Crime writer Imran Mahmood plots an ‘impossible’ murder
By MITA MISTRYJun 09, 2021
BRITISH AUTHOR DISCUSSES HIS SECOND NOVEL, INSPIRATIONS AND IDEA OF A GRIPPING STORY
WITH his widely acclaimed debut novel You Don’t Know Me, Imran Mahmood introduced himself to the world as a talented crime writer and received praise from heavyweights in the genre such as Lee Child, Tana French and Ruth Ware.
His newly released second novel I Know What I Saw consolidates his position as an unpredictable crime writer able to tell a complex fast-paced story and keep readers hooked. The story revolves around a once wealthy banker living on the streets, who witnesses a vicious crime and must confront his own demons as he goes searching for answers in an unforgiving London, where there is danger on the streets.
I Know What I Saw has received favourable reviews from leading authors already, which is an early positive sign.
Born and raised in Liverpool, London-based Imran Mahmood has been a criminal barrister for more than 25 years and was happy to discuss his second novel with Eastern Eye.
He also spoke about his future plans and what makes for a gripping crime story.
What first connected you to writing?
I have written something or other for the last 30 years. I think for me it was a way of being able to draw out the things that were bothering me and having them out on the page to examine. I’d write a short story about pollution or violence or something else that was in my head and it was a great way of rationalising things that seemed absurd or puzzling to me.
How did you feel when your debut novel You Don’t Know Me got acclaim from literary heavyweights?
This was honestly totally unexpected. Lee Child is known as a very generous author and a part of me always wonders whether his acclaim is more about his generosity than my work. Tana French very kindly told me that she hadn’t intended to read more than a few pages but ended up being unable to put it down. For any author that kind of comment is so thrilling but to a debut writer it was a real gift.
Did the success of your debut novel put pressure on you while writing the follow-up?
They say the second book is the hardest. A friend of mine always says that the second book is the one where you learn to write. I think that there is a lot of sense in that. You get your whole life to write the first one but the second one has to be done in a fraction of that time. And for me there was the stylistic problem too to deal with. You Don’t Know Me was written in a dialect from start to finish as a closing speech to a jury. There was no way that I could do the same for my second book. So, I had to start right from scratch.
Tell us about your second novel I Know What I Saw?
My second novel I Know What I Saw is the story of a formerly wealthy, bright, Oxford-educated man who has become homeless. He shelters in what he thinks is an empty flat, one rain-soaked night. But as he is drying off, the occupants return. He hides and witnesses one of them murdering the other. But when he goes to the police, they don’t believe him because the flat he has described it happening in and the woman he sees killed, have both vanished.
What was the biggest challenge of writing it?
For me, switching styles to something completely different was tough, but ultimately very rewarding.
How does this compare to your debut?
They are both very different. This one is in a more traditional style but like the other one it deals with larger themes than just the plot. Where You Don’t Know Me was about justice and morality, I Know What I Saw as well as being a murder mystery is about privilege and memory and the fragility of the human condition.
Is there any one part of the book you enjoyed writing most?
I always enjoy writing the last chapter best because by then I'm better acquainted with the characters. I understand them more and can tune into them in a fraction of the time that it takes to do that at the start.
A lot of crime novels get turned into TV dramas or films. Do you think about visual adaptations when writing?
The way I write is very visual I think anyway. I am also writing screenplays at the
same time as novels, so the one discipline feeds into the other. We all watch such a lot of TV these days that I wonder whether we instinctively see and experience stories in a more visual way because of it.
Who is your favourite crime writer?
I love Abir Mukherjee and Vaseem Khan for historical fiction. For contemporary fiction, the list is long. Chris Whittaker, Will Dean, Steve Cavanagh, Mike Craven, AA Dhand, with special mentions for Catriona Ward and Natasha Pulley.
What according to you makes for a great gripping crime novel?
A strong plot and characters that are as fully three-dimensional as they can be, even if they’re not always likeable.
What inspires you as a writer?
Usually books I have read that I love.
What can we expect next from you?
I am working on two screenplays and a third crime novel. I can't say much about them yet, but I am hoping that they will see the light of day soon.
Why should we all pick up your new novel I Know What I Saw?
As well as being a tense murder-mystery with an apparently ‘impossible’ plot, it is also a story about love and loss. In many ways, the main character is a version of who any of us might be, in the wrong circumstances. And it’s a story that has been in my head for more than 30 years. Xander is based on someone I met many years ago. He was a real enigma to my 16-year-old self because he was highly educated and yet destitute. I couldn’t understand how that could be back then, but now, through having written I Know What I Saw, I think I finally do.
I Know What I Saw is available now from Raven Books in hardback and ebook editions
Jay's grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere.
Ditched the influencer route and began posting hilarious videos online.
Available in Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free
Jayspent 18 months on a list. Thousands of names. Influencers with follower counts that looked like phone numbers. He was going to launch his grandmother's popcorn the right way: send free bags, wait for posts, pray for traction. That's the playbook, right? That's what you do when you're a nobody selling something nobody asked for.
Then one interaction made him snap. The entitlement. The self-importance. The way some food blogger treated his family's recipe like a favour they were doing him. He looked at his spreadsheet. Closed it. Picked up his phone and decided to burn it all down.
Now he makes videos mocking the same people he was going to beg for help. Influencers weeping over the wrong luxury car. Creators demanding payment for chewing food on camera. Someone having a breakdown about ice cubes. And guess what? The internet ate it up. His popcorn keeps selling out. And from Gujarat, his grandmother's 60-year-old recipe is now moving units because her grandson got mad enough to be funny about it.
Jay’s grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere Instagram/daadisnacks
The kitchen story
Daadi means grandmother in Hindi. Jay's daadi came to America from Gujarat decades ago. Every weekend, she made popcorn with the spices she grew up with, including cardamom, cinnamon, and chilli mixes. It was her way of keeping home close while living somewhere that didn't taste like it.
Jay wanted that in stores. Wanted brown faces in the snack aisle. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a couple of years to get from a family recipe to something they could actually sell. Everyone pitched in, including his grandmom, uncle, mum. The spices come from small local farmers. There are just two flavours for now, Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala. It’s all vegan and gluten-free, packed in bright bags that instantly feel South Asian.
The videos don't look like marketing. They look like someone venting at 11 PM after scrolling too long. He nails the nasal influencer voice. The fake sympathy. “I can’t believe this,” he says in that exaggerated influencer tone, “they gave me the cheaper car, only eighty grand instead of one-twenty.” That clip alone blew up, pulling in close to nine million views.
Most people don't know they're watching a snack brand. They think it's social commentary. Jay never calls himself an influencer. He says he’s a creator, period. There’s a difference, and he makes sure people know it. His TikTok has around three hundred thousand followers, Instagram about half that. The comments read like a sigh of relief, people fed up with fake polish, finally hearing someone say what everyone else was thinking.
This fits into something called deinfluencing; people pushing back against the buy-everything-trust-nobody cycle. But Jay's version has teeth. He's naming names, calling out the economics. Big venture money flows to chains with good lighting. Family businesses with actual stories get ignored because their content isn't slick enough.
Jay watched his New York neighbourhood change. Chains moved in. Influencers posted about places that had funding and were aesthetic. The old spots, the family ones, got left behind. His videos are about that gap. The erosion of local culture by money and aesthetics.
"Big chains and VC-funded businesses are promoted at the expense of local ones," he said. His content doesn't just roast influencers. It promotes other small food makers who can't afford to play the game. He positions Daadi as a defender of something real against something plastic.
And it's working. Not just philosophically. Financially. The videos drive traffic. People click through, try the popcorn, come back. The company can't keep stock. That's the proof.
Daadi popcorn features authentic Gujarat flavours like Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free Daadi Snacks
The blowback
People unfollow because they think he's too harsh. Jay's take: "I would argue I need to be meaner."
In May, he posted that he's not chasing content creation money like most people at his follower count. "I post to speak my mind and help my family's snack biz." That's a different model. Most brands pay influencers to make everything look perfect. They chase viral polish, and Jay does the opposite. In fact, he weaponises rawness and treats criticism like a product feature.
The internet mostly backs him. Reddit threads light up with support. One commenter was "toxic influencers choking on their matcha lattes searching their Balenciaga bags." Another: "Influencers are boring and unoriginal and can get bent." The anger is shared. Jay simply gave it a microphone and a snack to buy.
Jay's success says something about where things are going. People are done with curated perfection. They can smell the artificiality now. They respond to brands that feel like humans rather than committees. Daadi doesn't sell aspiration. Doesn't sell a lifestyle. Sells popcorn and a point of view.
The quality matters, including the spices, the sourcing, and the family behind it. But the edge matters too. He’s not afraid to say what most brands tiptoe around. “We just show who we are,” Jay says. “No pretending, no gloss. People can feel that and that’s when they reach for the popcorn.”
Most small businesses can't afford to play the traditional game. Can't pay influencers. Can't hire agencies. Can't fake their way into feeds. Maybe they don't need to. Maybe honesty and humour can cut through if they're sharp enough. If the product backs it up. If the story is real and the person telling it isn't trying to sound like a PR script.
This started with a list Jay didn't use. The business took off the moment he stopped trying to play by the usual rules and started speaking his mind. Turns out, honesty sells. And yes, the popcorn really does taste good.
Daadi Snacks merch dropInstagram/daadisnacks
The question is whether this scales. Whether other small businesses watch this and realise they don't need to beg for attention from people who don't care. Right now, Daadi keeps selling out. People keep watching. The grandmother's recipe that was supposed to need influencer approval is doing fine without it. Better than fine. Turns out the most effective marketing strategy might just be giving a damn and not being afraid to show it.
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