Category Archives: Uncategorized

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Doldrums

Contrary to one of my earlier posts, I’m pondering whether a strange variation of combined writer’s block has hit the forums collectively, over at the ‘Lounge. It seems every which way I turn, someone’s mourning the absence of words. Words. It’s all about words, isn’t it?

Mine is a little more sinister: fear. And somewhere underneath it all, is the feeling I can’t get away from: I am undeserving because I did the one thing I thought I’d never to – push it away – and now, it seems I’m terrified of calling it back. At the end of the day, I’ve defined myself through my work, and if I’m not a writer than who the hell am I?

Oh…and this just in. We’ve got a serious contribution request from a Daily Times reporter – just checked my inbox. Is that neat, or what? Seems like we’re really kicking things off. Hinteresting, so very hinteresting, indeed.

Things seem to be looking up for the Lounge. It’s been a long time coming, but we’re getting somewhere. The only way to move is forward, after all.

Yes, this just lifted me from my writer’s doldrums. How heavenly.

It also looks like I’ll be starting the podcasts after all, and probably on my own. How strange that the first voice people will hear will be mine, representing DesiWritersLounge.net. I find that decidedly odd. However, it’s all in the name of progress after all.

Here’s to moving forward!

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Our Religion & Bookworm: Revised

Just saw Misbah-ul-haq’s final bow at the ICC 20/20 World Cup – poor man – no idea what he was thinking, though. 6 runs from 4 balls. We were so there, before he took that poor risk and bam! Out. Caught from behind. Oh sadness, sadness, sadness.

We can be happy for one thing, however: he singlehandedly turned the match around. Nerves of steel, the commentators said. Well, those nerves had to run out at some point, and sure it was terrible timing, but at least we didn’t lose in the humiliating way we could’ve. So there are things to be pleased about.

That, and the realization that whatever the interim period, cricket remains our religion, where sects and the various divisions play no role whatsoever. It’s amazing that a sport can bring people together like that.

In other news, I feel I’ve done my fellow desi authors a disservice by claiming that their work isn’t as minded as it should be, and although I remain adamant in my opinion that it needs to tackle more mainstream dialog to make a greater impact, the work they have done shouldn’t be ignored. After all, maybe it’s important for us to remember the time of Zia and the East/West Pakistan shift and all the hatred that erupted in those times. That the Land of the Pure was inevitably born from a whole lotta blood. Sure, it doesn’t deal with the present, but hey! It’s a great way of giving us some measure of closure on the past, right? Right.

In that vein, Trespassing wasn’t an altogether bad novel dealing more along the contemporary lines of the Gulf War’s impact on the Pakistani population’s thought process. ‘Twasn’t bad, as fictional desi analyses go. At least, we’ve got mainstream English writers, right?

But enough of this. We need more, damn it and subjects that haven’t been touched on, or that people have been too afraid to talk about. There’s so much to address – our country’s got stories sitting in its veins – good Lord, even the shit it pours out’s got a story to tell. Brilliant, eh? The multicultural, multi faceted, multi-colored society of ours needs to be addressed in its fullest capacity, and why must we, by definition write only about one specific city may I ask? To embrace the country, is to embrace it in full, to live it and I think that’s one of the things that makes Islamabad a great place to live in – you’re sort of removed from the inbuilt narcissisms of other cities – you make impressions on a more open-minded scale, less afraid so to speak, to understand. Of course, this could just be for a subset of people – the same subset that exist in limited minorities in any city of this country of ours. So maybe I’m just babbling? Maybe. It’s always a possibility. One of the fundamental things about being a desi writer, is the capacity to babble, and to babble with conviction.

In other news, we’ve got a little “add-to” story running up on the E-zine forum, which, if all turns out well, we’ll incorporate as a combined story effort by several of our members. The history of this lies in the original Internet Kahani begun by one of our moderators, while still at Orkut, in fact among its early and formative days. She began it and asked each of us to contribute a little bit to it, the next post starting off from where the last ended and though it began by a man being chased in the dark, it ended with the man having somehow made it into the desert, with a snake for a companion until finally being bitten by a vampire and being condemned to the undead! It was a great effort by each of us bringing to light the diversity of our skills and styles, and a story rich in both description and imagination was conceived within the few short weeks that it ran. In an effort to bring back that sort of imaginative team work, I’ve restarted it obviously with a different storyline.

If you’re interested to read it, unfortunately it isn’t public yet, so you can either wait for December, or you can join us and contribute. It’s a fun little exercise.

Anyway, Numb seems languishing in its hole somewhere and if I wait for long enough, it’ll disappear from my conscience altogether. But that mustn’t happen.

Wish me luck – I may need it.

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Coffee Culture: Whipped Literati?

Today’s Magazine (Dawn) had a plethora of articles about the budding cafe ‘culture’ in our dear Land of the Pure – I counted four, which is actually pretty sad because all of them were similar – “Down Memory Lane”, “Eat, drink and be merry”, “The lost kulcha gali” (why can’t we do something instead of complaining about it, is the bigger question), and “Smell the coffee, please” which I must take offense against – the writer’s need to appear witty was nearly as bad as the people she wrote about. The whole pot calling kettle black and all.

It’s as if they all collectively decided to tackle this insane topic of discussion, which must have been written to death for the past two-three years when the houses first started mushrooming in the three cities. Point to note: Islamabad’s growth hasn’t been mentioned in either of the articles – hmph, typical. Usually, when Dawn presents a case, it’s a for-against thing consisting of one article for each, not this insane idea of 2 for 2. Some respect for the readers here, please! Sheesh. You’d think all they were worried about was selling copies.

I believe writers are thinkers, and to be a writer you must, in some part at least, be a thinker, be the person willing to defy and challenge the conglomerate rules that bind the rest of society. To awaken, to change. Not sit back and write about idiotic things like the cafe culture. You have a problem with it? Well, you obviously do so let’s stick to the rhetoric here, shall we? Do something about it. Don’t tell me, show me, damn it! I’m tired of the constant whining and bemoaning of what the coffee “culture” (or lack thereof I should say) has infused into this country. If you’re bemoaning the loss of doodh-patti, advocate for its return and I mean, beyond writing about it in Pakistan’s third English language newspaper. Arise, arise! Move people to action. Constant criticism and berating never did anything except give the rebels further cause to rebel. Come on, people. A little creativity here.

You want forums for literary endeavors and lack them in coffee houses? Fine, that’s perfectly acceptable, but then create those forums. Show you do care.

I know that the whole literary conversion thing is slow, but hey! At least I’m doing something about it – I’m running that website – bringing out a quarterly ezine for the amateur and budding writers of tomorrow, in the hopes of creating more awareness. So what are you bringing to the table aside from those nags and moans for yesteryear? Because if that’s all, the door’s that little tiny thing in the corner.

Don’t let me stop you.

I guess you have to ask yourselves one question: “are we, the flag bearers of the grand Past whipped by the coffee culture?” Because if your answer is no, I beg to differ.

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Amalgamating

Given, I don’t know as much as I would like to about the recent E-Crimes Bill, the ones who are in the know, private officials of course, seem to think the bill is a violation against any citizen’s basic right to privacy. What I’ve read about it, I can’t help but concur. The Government’s Big Brotherish tactics it seems, are gaining more publicity and recognition although whether or not anything will be done about it, remains to be seen.

After all, wasn’t the Chief Justice reinstatement supposed to herald ‘change’? They ruled favorably towards the hair transplanted (wigged?) Nawaz but They (the Other They – don’t want to be too specific – might land me in jail, apparently) deported him off again. Some power! But then, that might just my personal cynicism towards the sense of law and order in this country. To quote Ars Technica: Law & Disorder.

Although one thing can be said about living in this constant state of political unrest: there are no shortage of subjects to write upon. Then of course, there’s the Victorian Era we still live in in terms of marital proposals and societal propriety. “Modernity” might cling wrap, attach itself to the highest echelons of society, but still we can’t escape our Victorian roots. Among our last colonial heritages, we should be proud.

True, this entry isn’t strictly about writing, but I did mention it somewhere in there, so I think it qualifies. Things go slow on the site – we have our periods of slumps apparently, and there’s only so much I can do alone – yes, I have other responsibilities, but I don’t believe that they should hinder my role of caretaker of the site. If only others shared in that noble conception.

Can you feel the snark?

One parting remark, though note that it’s wholly unrelated to any of the above: writers are supposed to be the loners of society, and I’ve seen several in my acquaintance circle who seem to embrace it all too naturally. Indeed, I was among them. But one thing needs to be made clear: we might think we can make it, but man’s inherent nature isn’t to be alone.

Food for thought.

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Art.

I’m running on less than four hours of sleep, and yes I like announcing that – didn’t I mention somewhere upthread that I’m horribly vain? For all the busybodies out there, I’m off the clock work wise, which means I’m free as a bee until Iftari. Genius! I rhymed.

I’ve been struggling lately with Numb, my latest “short” story although given the stuff I’m planning for this little foray into twisted personalized fiction, it might not be too short and maybe not even much of a story. Why the negativity, you ask, especially with all the grrreat vibes I’ve been sending out there with the perseverance and the persistence and all that jazz? The story and its associated characters, lines, alleys and byways have been on my mind for weeks. Although I must confess: the starting paragraph, as relentless and difficult as its been, sets exactly the tone I was aiming for. But then, I only did scratch and rewrite it four times. Those attempts are all saved of course…who knows when I might need them after all. They’re good to save for a rainy day.

Speaking of rainy days, it poured here in Isloo for all of a little over 60 minutes before giving way for the sun to peer in through the nonexistent gaps of a few hours ago. It hailed too, as if He was trying to prove something. Last time it hailed, we were sitting at Civil Junction enjoying the first rains of the monsoons, and the discussion about the poetry of the season gave way to my own personal description of the scene soon after, in Color Me In while staring out onto the veranda of my lounge. (Note: my lounge, not the desi writer’s lounge).

I think, as I expressed in The Writer’s Journal forum, that a part of the reason for not being able to move past with Numb, is because a lot of it will come from experience with a certain crowd that I’m just not as willing to share, or more appropriately, I don’t want to be affiliated with. And I really don’t know whether my personal strengths still hold with the person I used to be, and who I’ve since struggled to unlearn.

There was a writer’s quote I read a few weeks ago, about how writers strip bare in their stories, of how disrobed they appear to the public in their works, and how much of themselves really goes into each attempt. Because if you’re committed to telling that story, invariably bits of you find their way in and the absurd fact is: once they’re written and put up, that’s it. There’s no taking them back. You are what you write, really. It’s actually that simple.

And I suppose a part of me is terrified with what Numb will uncover. Because aren’t stories just always personal inroads, discoveries into your untold treasure chest of secrets? But of course, nobody knows specifics. After all, what fun would that be?

Being a writer is a shitty job, and it’s more than a job, because you’re often not paid for it, or not paid enough. So it’s an obsession, a devotion, an insane asylum. It’s many things to many people, but it’s an art.

That’s the only unarguable fact.

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Because a member responded to the podcasting news on the main page of our website, I’ve come to the realization, sudden and absolute: I haven’t really planned the entire operation. I should, because what if someone else steps up? Terrifying.

As it is, I’m still mulling over the different features the website should have when I outsource it to another company instead of doing it myself. There are limits to my knowledge, I must admit and besides, I’d rather have something classy which can be achieved by working with someone else. I dictate, they implement. It’ll be a reversal of roles – I’ve never been a client before. Should be interesting.

Very small post, this just to keep those fingers moving than for any extrinsic value of its own. That’s it for now.

I’m too tired and drained to write anything else.

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Bookworm: Arise

As a follow up to the original “Bookworm” blog post, I need to add that The News has its own literary section, dubbed ‘Literati’ and apparently runs a Zia Mohiuddin column on its front page (NOS). I must confess, that its been close to five years since I last picked up The News and in that interim have fallen quite in love with Books & Authors instead, so my ignorance needs to be appreciated.

In addition, I have been directed to a few equally informative links, posted at the end of the blog post containing among many, NYT’s podcast book reviews, which yet again goes to show the limits to which literary podcasts are being put to. However, let’s not talk about that, shall we?

Another interesting blog is a Booker Prize shortlist – Indra Sinha – the author of Animal’s People. That brings up the rear to Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist and brings the number of nominated desi authors to two. Both books, it seems, have sold very few copies in England although Hamid’s book I know, has done quite well in the US.

Out of the 6 links I was directed to, 4 were Indian which yet again goes to show how far the people on the other side of the border have come in terms of literary achievements. There needs to be a forum in Pakistan by which the creative talents of this country are heard. There is a very apparent gap between the two nations in terms of this. Even our writers write about widely differing things – you’ll see a trend in most Indian authors – to write the common man’s story, while ours almost always deal with the elitists – a small segment of the population. Are we really going to wake each other up to the horrors and realities of this nation by our own tales? Is this what will bring our people out of their stupor? The new “It crowd” generation of writers seems to have one thing in common: a demeaned sense of reality (and morality too, for that matter). It may seem naive, but I cling to the opposite side with an odd strain of optimism. In the end, my stories are real, they talk about reality and what’s in the present and now, and how inevitably, the people we trust, and in particular – family, the importance of which – we must never underestimate. Perhaps my own strong relationship with the people in my life inevitably brings me back to this again and again, but I believe to be whole, we don’t need to look very far in our lives. We don’t need to write books upon books showing us mirrors to our own lives, albeit in twisted and convoluted ways.

Given, I find a comfortable home in the upper middle class, and there are times when my pride comes in the way of my better judgment, but I am no elitist. I must confess: I don’t know how the very elite in our country live, and will go out on a limb to add another thing: I don’t want to. I’m quite content with life on this side of the tracks. I do not look over the fence at the other side with longing, I do not look at all. And there are others like me. So how really do books like Kartography (from an author I admire: Kamila Shamsie has shown me much through her work), Moth Smoke, Trespassing and the like help us? What do they say about the country? What tales do those words weave? There are no common issues – issues understandable by all – issues like class, sectarianism, extremism, zina and the Hudood Ordinance and its true interpretation in Islam – the differences between that and how it’s depicted socially. There is no mention of religion at all and yet the clash between the modernists and the moderates and the extremists has been a decades long one. So what subset of the population do these stories really represent? Because it isn’t the upper middle class, in fact the middle class is entirely absent in these tales. The stories don’t seem to be about anything – they don’t seem to want to bring the population to its knees – to force them to understand both sides of conflicting issues. They seem only to add more fuel to the fire, to propagate not educate, to generalize not dissect, to be read and not understood. How true do their stories really ring, and are they truly written with a purpose in mind? The reason Pakistani authors are not completely on the map, is because we don’t write about serious things – we pick up “safe” topics – nothing beyond the ordinary excites us.

Things must change if we expect to move forward. The next generation of writers – today’s generation of writers must exact change, must think outside the box – must not sink in the mud of the writers preceding them.

Now is the time to surface, isn’t it?

Links referenced in this post:
Indra Sinha’s Blog
The Hindu’s Literary section
New York Time’s Book Review Podcasts

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It’s not personal, right?

This article is an excellent example of what I’ve been mentioning time and again. Given, it is nearly two years old, but the fact that we’re still facing the same problem, doesn’t bode well for the next two. Talking it over with my sister, made me realize an important point: what we, the desi writers, are doing and who we’re aiming for, are the intellectuals – the writers, poets, artists, playwrights, screenwriters – thinkers, and as such, aren’t catering for the mainstream desi population but a very small subset.

However, I do believe, despite what the others say, that we need to up our quality. How else will we make our mark on the world wide web? I don’t want to sound like one of those ‘it’s my way or the highway’ kind of people, because that’s not who I am. Part of the success of the site has to be attributed to the feedback and comments of others, which although I don’t always like or agree with (it’s my baby, for crying out loud! Would you like it?), I do try to incorporate if I think it helps the overall attractive quality. Within reason, so to speak.

In other news, The Jane Austen Book Club is due out next weekend. That’s one I want to see, but forces me to ask the obvious: what is it with Hollywood and Jane Austen this year? We’ve got two films featuring the esteemed authoress in some capacity, in two very different flicks. Not having seen Anne Hathaway’s representation of a young Austen in Becoming Jane, I can’t pass judgment, but from the trailer I did see, her accent slipped and that’s saying something. It was a two minute trailer. Now don’t get me wrong – I like the actress, and I think she’s talented – but appropriately conquering the Colonial accent has long been a challenge for thespians from the other side of the Atlantic. Whereas I think the ones from this side of the ocean seem to do a better job of capturing the nasal tones of the Americans, in general. And when I say “the ones from this side”, I’m not including desi talent, which seems to overemphasize the r’s, lose the t’s and substitute them with d’s, case in point: water – wader. I kid you not. As someone having lived the better part of my life in the American educational system, I can say something with complete confidence: you’re missing the point.

Chowk, my prime competitor for now (it’s been there a decade so obviously they’ve got a huge edge, and they can also be said to boast my work. What?! What better way to clobber the competition than from within enemy lines?) doesn’t figure into my plans for world dominion. Our writers are by far more talented, but they’ve got the big wigs. Doesn’t matter. We’ve got contacts, and might be willing to pull those strings if needed. But I think I need to remind myself that a lot of this is going to take some time. Especially since we’re not really politically oriented, which is Chowk’s major advantage. We cater more to the hardcore creative thinkers, so there’s the “subset” theory all over again. We’re the kind who go to coffee houses and cafes for the intellectual company, and less for drinking the beverage.

To that effect, there is something of a hang out in Isloo’s Civil Junction, most especially their politically effusive menu. And sure, maybe somewhere down the line, you might see a Desi Writer’s Lounge in the flesh grace the streets, but that’s still a while away yet. So why don’t we avail the resources on hand, now?

There will be a revamped site however – and there will be more columns – and something more of a magaziney feel to it. I do promise a higher level of quality if I have to handpick the pieces myself, because unlike some, I believe we’ve earned the right to pick and choose.

Any comments? No one comments on anything. If you keep this up, I’ll start to take it personally.

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The Process of Things

Because I am now in a position to afford to hire a professional team to redesign and develop the site, I’m going to take the opportunity. There are a host of things I’ve always wanted to incorporate but because of a lack of time, knowledge and updates for the software solutions I’ve elected, haven’t been able to.

Besides, this way the forums will be our own instead of the phpBB framework we run currently, and might possibly move away from Joomla, but that’s only a distant forecast. Before I start getting all techno geeky, I should divert attention.

Alert: It seems me and my pieces are making a mark on the popular Chowk network – Pakistan’s first independent thinking and encouraging, for that matter, website. I find it odd, for some reason, that the piece attracting a great deal of attention, although among my better ones, doesn’t seem worthy. My own personal favorite is Color Me In which hasn’t received enough good press as the more mellowed out, reminiscent All My Love. At the risk of ruining all that is so beautiful about the piece: this was written with my mind still transfixed on the beach house in Karachi’s Manora district, and is not related to my own experience as a lover at all. I did find it easy to put myself in that position however – I mean, how can you not think about it with the sea breeze and the miles and miles of sea – whatever else I may be, I’m not heartless. Suffice to say, seeing the sea at such close quarters for the first time in my life, had a profound effect on both my life and my work in a way I couldn’t possibly have foreseen boarding the plane en route to attend a family wedding. Why is it always weddings, I wonder? Or more appropriately, why is it always Karachi?

I was asked today, how I write, what my exact process is. I find it so difficult to quantify how to go about things. Is there really a set of rules by which all writers must adhere to and abide? Do we measure our work against a yardstick of writers past and present? And does that really do justice to our own abilities as writers and creative thinkers? My personal opinion is to look upon your influences as just that: influences, and write whatever you want in whatever style appeals to you at that point. As you continue writing over the years, you will be able to gauge what specific attributes of a particular style appeal to you, and in general, you’ll always stick to some form of that original concept. But this of course, is what it was like for me. What it will be like for you, I have no idea, but I can guarantee the process of discovery is in itself the most thrilling aspect of writing.

Above all else of course, you must really want it. Writing, as mentioned earlier, isn’t for the faint of heart. If you want to set out on that deadly path, you have to be prepared for the rollercoaster ride and possible madhouse, each day will be. There’s nothing easy about writing – it’s brutal, time consuming and each story seems after your own heart – but then it’s over, and oh the joy! You love to hate it, but the reality of course, is always (and rightfully so), different.

I’m past my allotted bedtime and I need to be up in less than four hours.

Toodles.

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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.