Interview with Farah Ahamed: Part I
On ‘Forty Names’ (Matchbox, February 2026)
This new series of interviews invites contributors of Usawa and Matchbox editions to respond to a short set of questions about their work and creative practice. It highlights their inspiration behind the work published in our magazine, the writing rituals, and other factors that make their craft sing on the page.
Today, I am in conversation with author Farah Ahamed. She is the editor of Period Matters: Menstruation in South Asia (Pan Macmillan India, 2022). The following interview is based on her essay from the Matchbox-February 2026 issue titled “Excerpt: Forty Names”.
1. First Encounter
How did Parwana Fayyaz and Forough Farrokhzad first enter your life?
I first came across Forough Farrokhzad at an exhibition at the Barbican in London by Soheila Sokhanvari, Rebel Rebel. The first painting in the series was that of Farrokhzad, and I was moved by her story, which prompted me to look her up. I read Sholeh Wolpe’s translation of some of Farrokhzad’s poems in The Markaz Review, and they resonated strongly. Since then, I often go back to her life story and her work, which includes her poems and her films. Her courage, self-belief and conviction, when the state did everything to silence her, is inspirational. I wrote an essay that explores the evolution of her understanding of voice, which she believed was the only thing that endured.
I found Parwana Fayyaz quite by chance. I was searching for Afghan female poets because I wanted to read something from Afghanistan, and I was struck by her simple, bold language. Like Farrokhzad, in her own way, she is a ‘rebel,’ resisting and speaking back to a society that wants women to cower and submit.
2. The Spark
What compelled you to write about these poems in particular?
I had been thinking about my childhood growing up in Kenya, and reflecting on the strong women in my life, including my mother and my aunts, and how inter-generational bonds and ideas influenced me. When I read Fayyaz’s poem, I was reminded of my own sisters and the dolls we used to play with. That time seemed so sheltered and innocent compared to what Fayyaz experienced, and her use of dolls as a metaphor made me think of Farrokhzad’s ‘wind-up doll’, which had a different connotation.
3. The Conversation
What conversation about gender, language, or place does this piece open?
I think the poems are striking in that they are written by poets in two very different contexts and times, but rely on the same symbol of the doll, which I explore in the essay.
4. The Line That Stayed
Was there a moment, image, or idea in the poems that lingered with you?
I liked the idea that for the poets, a doll is not simply an artefact but allows for deeper reflection on the politics of the feminine, cultural conditioning, and solidarity. A friend pointed out that the essay reminded her of the Barbie doll, and how that, too, for some, is connected with fun and play, while for others it is more sinister. For my sister and me, growing up in Kenya in the 1970s, a Barbie doll drew a line between the haves and have-nots: those who had relatives who travelled abroad and brought one back, and those who had no clue what it was, or secretly harboured a longing for it. The Barbie doll brings up ambivalent feelings about what one thinks one should have, but has no real connection with. I love that the poems capture how dolls as symbols are personal, layered, and complicated.
A completely different story comes to mind in relation to this unease. A Real Doll by A. M. Homes uses a single element of magical realism, the doll’s ability to come alive, to explore the disturbing interiority of its teenage narrator. From the outset, he frames his relationship with Barbie as a rehearsal: ‘I’m dating Barbie… I’m practicing for the future.’ What follows is a gradual normalisation of control and violation, where the doll becomes a passive recipient of his desires and experiments. Even moments that might suggest awareness instead deepen his detachment, as he admits, ‘I liked the fact she understood… I started imagining things I might be able to get away with.’ The story presents a chilling coming-of-age shaped by entitlement, projection, and the absence of consequence.
I’m also reminded of another story And Now His Lordship Is Laughing by Shiv Ramdas, where the craft of doll-making is transformed into a powerful act of resistance. Apa is a master doll-maker in colonial Bengal. Initially, her jute dolls are rooted in community and love for the craft, and she says: ‘My putuls are not for sale. I give them to those whom I choose.’ She refuses to comply with the coloniser’s demand for a doll for his daughter: ‘No… There is nothing to reconsider.’ When the British devastate the land with famine-inducing policies, her doll-making undergoes a radical shift. The jute, once a symbol of shared labour and memory, becomes infused with grief, rage, and defiance: ‘she no longer shakes the blood aside, but lets it drip… into the jute.’ Her final doll, a ‘Hashi’r Putul’ or laughing doll, reverses the power dynamic between coloniser and colonised. No longer an object of innocent child entertainment, the doll takes on magical qualities, becomes an agent of destruction, and forces the British officials into uncontrollable laughter that leads to their deaths. In this moment, Apa reclaims both artistic and political agency, turning the doll into a weapon that punishes colonial violence.
This transformation resonates with Farrokhzad’s The Wind-Up Doll and Fayyaz’s Three Dolls, though each text mobilizes the figure of the doll differently. Farrokhzad’s wind-up doll embodies mechanical existence and imposed repetition; Ramdas’ doll disrupts this paradigm by refusing control and enacting rupture. In contrast, Fayyaz’s Three Dolls frames doll-making as an act of endurance under oppression, and Ramdas’ work aligns closely with this vision. Apa continues to make dolls even under extreme violence, but transforms it into a deliberate political act. In Homes ‘practice’ on the doll signals the reproduction of power and exposes how domination is put into practice, whereas in the other works, ‘making’ is positioned as a counterforce and imagines how power can be challenged and reshaped.
This conversation will be continued in the next newsletter, where we delve more into writing as a craft and inspiring reads from Farah. Till then, happy reading and writing!
Thanks Sayani!