Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Are you a Comma or a Full Stop?

"A girl becomes a comma like that, with wrong boy after wrong boy. She becomes a pause, something quick before the real thing," muses the narrator of Lisa Glatt's debut novel A Girl Becomes a Comma Like That.

A line like that shivers me timbers (my legs), and therefore gets added to my reading list. Is there any girl, or perhaps even guy (especially the nice guys who claim they can't get the girls) who won't' relate to this.

In the meantime here's Lisa's short story, The Earth From Every Angle

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Muktaran Mai and the President of Pakistan

Ayaz Amir, one of my favorite weekly columnist from Dawn, a Pakistan based English newspaper, writes about the recent travel ban on Muktaran Mai, victim of the court ordered 'rape' case. (it's long, but worth it)

Dumbness passing understanding
By Ayaz Amir


WE can be so dumb, at the highest levels of government too, that it is not even funny. Imagine someone going into crouching position and ramming his head into a brick wall and then, head all bandaged, saying life is unfair. Or someone diving superman-style to clutch an arrow flying through the air meters away, and sticking it into his own back.

In the Mukhtaran Mai case the generalissimo’s government of “enlightened moderation” has done precisely this, ramming into a brick wall, making a complete ass of itself, and in the process spreading the impression around the world that a woman who is raped in Pakistan stands the additional risk of having her passport confiscated. In terms of sheer silliness, it’s hard to beat this.

Of course, rapes happen everywhere, certainly more in the United States than in Pakistan (all the statistics vouching for this statement). But is that the issue here? Rapes happen but they are usually not sanctioned by village councils which is what happened with Mukhtaran Mai and which is the single most important factor which has lent her case international publicity.

This and the added factor of police incompetence. Mukhtaran’s case having hit international headlines, shouldn’t the Multan police — shaking off the lethargy, corruption and sheer incompetence which are the staples of police work in Pakistan — have shown extra care in investigating it and making the prosecution case stick? Apparently, however, large enough holes were left for an elephant to walk through. Little wonder if the high court threw the case out and acquitted the prisoners.

This may have been strictly in accordance with the tenets of justice — a court handing out a verdict on the basis of the evidence before it. But what does it do for Pakistan’s image? Well, from here to Topeka, Kansas, the impression spreads that in Pakistan you can subject a woman to collective rape and then walk away free.

Pakistan’s blessed image gets another ducking in dirty water.

Considering that all this is happening in Punjab, Chaudhry Pervez Elahi’s bailiwick, you wonder what Pakistan’s leading advertizing genius is up to. He’s a great one for ads — at public expense, naturally — singing his praises and extolling his largely fictional achievements, but has he thought fit to ask his chief secretary, the inspector-general of the Punjab police, the district police officer, Multan, why such a mess has been made of Mukhtaran Mai’s case?

Asif Zardari thinks of arriving in Lahore and all hell breaks loose. Mai’s case does wonders for Pakistan’s international standing once, twice and then once again, but Punjab’s chief minister remains unfazed.

One would think this was enough. But, no, who should step into the breach but the generalissimo himself? Some do-good NGO invites Mukhtaran to the US and someone in government has an apoplectic fit. As Mukhtaran was sure to give Pakistan bad publicity, she shouldn’t be allowed to go to the US. The government goes into overdrive, virtually arresting Mukhtaran, confiscating her passport, putting her name on the Exit Control List.

As anyone but the government of Pakistan might have guessed, the dirt hits the ceiling. The New York Times pummels Pakistan editorially. The State Department says it will look into the matter. Columns are written, e-mails sent. As outrage spreads and Pakistan becomes a laughing stock, from overdrive the government jumps to damage-control mode. What is its idea of damage-control? Parading Mai on television in the company of prime ministerial adviser, Neelofar Bakhtiyar.

Doing all the talking and fielding all the questions, Bakhtiyar says Mukhtaran is not going to the US of her own free will and because her mother is ill. Obviously, the government of Pakistan thinks that everyone else is as dumb as itself.

Trying to be charitable, you think some over-zealous official must be responsible for this fiasco. But, no, the generalissimo on one of his frequent flyer programmes — at the rate he is going, he is sure to clock up more air travel time than anyone else in history — declares that it was he who ordered the ban on Mai’s going abroad. For good measure, he denounces NGOs for working against the country’s interests.

A hundred speeches on “enlightened moderation” — the phrase in danger of sticking in Pakistani gullets — and this one declaration takes care of all of them. And the general likes to think that he is an image expert. Mukhtaran going to the US: so bloody what? Taken around Capitol Hill, so what? A confident nation would never worry.

As for NGOs, it is true most are foreign-funded. As a result some of Pakistan’s best and brightest earn a good living from the NGO trade. (Perhaps I would too if given half the opportunity). Their agendas, more often than not, are foreign-driven. The old story: he who pays the piper calls the tune. But why is it that Gen Musharraf is discovering the ills of the NGO sector only now? He has been in power for almost six years, the time it took to start and finish the Second World War. He should have done something about it long ago.

The luxury of whining is for those without power and influence. It sits ill on the powerful who can fix problems if they choose to. So let’s hear no more about NGOs unless someone is willing to do something about them.

Charity, however, is best begun at home. The nation’s political affairs are in a mess. Don’t ask the opposition, ask anyone from the ruling party (or the nominal ruling party, the real ruling party being the army). You’ll hear as much from that quarter. If the government can’t clean up its own mess, how can it clean up anyone else’s?

Know what this whole fiasco underlines? The perils of one-man rule. One man in his wisdom ordering a certain course of action and because his word is law and there is no one to question him, he can do anything he likes. The nation then has to live with the consequences.

Can George Bush just get up and prevent any American he likes from going abroad? He has to abide by the rules even if he has something unsavoury up his sleeves. A Pakistani president is under no such compulsion, his word, diktat, whim or prejudice instant national policy, the compass determining national direction. The great helmsman speaks, never mind if he is no Mao, and that is that.

This is one reason why our American friends, contrary to what they like to profess, have always been in love with military rule in Pakistan. Without having to work through any system, they just need to speak to or tackle one man to get something done. Saves a lot of time and bother. Powell’s famous telephone call asking Musharraf to make a choice was so productive precisely for this reason: Musharraf said yes and that was all that mattered, decision taken, time saved.

It would be something if we were dealing with perfection and infallibility. But we are not. We don’t have to go far. The record of the past six years provides ample warning against the perils of one-man rule. The referendum, the formation of the Q League, squabbles within the ruling party, the elevation of the Chaudhries, the continuing inability to craft a political system that would stand the test of time. No surprises then if Pakistan has been made to look foolish because of the Mukhtaran Mai case.

One-man wisdom for close to six years, too long a period by any stretch of the imagination. Time Pakistan moved on.

All The Pretty Ones

I always thought writing would be a fairly relaxed endeavor when it came to the turn of one's nostrils and the size of one's waist. Increasingly I'm proved wrong. And it's rather infurtiating, given that 95 % of the time one is writing in seculsion and therefore one only has to look good for an author photo and brief spate of interest when a book first comes out. I guess not being a model but coming as close to looking as one is an automatic two thumbs up for the supposed brainy breed these days too.
I will drown my gripes in a maple donut now and think of how good orangic carrots can taste too.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Indo-Pak Sex Groups

Recently there has been a great spat of Pakistanis and Indians crossing the borders be it for cricket matches, fashion shows or joint movie making. Joining the list now are Pakistani sex aid workers visiting their Indian counterparts in Calcutta to learn safe sex practises. Another step forward for Pakistan-India relations, a giant leap for the sex industry.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Rachel Simon's Tips for Writers

Rachel Simon, author of Taking a Bus Ride With My Sister, has a website full of fabulous advice for a writer. Read about countering writer's block, how working in a book store can help your writing, and what NOT to do with agents and editors.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Do You Want To Be a Hilton?

I just had the misfortune of watching a new reality show, 'I Want to be a Hilton.' Mrs. Hilton hosts the show which takes fourteen wannabes from around the US and tranforms them into beings fit for Hilton country. What ever that means? Probably how to act like a moron and get away with it because your wealthy. Except that when you are wealthy faux pas is funny and when you're not its just down right humilitaing. Mrs. Hilton's sis appeared on the show for a few minutes and demonstrated, to the viewers at least, how looking SMUG should be done. Admittedly there were moments when I cringed on behalf of the 'contestants', especially Ms. Tampa who broke into song to woo Mrs. Hilton and the British babe who broke into major ass**** kissing.
Reminded me of the many conversations I'm having with Pakistani babes (Pakistan is big on nurturing talent less celebrities these days- it's the new 'in') who insist that the only skill of any value in the world is that of 'being able to marry very, very well'. Sure and, whatever.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Ello, Me Hearty's

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Lionel Shriver and the Orange Prize

Here is a girl with a guy's name after my own heart. Lionel Shriver, winner of the 2005 Orange prize for 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' sounds positively thrilling. I am not an ardent admirer of fawning, feening women and thier cutsey children who think interruptions are their God- in this case the parent- given right.
I have two children of my own though. And they are dearly beloved. But then I'm from Pakistan where not having a kid was never an option 'good' women executed let alone entertained.

Would I exchange my children for a life without them? Not for anything.

Now is this the conditioning in me saying this or do I really mean it?

The trials and tribulations of being a modern woman wannabe... (what does it mean to be 'modern')

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Memoirs of a Geisha

Yes I watch my MTV and learned (indeed sometimes knowledge is attained from MTV) during the 2005 movie awards last night that Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha is being made. I can't wait, which is a weird thing to say because, obviously I will have to wait, and ergo I can wait. This gorgeous novel is one of my favorites for its style, depth, and rags to riches story. It's a a feat that Golden writes in the voice of woman and a Japanese woman at that, a testament perhaps to the flux of genders and cultures.

There are so many wonderful books out there sometimes I catch my breath in thinking whether there will be life enough to read all of them, at the very least many of them.

Friday, June 10, 2005

ReadySteadyBook

Mark Thwaite of ReadySteadyBook, a literary blog out of UK, invited me to do book reviews. Here's the first on Dan Fesperman's The Warlord's Son.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

South Asians Biographies

Ramachandra Guha opines on the dearth of biographies coming out of India and its neighbors when indeed there is person upon person to write about. He chalks it down to religious prejudice, scholarly dogma and the difficulty to write well in this genre. Indeed in a region proficient at producing novels, and increasingly the travel/history/city probe books, why is the biography langusihing? Why is it that a people that talk about other people constantly do not write about them? Of course a biographer is required to live vicariously his/her subject's life, often for years on end, and yet still be subjective enough to deliver a well rounded tome. Perhaps msot people are still interested in living their own lives rather than documenting another's no matter how great. Of course here's a great opportunity for reverse outsourcing for the writer person about to embark on yet another Lincoln/Cher/Reagon tell all, or does a biography suffer if it is not written by someone who has lived and therefore knows the sublte nuances of a culture? In any case Guha throws out the names of many interesting people--Bengali man turned British Nirad Chaudri, English woman turned Indian Mira Behn, self taught ornithologist Salim Ali-- whose biographies would be scintillating reads. I wonder why none of these people have written autobiogprahies, though the objectivity/subjectivity of this genre being a universe of debate in itself.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Why I didn't read at BEA

I've had lots of e-mails asking why I didn't read at the Emerging Writers reading at the just finished Book-Expo in New York, after all I was on the roster. When M. J. Rose invited me to read, my novel was scheduled for November 2005 and thus galleys would be available at the June reading. However An Isolated Incident got rescheduled for 2006 and, because of no galleys, no reading. So there it is. Moorishgirl has a nice follow up of her first experience with BEA.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

The Sari Shop

Rupa Bajwa's debut novel The Sari Shop reminded me of Leonard Bast from Forster's Howard's End. Both novels foray into class issues and how ruthless and disdainful people can be of each other and ultimately life can be of the poeple that live it. After a bad stock tip from the wealthy Mr. Wilcox, Bast falls from grace and never quite recovers and finally meets his end when a shelf full of books falls on his head. Obviously the symbolism is of education helping little and, if anything, chaining one down even more, a concept eerily evident when Bajwa's Ramchandar reads the quotes 'Ability is of little account without opportunity.'
Set in a sari shop Ramchandar, a man destined for an English medium education had his parent's not died accidentally, introduces the different echelons of Amritsar shopping for marriages and gossipping. Amritsar seems a city like all other cities where money matters the mostt and pettiness is viewed as rightousness.
It is fascinating to watch Ramchandar traversing his world of over boiled tea to 'their' world of bottled cokes as he proceeds to 'better' himself by learning to read English, attends an elite wedding by default, and comes upon a woman who is lost to the world. Indeed anyone who has lived in this 'Amritsar city' will find a character to identify themselves with be it the sanctimonious upper class girlie who kindly marrys an army officer, her ex-principal who talks of women being more than pretty cushions of chairs and then fails womankind cruelly, or girlie's mother who things the principal, for all her education, is low class.
For one reviewer The Sari Shop is a novel that gladdens his heart that there are still places in the world where traditional dress rather than jeans and tee shirts rule the day. He stipulates that if nothing else books set in India are welcome reminders of how well off we citizens of the first world really are. Indeed perhaps even the poorest of the citizens of the first world may bathe with soap which Ramchandar considers a luxury, however there are plenty of first world worlders who cannot afford to get their teeth fixed or shop in the Marts they work at, so I suppose luck is relative. Which is what The Sari Shop is ultimately all about: how most of us sit back and drink tea despite all the cruel things going on around us.
Indeed some of the characters are one dimensional and the reader never really gets a feel for Amrtisar the city, showing rather than telling would have made it a richer book and more discourse on what the sari and thereby commodities mean in the world at large would have made the novel novel but, as it is, The Sari Shop is a lovely read, one that should be compulsory for every Begum and Mr. Begum. Not that, as Bajwa is quick to tell us, that will change a single thing.