The book in my suitcase

No matter how hard I try, books usually end up in my suitcase.

It's a habit I've tried to rid myself of, albeit reluctantly. For someone who carries a book in her handbag and gym bag, it's rather hard to not take a book on a holiday. In all honesty it is never 'a' book but several and often, not always, I end up reading the books I've bought during the holiday. The folly of my habit hits me when the luggage exeeds the weight limit on the return journey. I'm also not one of those who leaves her own books behind for the pleasure of other travelers. Firstly, if I take the trouble of carrying a book (or books) with me it is quite obvious that I like it/them and secondly, I don't read thrillers, vampire novels or trashy romance.

The right book in the right location is a killer combination. I read 'The End of the Affair' (Graham Greene) while on a holiday in London and being in the same city, travelling on the tube and taking the same lines as the characters made it so much more enjoyable. It's not necessary that the setting of the novel be similar to your physical environment. I was reading 'Doctor Fischer of Geneva or the Bomb Party' on a beach last year, enjoying the sun, sea and sand as one of the main characters was skiing to her death. 

Sometimes it is fun to match the book with the location and it was this thought that was dominant in my mind today as I browsed through my book shelves. 

'A Capote Reader' has found its way in my suitcase. 

I blog, therefore I am.

Three years on the blogosphere calls for some celebration so the blog gets a make-over. Yaaay! 

It’s always fun to walk down memory lane and today, I am raising a toast to all my doings on the beanbag.  Many things happened here. There were musings about teaching, a job I have temporarily called quits, of its joys and tribulations. In case you missed it, I was lucky to host a Literary New Year's Party right here and had many interesting authors as guests including Hunter S. Thompson, Virginia Woolf and even Ibsen.

One of the most interesting events on the beanbag was the 15/15/15 challenge which had me reading faster than a bullet train. There was talk about married life as Hubby dear and myself celebrated our first year of marriage (read here) and even, you won’t believe it, an alien invasion!

Although a discussion on aging is depressing, especially among the female gender, we can’t run away from the inevitable. Here are my thoughts on reaching the infamous big 0 which, honestly, comes in our life a little too quickly. Don’t you agree?

Go on a pictorial journey with me and explore a bit of Lahore. In case you haven’t found time to read it, see Hubby dear playing the cursed Oedipus Rex, in pictorial form, here.

Lastly, I leave you on the beanbag with my first impression of London and some recollections  of both Ibn-e-Insha and myself of London, here.

There are whispers of change, both on and off the beanbag, as I raise a toast of dark chocolate (since there is no Coke, zero or otherwise in the house) to three years of tales on the beanbag.

Care to join?

The new look of beanbagtales - a celebration of the old and the new. 

Photograph: Author

London Kahani

Insha's London

A basement flat in Gloucester Hotel owned by a matronly Mrs.Watson sounds an extremely scary place to live in. And that is exactly where Ibn-e-Insha stayed when he visited London in Sept 1967. I was rather lucky in terms of the location, ownership and view of the apartment where I resided. The magnificent Thames (a little tributary if truth be told) and a drawbridge greeted me each morning while poor Insha Sahib was haunted by the garbage drum and all that inhabited it, both living and otherwise.

Once I had made the all important trip to Big Ben and Trafalgar Square, I found myself on Victoria Embankment every other day. Maybe it was to say hello to poor Nelson, who stands alone while all and sundry pose with the lions. Or to lose myself in the hallways of National Art Gallery; trying to imprint the paintings on my mind or through inadequate words, in my diary.

Besides the National Art Gallery, there are a multitude of museums to explore and maybe, get bored in, especially without company. The British Museum is one such place which I, luckily, did not explore on my own. Like Ibn-e-Insha, we too made a dash for the Egyptian gallery. The whole place is death personified. There are coffins, both with and without mummies, with intricate carvings and symbols along with details of the preservation process the Egyptians used. The star of the place is an extremely well preserved mummy with nails, teeth and even hair intact (on a closer inspection one might even find mummified lice). It was a bit disturbing to see throngs of people around this nameless corpse whose soul, I’m sure, is still searching for peace, maybe within the very walls of the museum.    

Aphrodite at British Museum

Ibn-e-Insha was not duly impressed by the Egyptian artefacts, especially the agricultural tools. According to him archaeologists wasted their time digging up remains of ancient Egypt, most of the items are present and still in use above the ground in our country. I was more interested in the Greek statues, something not present in any form in Pakistan. And it is always better, both historically and optically, to look at stone sculptures of Greek Goddesses in the nude rather than a shrivelled mummy.

Loneliness never hits you as strongly as when you’re taking pictures of yourself with a self-timer. But where the camera has proved itself to be a technological wonder, it is also a nuisance at times. Unlike other picture galleries, Tate Modern does allow photography without a flash. More people, I’m sure, view the exhibits through the camera lens rather than the naked eye.

I was there one day, sitting quietly and contemplating the vivid colours of Monet’s Water – Lilies when in walked a man with a camera and a guidebook. He took one sweeping look at the room, decided Monet was a worthy keepsake, snapped a picture with his digital SLR, took out a smart phone, snapped another picture of the painting and sauntered out of the room to repeat the process. Digital age galore!

But London is in stress, not just over the Olympics but also the dwindling economy. It seems that the case was no different in 1967. Like Ibn-e-Insha I, too, contributed to the economy of Britain by making a fairly large number of purchases. As Insha Sahib said in his book, we have old historical, political and cultural links with England. If we don’t help them in times of need, who will?

P.S: Though I saw theatre plays also, Insha Sahib was lucky enough to see the great Laurence Olivier play Edgar in Strindberg’s, The Dance of Death, at the Old Vic. According to Insha Sahib, Olivier’s acting was a marvel. 

Note: The sketch and all references to Ibn-e-Insha are from his book, Awara Gard ki Diary (Travelogue) 

London, Aadab!

London is an interesting place, to say the least. It has a nice vibe to it. Some cities have this sort of vibe. Karachi has one. Like London, it is a city which accepts you. It’s a feeling akin to settling down in a beanbag; it adjusts to you. Karachi is like that and so is London.

The past two days (I landed on Friday night) have consisted, mostly, of a crash course in underground routes. The first time I looked at the map it appeared exactly what it is in the picture; a lot of jumbled up lines. Or is it my destiny hidden among the seemingly mundane routes of the underground? Surreal.

London’s been kind to me in terms of weather. Sunshine has greeted me each morning (okay, only two mornings so far but that’s good too!) and the forecast for this week looks promising. If it rains I might get really homesick because it is sunny in Karachi (and hot too!).  But like hubby dear says, don’t let the weather be a deterrent to your plans, or something to that effect. I’ll try and adopt his philosophy but it’s difficult to look at the bright side of things when dark clouds are looming.

Reading English literature has its advantages. You recognize places from descriptions in books. Selfridges’s reminded me of An Equal Music, a book I love to bits. For some minutes I stood in front of the store, trying to recreate the scene when Michael spots Julia while both of them are sitting on opposite buses. And somehow, while standing there, I was able to actually feel Michael’s frustration, more so because hubby dear is in Karachi and I love him to bits too!

There are no more pigeons in Trafalgar Square. In fact, I saw more pigeons at Marble Arch than at Trafalgar Square. Talk about disappointments. All my life I have seen pictures of relatives and friends covered with pigeons (and probably pigeon poop!) and I was denied this experience. St.Paul’s Cathedral lived upto my expectations and after seeing it I can totally imagine its importance for the British people during World War II.

There’s so much to do in these two months. This trip is not just about discovering London but also about rediscovering myself. Unfortunately there are no route maps for the latter.

And I don’t know why they have the nursery rhyme about London Bridge. It’s so not worth it!

London Underground:Google Images