2011 - The End

Endings are difficult; whether of books, relationships, or a year.

But endings are followed by beginnings and beginnings always come with a great deal of promise.  Or so we like to believe.

Unlike other beginnings in our life (marriage, child birth, relocation) we make a lot of hoopla about the new year and chalk out resolutions which, honestly, are a glorified version of our things-to-do list. These lists accommodate our more lofty ambitions; there is no space for the mundane in it. In fact, they almost read like a film!

Resolutions are mostly egocentric. They revolve around one individual and his/her capacity to make a difference in the world. I am all for achieving greatness but often our lists need reality checks. The new year beckons at us like the Promised Land and we rush to it with stupendously detailed resolution lists. As the year progresses the list is mutilated and, in some cases, completely overhauled.  But then resolutions, like promises, are meant to be broken. Imagine what a perfect world there’ll be if everyone followed their list to the T?! We’ll have the perfect lives; success, love, money, peace, equality, and toned bodies!

As 2011 comes to an end, we look back at a year which was nothing short of a Hollywood block buster complete with revolutions, killings, fairy tale weddings, and scandals. And when the sun goes down tonight I will welcome the new year with this phrase from Iris Murdoch’s, The Sea, The Sea:

“Upon the demon-ridden pilgrimage of human life, what next I wonder?”

Let’s all keep wondering...

Note: Some of the highlights of 2011 on the beanbag. Read about them here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here. Whew!

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) 

Two Years on the Beanbag

There’s a great trend in us to celebrate all sorts of dates and occasions. Besides celebrating the usual birthdays, anniversaries and various other ‘days’, by using a bit of imagination one can come up with occasions to celebrate, if not every day, at least, once a week.

I, too, am going to indulge in this act and raise a toast to myself for my blog turns two today. It was two years on this very day that I wrote the first entry on my blog. Cause for celebration, no? Well, if truth be told, not really. Of course if my blog was ‘the’ best thing in Karachi I would definitely have thrown a grand party with support of my many sponsors (whose ads on my site resulted in tons of revenue for them) and invited my hundreds of followers for a chance to meet me, in person! Since that, unfortunately, is not the case I shall raise a glass of Coke Zero to myself and beanbagtales, alone.

The experience of blogging is actually quite nightmarish. You start off with great enthusiasm, thinking that the world is just waiting for - you. As you type each entry, your mind thinks of the hundreds, maybe even thousands, who will be hanging on to your every word. You rack your brains all day, the process begins as soon as you’re out of your bed (and turn on your laptop before going to the bathroom). You can’t afford not to write, the disappointment of your readers on not finding your golden words gives you goose bumps. But hell, what do you write about every day? You’re not a celebrity and your lifestyle certainly isn’t exciting enough to help generate a post every day. As time passes and your followers don’t reach double digits, your enthusiasm wanes and finally there comes a day when your respective blogging software administrator sends an email informing you of termination of your blog due to it being inactive.

Okay, this possibly is the worst case scenario possible and it’s not all that bad but in these two years I’ve learned that not many people are interested in reading book reviews, film reviews (especially if they’re pertaining to the classic genre), theatre acts or posts without pictures.

Too bad, because that’s what this blog is about! And in case you are a follower, join me in the toast. Cheers!

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

Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish - Thanks Steve!

Image: Google

Meeting Mohammad Hanif

‘What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it’. (Holden Caulfield – The Catcher in the Rye)

I decided to go one step ahead of Holden and met the author in person. Liberty Books had arranged a book reading of Mohammad Hanif’s ‘Our Lady of Alice Bhatti’ on Sunday evening (25^th Sept, 2011). Here are some bits and pieces of his conversation with Muneeza Shamsie about his book, religion and the writing process in general.

M.S: In your first book, A Case of Exploding Mangoes, Ali Shigri (the protagonist) is thrown in a dungeon where he meets a blind Zainab and the General Secretary of the Sweeper’s Association. In ‘Our Lady of Alice Bhatti’, Zainab is the mother of one of the characters, Noor, and Alice’s father is a sweeper. Was this a coincidence?

M.H: No, it wasn’t a coincidence. I was trying to create a new fictional world which is messed up in a different way. I must have missed Zainab. Maybe there was a kind of yearning for her, the kind people have once they leave their lovers and then want a glimpse of them years later.

M.S: What came first? Zainab, Alice Bhatti or the General Secretary of the Sweeper’s Association?

M.H: These characters (Zainab, General Secretary) were gone and dead in the previous book. Shigri, I saved, maybe for a sequel to write when one is desperate and old and needs money. Alice came first as a glimmer or memory of someone I’d seen once. Her voice came first. She was called something else and then I changed her name and she started working for me. For one and a half year there was just Alice and nobody else, just a nurse in a hospital room.

M.S: Alice refers constantly to her faith in the book...

M.H: I wasn’t interested in a faith vs. faith scenario. People have a very personal relationship with their faith. It varies with age and gender. I was obsessing about the kind of personal relationship people have with their God. I was interested in those shades, when one believes and doesn’t and at what stage of life this happens. The idea was not to make fun of religion because already it is quite cartoonish.

M.S: Alice is a nurse. Is there any analogy with Florence Nightingale?

M.H: I’m not a big fan of Florence Nightingale or Mother Teresa although they might be very nice people. I’ve spent time in hospitals like many of us do. I’ve seen these nurses; women working at 4am without any boss or CCTV to monitor them but still doing the best they can. I was impressed by an average professional nurse working in a government hospital.

M.S: And what about Teddy Butt?

M.H: He’s a bit of every man. He has all these urges that get mixed up. He never kind of says what he really feels. He’s kind of hopeless in a way. If you live in Karachi long enough it is possible to meet someone like him, a friend of a friend who pretends to be a sort of gangster. You know the type who’d try to sell you a stolen vehicle or something.

M.S: You had to shut off the journalist in you when writing A Case of Exploding Mangoes. The nature of journalism actually gives you access to people and places. How do these observations creep into your fiction?

M.H: I’m not a crime journalist or a murder scene type reporter. I’ve never reported from a hospital. If you live in Karachi long enough you meet people like rogue doctors who drink and smoke before going in the operation theatre. When you sit down to write, old conversations come into your mind and help in developing the story. As a journalist, you also know when to shut up. But with television now, nobody really shuts up. They go on and on and....

M.S: What impels you to write fiction?

M.H: At the age of twenty, everyone wants to write a book. There’s a certain kind of boy or girl who reads and reads and reads and someday, they get it into their heads that they’ll also write a book like this. It sort of comes from being bookish and boring and self-obsessed. I get bored easily and one way to get over boredom is to sit in a corner and invent stories. It is also a sort of escape therapy from reality. Even if it is for a few years, I am the master of the universe I create.

[The interview and book reading was followed by a book signing session]. 

Photograph: Dawn.com

Why Change?

Change is a scary word. Habit hates change. It does. Habit feels insecure when change comes along. Both are a very strong part of our life; yours and mine. We become slave to our habits and detest any change in them. Our habits age with us and become our masters. They acquire the same kind of power over us that the ‘One Ring’ (The Dark Lord, Sauron’s ring- Lord of the Rings) had on any creature who wore it. When habits become so strong, change takes a back seat. Ironically, change also has a habit of creeping back into our lives; sometimes most unexpectedly.

Change, I believe, is an even bigger part of our lives than habit. With the passing of years we change both bodily and emotionally. Humans are strange creatures. We yearn for change and yet shun it too. From youth to middle age, change is an acceptable part of life. We switch jobs, go abroad to study or work, have children, change schools, change servants, change cars, change houses, and so on. But somewhere at the back of our minds is the thought that this cycle of constant change will end one day, that we will settle down and change will bother us occasionally.  

Life without change is unimaginable. Nature, too, changes and each change gives us a new joy. Habit and change are necessary to keep the balance; too much of one can lead to a very boring existence. 

And no one wants to be a bore.