KLF 2012 – A Conversation with Hanif Kureishi

Although Shobhaa De’s been affectionately announced as the “Superstar Writer” of the KLF in its programme, literary sorts know that the real celebrity in this year’s event is Hanif Kureishi. And when Kureishi made an appearance in conversation with Muneeza Shamsie at the main garden venue of the Carlton yesterday morning, we were there to cover it.

The session had its highs and lows. Kureishi’s reading from The Buddha of Suburbia was definitely the most engaging part, with the author reciting already witty prose with a wonderfully straight-faced humour, visibly enjoying the audience’s appreciation. His Q&A with Muneeza Shamsie was disappointing, mainly because of the unimaginative way in which Shamsie approached the conversation. When an author has as much to share as Kureishi does, it could be so much more rewarding to really talk to them, letting the conversation take its own path to areas that are of interest to the author and the audience. Instead we heard a pre-decided set of questions that got funny but fairly textbook answers from their respondent. There’s no debating Shamsie’s experience and stature in this field, but in this particular case she missed some opportunities for a more stimulating conversation.

Things got more interesting when questions were opened up to the floor, and that was when we got a more intimate glimpse into the author’s personality as well. Kureishi got a bit more than he’d bargained for when an old lady stood up to ask the first question.

Lady: Hanif, I remember when you visited Pakistan years ago, we met you through your aunt who was a friend of ours. We asked you how you liked Pakistan and you were full of praise for Pakistan and for its people. But when you went back to the UK and you were asked how you found Pakistan, you said you hated it and that the people there were strange. Could you explain why you did that?

She then asked him: I got an impression from reading your books that you have a very low opinion of women. Would you comment on that?

Such questions could make any author quake in his boots but Kureishi, true to his past, did what a typical urban youth in Britain with a survivor’s instinct might do: he went on the offensive. He danced around the first question by stating that as a writer he felt compelled to speak the truth and that it would be ridiculous to expect him to say something he didn’t mean just so that others would think well of Pakistan. This didn’t address her point, of course, but as he said to another audience member later, “I’m not sure if that answered your question but that’s the answer I fancy giving!” (This elicited a good laugh from the audience). He seemed to lose his cool on the old lady’s second criticism, however, and replied only with an, “I don’t know what to say other than that’s a stupid question.” One couldn’t help but feel at that point that the answer wasn’t much better than the question.

At many points during the session, Kureishi’s thoughts were solicited on the issue of identity and it’s not difficult to see why that would be, given his personal history and the themes that he’s written about. In response to a question by Muneeza Shamsie about the link between autobiography and fiction, he half-jokingly referred to the process of ‘reverse colonialism’ in Britain as the South Asian community has established itself there. He too used to grapple with issues of where he belonged until he developed a firmer appreciation of the benefits of nationalism. “People would ask me where I was from,” he said. “I’d say, ‘I live in that house up there,’ but they would say, ‘No, where do you come from?” Then he visited Pakistan and an uncle of his told him, “Your father is Pakistani but where you’re going back to, you’ll always be ‘Paki’.”

That was the turning point for him. England had to change to suit him, he realised, not the other way round. “We’re British, not half English, not mongrel,” Kureishi eloquently put it. He praised how hard England had worked on issues of race. “I don’t think of identity anymore,” he said at one point. “Becoming a writer saved me. Identity is your relationship with yourself, your family and the place you live. The idea of developing an identity is simply to gather more of the world into you than you did before.”

Fortunately, Kureishi was honest about the benefits his race brought for him. His first assignment with Channel 4 came his way because “they were looking for an Asian or black writer and I was the only Asian or black writer they knew of!” And so was born My Beautiful Laundrette and with it, one of modern British literature’s biggest stars.

“I’m fascinated by the desire to speak, to write,” Kureishi said, who was full of praise for the new cadre of Pakistani writers in English making waves around the world. “You’re lucky if you’re an artist and you’re driven to do what you do. It’s a passion, a love. There’s no other way to do it, because the process is chaotic. You just sit in a corner writing until you’ve got blood coming out of your ears! That’s what it is to write.”

We agree.

Book Your Weekend! KLF 2012 is here.

Tomorrow’s a big day for Karachi’s book lovers! The Karachi Literature Festival kicks off at the Carlton Hotel at 9.30 am on Saturday, 11th February, for the third year in a row.

After the success of last year’s event, there’s an even bigger line-up of drool-inducing writers this time, indicating that the KLF is finally coming into its own. William Dalrymple, acclaimed writer but known best in recent times for founding the enormously successful Jaipur Literature Festival, is flying in for the event – a sure thumbs-up to the KLF organisers’ efforts. Another star to look out for is Hanif Kureishi, British-born but with Pakistani family roots, who was named one of Britain’s top writers since 1945 by The Times in 2008 (a good year for South Asian writing in English in general). Kureishi does not make appearances often in Pakistan, so make sure you attend his session. There are a few Indian writers attending the festival this year, but the one we’re most excited about is the utterly charming Vikram Seth who’s re-entered the writing scene with a bang recently.

A welcome addition to this year’s festival is also Anatol Lieven, a known expert on international conflict and author of the recently released ‘Pakistan: A Hard Country’. His presence ought to help hoist the standard of discussion at current affairs sessions to a higher level. One writer who will be conspicuous in his absence will be late journalist Syed Saleem Shahzad, author of ‘Inside Al-Qaeda and the Taliban: Beyond Bin Laden and 9/11′, the controversial book that many believe he was murdered for. We’re hoping that Shahzad’s a contender for the KLF’s book prize this year, which is awarded for the best non-fiction title of the last twelve months. A book worth dying for is worthy of a prize, or at least a special mention.

One disappointment in this year’s schedule is that, apart from one session featuring Ayesha Jalal, there seems to be no marking as such of 2012 being Manto’s centennial year. With a special theatre performance for Dickens’s 200th birthday, we feel Manto Sahib deserved a bit more attention.

No peeves apart from that; our usual favourites will be present at the KLF, including M. Hanif (who caused near stampedes of admiring female fans at the Jaipur

One of M. Hanif's many adoring fans at Jaipur

Literature Festival), Kamila Shamsie, Mohsin Hamid and Bilal Tanweer, among others. We’re particularly looking forward to seeing the screening of Meherjaan, the film that has caused an uproar in Bangladesh for showing a love affair between a Pakistani soldier (played by Omar Rahim) and a Bengali woman during the 1971 war.

Cancel your plans, folks, because that sounds like one helluva weekend.

 

Again?

A strange thing has occurred – anything with *.blogger.com works – but the second you hit something.blogspot.com, all hell breaks loose. Nothing opens. I kid you not, and I’m wondering whether Pakistan’s government has imposed the blogging ban all over again? Anyone knowing anything about this, feel free to email me and let me know. This is ridiculous, otherwise.

With great difficulty, I’ve landed here, into the posting of things.

(ETA: Nothing was wrong: blogspot was misbehaving and apparently, that’s usual. Tragic. Google’s definitely the new Microsoft).

Ramadhan’s started tonight, with our first fast tomorrow although it’s started for Muslims based in America, so if you’re a Muslim and you’re reading this blog, wherever you are in the world, Ramadhan Mubarik (“congratulations on the start of the holy month”, although it seems so small when it’s translated).

And now, I should come up with something really productive since I really have no idea when I’ll be able to login again (if this blogspot love/hate relationship stands to continue indefinitely).

The Addams Family recently wrapped up production, although I’m not sure what the response was. Since very few of my circle actually bothered to turn up, I’m thinking it might not have been all that great. But that’s only a prediction, not fact, so don’t quote me on this.

A steady stream of traffic has been coming our way, courtesy of this blog, so maybe this is turning out to be a good idea after all. However, one suggestion: you could drop a comment at either the blog or the site, regarding your thoughts and opinions on it. Who knows? We might implement one of your thoughtful suggestions. I think I should put up news about our site on the site too, from time to time. At least let people know what’s happening, for those who don’t frequent this blog as much.

Among the theatrical production houses, a common stream of thought seems to be propagating like fire: the development of Islamabad’s first theater for theatrical productions. It’s true: we do need one, it sure would compensate for the limited seating Islamabad Club (bless it) currently offers. The problem with plays here, is that the commercial/advertising partners seem intent on making as much money (read: sell as many tickets as humanely possible) for a given show, so the result is, if you don’t queue up early, you might have bought the same priced seat, but have to sit on a stair or worse, stand. My line has always been: stretch the shows out for longer if necessary, and sell only the amount of tickets as there are seats. What’s the point, if you’re getting no value for money in terms of comfort? It isn’t fair at all. You pay, you should get what you pay for. It is that simple, and corporations in other countries recognize this. Sophistication (like corruption), begins at the very top.

Besides, I feel we’ve had enough adaptations and we should be ready for a little creative maturity and start developing original works of art. How long are we going to stay within the shadow of Hollywood, and not step into our own limelight? But really, how much can we take living off the creativity of others, is the far bigger question. I mean, enough is enough already, no? Real, original productions with real, original messages and real, original humor. “Real, original” being the watchwords in the sentence, apparently.

A desi writer member and friend, feels that creating an original play takes a lot of courage, which is natural. Or is the indirect point she’s making that we don’t possess any truly courageous talents in the country? Could be, but I disagree. I believe we’ve got the talent in the right sectors, but no one knows it yet, and why may I ask? Why aren’t more people stepping forward? And I don’t mean the people who think they can write, but the ones that know they can and do a good job of it? Why aren’t the truly talented playwrights really getting out there, and showing something to the world? Sure, another desi writer and friend and now producer, director and playwright, Osman Khalid Butt, with his house The Living Picture Productions, is out there but he’s just one person in a multitude of so many. I run a writer’s website, I interact with these talented individuals on a daily basis. My question is simple: why aren’t more of them out there? Why not show some confidence and pride in your work? Strive to be different; don’t feed on existing material. Create your own.

Besides the writing of things, we need serious, strong, committed actors not students right out of school or college or worse, working in other fields. They always end up with musical toned, pretentious, one-dimensional portrayals of otherwise, very interesting characters. Theater should be pursued as a dedicated field in our country.

How else are we going to spread the word?

The only way is up, people. Let’s not slow ourselves down, here.