because when she went there, and this is one of the things that really blew me away, questions that I was asked in my childhood, you know, or the questions she was also asked when she came to the United States. And, you know, there was like a gap of more than 100 years, right? So let me just quickly share that poem. And so this is sort of about how there was generosity from the Americans but also like, you know, at the same time, ignorance, right? Under their veil of kindness. In every corner of this country, kindness. They love me so dearly here. I do not feel alone or far from home. The children greet me politely. The laundress charges me less. And the dean of the medical college, her heart so large, she gives me a place at her heart when she sees I am but a mess. Trying to cook then rush for classes. How to ever repay such a debt. Their generosity as big as their country. And I am stubborn in what I eat and how I dress. Lentils and rice for all meals with the occasional egg. My kumku, my bangles, my sari. I dawn throughout all seasons wrapping it in such a fashion that no cold may seep in. I like this bit of difference in which they regard me. Praise my foreignness. How in me they see my motherland. And yet their remarks like leaves fallen on a lake sometimes float with ignorance. Do your homes in India have windows? How do you see God in stone? Why are your brides so young? Are there many women where you come from? To them we are smug in their heathenness, in our heathenness. The missionaries who come back echoing the same. And so it is up to me to pierce through their many veils. And I just want to say like when she came, when she arrived in the United States and her hostess invited her neighbors to come and welcome Anand Dibai, the women of the neighborhood. They came with bearing flowers. But everybody wanted to touch her skin and hair because they hadn't seen somebody like her before. So, you know, she had a very interesting experience, you know, of being the other. And she took it in stride. She really took it in stride. Yeah. Can you also tell us, because the book has so many different forms within it in your poetry. So how did you decide on them and what went through your mind for when you created a certain form like Razzal and found poetry, concrete poetry, it's all there? Well, because I was telling her whole life, right, from beginning to end chronologically, life is never static. And so how to show a life that is not static, if you're going to write in one style, it's going to become very boring. And you want to show the ups and downs, the highs and lows, and then how her voice changes from when she's very young to as she grows older and older, right? And so forms were a wonderful way to, you know, to bring that in. And so, you know, found poetry, of course, is when you take different sources of text and material. And so like one found poem I wrote was when she was writing her application for medical school. And I thought, you know, I don't want to show a boring, you know, application. But if I can just show that as a found poem in which she's telling, you know, the administrators, this is why you need me as a student, right? So that was an epistolary poem, a poem in the form of a letter. And then there were difficult topics such as, you know, when, so Anand Debye came to the, decided to become a doctor because she lost her child 10 days after giving birth. And at that time, women just did not want to go to a proper medical doctor because they were all men and they were mostly European. And that's when she realized that if I had not hesitated to go to the medical doctor, maybe my child could have been saved. And so that's when she decided that, you know, she wanted to become a medical doctor. And so when she was in the United States, she had to dissect the body of a young baby. And I thought, what must she have thought at that time, what she must have gone through? And the incredible thing is, all the other students left the room. They couldn't do it. But Anand Debye stayed and dissected that infant. She was the only one. And I thought, how do I write about this? Because, you know, she lost her own child who was roughly, you know, the same age, you know. And yet here she was, her resolve was that, no, I'm going to dissect this young baby who's passed away. And so I wanted the poem, I wanted a structure to convey her conflicting feelings and her determination. So I chose the Pantum, because the Pantum is almost like a lullaby because the lines get repeated, like the second and the fourth line become the first and the third line in each, you know, subsequent stanza. So, you know, I looked a form for that. And sometimes, I mean, also keeping in mind the time period she came from, 19th century, form was big. I mean, there's no such thing really as free verse at that time. So, form served a lot of different purposes and it kept things very interesting. I, it definitely detected from, you know, the staticness. And also, for example, to show the violence, you know, her husband threw books at her, he, you know, hit her. He once beat her up so much that her blouse, her, you know, skin around her blouse swelled up so much that they had to cut her blouse open with a knife, you know. So, I wanted to show the violence visually. And so, I have a poem, a concrete poem, which is in the shape of a sickle because she, in the poem, this is my imagination, she says, his words cut like a sickle. So, you know, I wanted to be able to evoke that physically as well. So, that's how form, you know, I feel informed her story and made it a much more powerful experience for the reader and for me to write it. Yeah. Would you like to read that one? Yeah, I'd love to. Let me see which poem. Let me, okay, let me see if I don't know, if my screen will show it. I can find it. I wanted to show the sickle poem, which I didn't, you know, mark the page, but if I do find it. The poem is called, I don't know, can you see this? There. Yes. Can you see that? Yes. So, also because she died of tuberculosis, I wanted to sort of foreshadow that. And so, I called the poem consumption, which is what tuberculosis was referred to at that time also. So, the poem is called consumption. His tongue is like a sickle. When the words come out, they cut me like a handful of grass, uprooting me from where I stand. Dullard, lazy, incompetent, adjectives he swings at me again and again. But if this were truly so, he wouldn't press me between jaws of books, the ink of alphabets, seeping into my skin, staining my blood, this knowledge that consumes me as I consume it. He wouldn't hurl their hard spines at me if he thought I couldn't catch them. So, that was a concrete poem. And should I share the pantume? Yes, please. Okay. So, the poem is called dissection, a pantume. Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania, 1884. Were it not an infant, how much easier it would be? Only two of us in the room, the others having turned away. That hours ago, he might have suckled at her breast. How still the dissection table under our studious gaze? Only two of us in the room, the others having turned away. A pale boy with wisps of blonde hair, curled fists, blue lips. How still the dissection table under our studious gaze? Aborted or succumbed to illness is what we must ascertain. A pale boy with wisps of blonde hair, curled fists, blue lips. Unlike my own, dark with a thick shock of hair. Aborted or succumbed to illness is what we must ascertain. I'm surprised when my hand glides how it doesn't shake. Unlike my own, dark with a thick shock of hair, his loss accepted without inquiry or investigation. I'm surprised when my hand glides how it doesn't shake, making a vertical incision from the skin before backward. His loss accepted without inquiry or investigation. I have not traveled this far to let history repeat itself. Making a vertical incision from the skin before backward, I search for the answers I myself did not get. I have not traveled this far to let history repeat itself. Were it not an infant, how much easier it would be? I search for the answers I myself did not get that hours ago he might have suckled at her breast. Thank you so much. I have reached the end of my questions, but I see that people do have some questions for you. Our attendees have questions. I was going to ask you how you hope your book will resonate with today's readers as my final question. Well, I think for the South Asian American community and as well as others, I hope that people will know that we're known as the model minority, we're known as an immigrant community, which has been largely successful, but that we've only been here for the past 40 or so years. I hope people will realize that our roots here are much deeper and that there were others who came before us for different reasons maybe, but whose presence was here nevertheless. And in fact, it's so fascinating to me. This is just a short thing. And I have a poem, a guzzle poem, which I hope people will check out, is that when Anandi Bai was here, she hosted a dinner in which everyone around her host's neighborhood, they all came and she made everyone sit on the floor. She cooked this huge meal. All the women wore saris from Anandi Bai's trousseau and they ate with their hands. This introduction to Indian culture happened more than 100, 150 years ago when Anandi Bai came, and so there were others who had come before us. And also the types of challenges women had at that time in order to get education, how they had to fight patriarchy and patriarchal practices, and that it is still a challenge. It may have been 150 years ago, but these are things we are still facing right now. So I think her story has historical significance, it has social significance, it is like an intersection of history, gender, colonialism, orientalism, all sorts of things, which I hope people will take away from reading this book. Thank you so much. Thank you. And for the questions, Laurie, would you? Yes, we have a few questions in the chat. One question is, how well known is Anandi Bai in India today? That's a great question. So Anandi Bai was well known in Maharashtra, the state that she came from. A lot of people grew up hearing about her, but even in Maharashtra, in certain areas. But all over India, it's only in the past, I want to say a few years, in the past maybe three or four or five years, that she's received more attention. And because in the past couple of years, people have written books on her. There was a woman who wrote about Lady Doctors. And so because of that book, she came, her story came to light. And there was a movie made, but it was made in Marathi. So as far as the rest of India's concern, it's only now. But what is so shocking is that, as South Asian Americans, hardly anyone knows about it. And especially, it's shocking to me even more so because we have so many doctors here and in our culture, we're so like, we want our children to be doctors and engineers. And surprisingly, nobody knows the history of that. How important this is in our own little sphere as well. So yeah. Thank you. And then the question is, what was the year the picture was taken of the three women showing at the beginning of today's presentation? I believe this is 1885. Yeah. Thank you. And then the question is, my question involves a time machine. If you could have an outing and a divide, what would you do and what would you, what would be the first question you ask her? Oh my. Oh wow. That is an amazing, an amazing question. Let's see. If I were to meet Anandi Bai, I would, wow. I wouldn't want to eat with her. Because the description of the feast that she cooked, I would love to break bread with her, have a meal with her. And I would want to ask her about, you know, so here's one interesting thing. Like in that autograph that she wrote, they asked her what her favorite place to be was. And she said, Roselle, New Jersey, after that heaven. Which was shocking to me that she was so adamant in dressing a certain way and eating a certain way. But her favorite place was Roselle. So I would want to ask her, why is Roselle your favorite place? What did you get in America that you didn't get in India? And I think I know the answer, but still I would want to hear it from her. I would want to like know what she experienced because I think by coming to the United States and because nobody else followed her here, none of her critics in the form of her husband or her mother or other members of her family or society there, you know, what was it like to have that kind of freedom, you know? So I don't, maybe that sounds silly, but that's what I would want to know. Thank you. Another question is, did Anabita and the Divay have any sibling or did her husband have any siblings? Yes. So Anabita did have siblings. She had two sisters and she had brothers whom she actually used to wrestle with, but, you know, as happened back in the day, some of them passed from illness. And then of course she too did pass from illness, but she did have two sisters that survived her, I believe. Yeah. And her husband had a brother as well. From his, I mean, not even a brother, he had, I heard he had a son from his first wife as well, but that the son lived with his parents. So I wasn't able to find out whether there was any interaction between Anandivaya and her stepson at all, because that was very intriguing to me as well. But yeah, I think her son did have, I mean, her husband did have a brother. And yeah, yeah, but I don't know too much about, you know, them. Thank you so much. That's the last question. And Kelly said that they loved carrying your answer about the time machine, the outing question. You're so passionate and a fantastic poet. Thank you so much. Thank you. So that's all the questions in the chat. If anyone wants to unmute and ask your question directly, please feel free to do so. It's always such a pleasure to hear you talking about the collection, which everyone should read and then read again. My question was one you're going to absolutely love. And it's not to round out the thing, but I want to ask it, which is what are you planning to work on next? Do you have anything in mind? Or because after writing something like this, do you want to write something that is less permissive in its forms? Or did you like the freedom that using all these different forms? And you said why you use them because it made sense here. But where do you fall on either end of it? Like you as a poet, where do you see your trajectory and your growth? Thanks. Thank you. Well, the truth is that I used to hate form. I used to think it restricted you initially. But as I evolve more as a poet on my journey as a poet, I realized how important form can be and how form can be like a frame. The way you mat and frame a picture, form does that with words. So I think form is something I definitely want to experiment with more. And like for my next project, I have a lot of different projects that are in the works. But one of them, I loved examining history through this lens. And I want to do that more. And so I'm looking at the origins of Hindustani classical music in India and how a lot of the art of music was passed down by courtesans that were performers in the royal courts. And then later on, they became associated with prostitution and things like that. But how these women had so much agency and power and were the cultural bearers during the 19th and 20th century in India. And so I do want to write about that in poetry form. And I will definitely be looking at form in that. And then I'm also really fascinated by hybrid form. So something that might be autobiography, but it's not just that. It's also poetry. And so how form can have many different functions, right? Or how is many different functions? So yeah. So that's how my trajectory seems to be right now. And let's see what happens. Yeah. Thanks, though. That's a great question. Do you have time for another question? I'm open as long as the library is open to the question. I'll make it quick. I just was wondering how you chose Anandibai Joshi to write this lovely poetic biography? I mean, were you thinking about 19th century women figures? Or were you thinking or what was your thinking? That one also thinks about Pandita Ramabai, right? Right. Right. And actually they were related. So Ramabai was her husband's cousin. And Pandita Ramabai was at Anandibai's graduation, in fact, at her graduation ceremony. Yeah. And so I chose this. I don't know if you were there at the very beginning of the talk, but sorry. I'm sorry. I missed the beginning. I was yeah, because I explained how it came. So I was researching who was the first Indian woman to come to the United States, because when I was younger, I had experienced a lot of racism growing up in Minnesota. And I was told, go back to where you come from. And as a poet, I later on wanted to examine that question. And I was almost sure that there were others who had come before us, but I didn't know who they were. Our narrative was always one generation before us that our parents came or our grandparents came or something like that. So I was in search of the first Indians to come to the United States. And I stumbled upon Anandibai Joshi's photograph with two other women who were all medical students. And it was that photograph that sort of led me down the rabbit hole or wild goose chase. So it was a photograph. It was a photograph that pulled me in. Yeah, literally. Yeah. A drastic beginning. And I have a whole essay in the beginning of this book, which sort of explained my process and how this all happened. So if you get a chance. So I just want to say my book is available in India right now. But I have seen it on walmart.com. Do you want to order it? But it will be coming here soon in the next year or so. So yeah. But Walmart does have copies of my book online. And you can also borrow. We have a few copies, luckily. Yes. At the San Francisco Public Library. Yes. I was about to just say that. But please, please, please do borrow it from the library. You know, the library is one of the best places one can find my book. Thank you so much, Ike. We really appreciate you taking the time to share with us about your book, a poetry written to bring Anandibai to life and to honor her legacy. I also want to thank everyone for joining the program. I hope you enjoyed the program and share with us. What to learn with others. We will send out an evaluation survey together with a link to the recording later this afternoon. Please give us your feedback. Again, thank you, everyone. Have a wonderful rest of your day. Thank you. Thank you so much. It was my absolute pleasure. Yeah, thanks all for showing up today. Bye bye now.