I AM FROM…
And now for something completely different!
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In the spirit of hurry up and wait, I’m going to fast forward to rewind and then do it over again!
Fast forward. At the beginning of this year, I found a photo taken at my first ever Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) Summer Conference in Los Angeles in 2006. Unfortunately, I was looking for the image to include in a farewell note to my dearest and most amazing writing-mentor and the leader of my writing critique group, Marilyn Cram Donahue. She’s the one at far right in the lovely magenta, who left us in the blazing glory of a sunset in February. Marilyn, you are sorely missed.
At far left is the wonderful children’s illustrator and writer, Stephanie Roth Sisson—check out her Substack newsletter, Stephanitely.
Along with writing numerous books, Marilyn taught and presented at conferences. One of her favorite exercises was the I Am From poem. Here’s what I wrote in one of her classes.
I am from...
an enigma, a crisis of identity. Deep roots and unknown family ties.
I am from dry dusty rocks, crumbling forts and temples, discarded snake-skins and velvet beetles.
I am from across the sea and a country unknown.
I am from everywhere and nowhere, from books read while hiding under blankets or stolen stories cowering under desktops.
I am from lonely hours watching the world go by. Finally, grabbing hold, jumping on, embracing it all and promising never to let go.
Which brings us to Rewind to me as that confused, lonely nine-year-old who thought she’d never write.
The poem above is something my nine-year-old self might have written about growing up in Hyderabad, India. A city with a long, delicious history and the architecture to go with it. The dry, dusty rocks are mainly gone now, an incredible and unique outcropping of granite that has all but disappeared into people’s houses and floors and kitchen counters. Who knows, there might even be some of it in your home!
But the crumbling fort is still there, looming over the city like a guardian war-angel.
Once the entire population lived within those fortifications, comprising rings of walls at wide intervals that encompassed ever larger swaths of the countryside, each punctured by massive iron spiked gates to deter elephant attacks. To give you a sense of its size, you can see one of its outer walls in the foreground of the photograph above.
The famed Golconda—just walking the streets apparently could make you rich according to a British legend and the name became synonymous with great wealth. The diamond mines nearby produced the famous Koh-i-Noor now gracing the British crown jewels.
My family could see the fort in the distance from our upstairs terrace back then, across the undulating rocky hillocks of Banjara Hills. Often, we drove there as a tourist attraction for visiting friends or just to climb through the remains of an ancient city with guns and battlements so robust they withstood the might of the Mughal army from the north, only falling to treachery from within.
One year, I spent many idyllic days and evenings rehearsing for a play put on in its ruins because the queen’s palace provided the perfect stage.
One of my favorite stories tells of why the famous ruler, who moved the population out of Golconda fort and founded an unfortified city in its lee, named that city Hyderabad.
Prince Muhammad of the Quli Qutb Shah dynasty, who would go on to become the dynasty’s most illustrious ruler, also built the famous landmark of Hyderabad, the Charminar, as a triumphal arch after conquering not another kingdom, but the plague that had ravaged its population.
That’s just the kind of guy he was.
But before he did all that—found a new city, build its iconic landmark—he was a headstrong prince who fell in love with a dancer. Bhagyamati. He found her irresistible. So much so, he would ford the mighty Musi river on his horse to visit her in secret.
Of course, their love was forbidden—a Muslim prince and a Hindu dancer.
One day, the river was seriously swollen from the monsoon rains. Indeed, before it was dammed, the Musi was known to flood with devastating consequences. No flooding river, though, was going to stop Prince Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah from a promise to visit his beloved! This time, it nearly proved to be the end of him.
His distraught father, the king, finally saw the light. Realizing there was no way he could stop his passionate son from what he’d set his heart on, the ruler had an if-you-can’t-beat-him-join-him moment and constructed a bridge across the river to keep the prince from ever being washed away again. That was 1578 AD. The bridge, Puranapul, Old Bridge, is now recognized as the bridge of lovers and has even hosted modern Valentine’s Day events.
Back to our passionate prince. According to the legend, he married the love of his life.
And when he moved the population out of Golconda Fort into the brand new city of his making on the banks of the river, he named it Bhagyanagar. Nagar meaning city.
When his wife converted to Islam and took the name Hyder Begum. He renamed the city, Hyderabad. Abadi meaning township.
In other words, I come from a monument to love.
Up north, they have a tomb built for love. They call it the Taj Mahal.
Down south, we have an entire city!
I’ve always loved that story. And the nine-year-old I was, scrambling up the steep steps of Golconda Fort, dreaming of days long gone, listening for the anklets and laughter of ghosts, ensured that forts and the romance of them feature prominently in the YA fantasy novel manuscripts I write now.
Fast Forward. Again. Speaking of city names, we recently took a trip to New Mexico (more on that later!) and broke journey in the town, Truth or Consequences. Interesting name, yes? It leads to all sorts of speculation as to its origin.
As this story goes, the town was originally named Hot Springs in honor of its…
hot springs!
At one point, it had at least 40 spas offering a natural mineral experience. We were there in summer so, hot springs weren’t exactly enticing fare. We went for a hike in the Elephant Butte Lake State Park, instead.
And took a walk around the whimsical town.
But back to its current appellation. Apparently, the citizens may not have been terribly enamored with their town advertising its hot springs. Maybe they weren’t so keen on sharing. So, when the host of a radio show announced the offer to air his program, titled, you guessed it, Truth or Consequences, from the first town to rename itself after the show, the citizens jumped at the opportunity.
The radio host made good on his promise, not just once but for 50 years after! According to Wikipedia, the town still celebrates the event in an annual Fiesta.
Well, I’ll leave off spinning you back and forth through time for now, before you get too dizzy. But regarding city names—do you have a good story about yours?
I’m left smiling! As a romantic, that story of Hyderabad’s name origins is juicy and delightful! Dalrymple seems to have a special love for this city, and through him, I found myself drawn to it as well, though not totally understanding why. This underlying history might be part of what has pulled me to its history. Forbidden love is an energy, and too scrumptious!
I heard a slightly similar story about the Via dell’Amore in Cinque Terre, although no princes were involved there. I’m sad to see the fort is in ruins now, and wonder why there aren’t as many conservation efforts as with other historical sites.
Love seeing these pictures and I hope it continues to outlast the elements so we can see it!
What a trip around around the world! I love the poem.