MIRZA GHALIB IN YALE - Author Sara Suleri reads from her new book, Boys Will Be Boys: A daughter’s elegy

It’s an elegy, this time for her beloved Pip, “patriotic and preposterous” – the father Sara Suleri never let the reader of Meatless Days forget: his pedestrian English accent; his irascibility with his brood of six (“You tended to chide us before we were children”). The English professor at Yale gripped us with the cold-blooded murder of the fairest of all Ifat, her sister, (“she dies inside me daily”) and the hit and run death of her Welsh mother: Surraya Mair Suleri, daughter of John Amos Jones, by a rickshaw at Punjab University where she, like her daughter, taught English and was adored by her students.(“I think each of us died in some way the day they buried Mamma”).

Privy to the most intimate memories of the Suleri household embedded in the golden era of Lahore, “Oh, City of Lights, the grave-homes of our mother, sister and now our father”, Sara, robustly engaged us in the intrepid social fabric of the fabulous 60’s and 70’s woven around the changing seasons and her father’s blind devotion to ‘General Zulu’ Haq: “You were quite chummy with that maniacal general”.

A decade and two years later, there she is, in the dim-lit corridor of Yale, waddling along in her black patent flats burdened by the endlessly flowing kurta – a rich silk Wedgwood blue stripes – worn with a loosely fitted chooridar and a scarf carefully clutching her shoulders but girlishly pushed away. Her characteristic bob, parted in the middle, still drapes the sad, sad face.

Sara starts to read and opens the first chapter of her new book, Boys will be Boys: A daughter’s elegy, hot from the University of Chicago Press. It’s a title jokingly chosen by Z.A. Suleri (Z.A.S.) for his unwritten autobiography. The prominent political journalist turned editor died in 1999. He was 86.

Her voice cracks as she recites Ghalib, Iqbal and many more during the next one hour, narrating nuggets from randomly picked pages packed in a graveyard of memories. The 13 chapters, prefixed always by an Urdu couplet: “Pip who loved Ghalib with a passion typical to his nature” are enticingly crafted around her family with ZAS as the chief protagonist.

Deathlike silence prevails in the small room where Sara Suleri Goodyear, 50, celebrates the life and times of her father. “When Pip died, I moaned. I thought some remnant in me had been discarded.” As if to make amends for the fun she poked at him, cruelly taking the wind out of his pompous sails in Meatless Days, the daughter now wants to make her peace. “On Judgment Day, I will say to God, ‘Be merciful, for I have already been judged by my child,” ZAS would chide her.

But her rendition is inaudible, poorly constructed. She appears in pain, her face distorted, lips puckered, head bent, shoulders sagging, Sara halts often as she turns the pages and stumbles over sentences once too often. Her vocal chords suffer, whispering hoarsely while attempting to mouth words. A glass of water is pushed sympathetically towards her to salve her tortured delivery.

“Whatever continents may intrude to interrupt our narrative, the circle of life only seems to grow tighter and tighter,” she continues.

Is her inside weeping? her heart tearing? her soul grieving? None dare fidget. The crowd is mostly Indian.

On Indo-Pa war and liberation of Bangladesh in, Sara says philosophically: “ I watched you, Pip, during the bitter war of 1971. It take me much time to mention that war because of its colossal failures, its unutterable consumption of lives. I am not sorry Bangladesh is in place – it was a stupid idea, anyway , to have an east wing and a west wing of Pakistan, separated by a thousand-odd miles of enemy territory, like a bird without a body.

Sara well remembers how they had to be collecting funds for the cyclone victims to the erstwhile East Pakistan. Nuzzi, her sister, had a cook from Bengal who “told me that the last time he returned to Bangladesh there was another enormous upheavel in the Ganges. Uprooting villages, wreaking havoc where havoc should not have been wreaked. He said he and his family spent days clinging to some trees…I felt ashamed.”

Referring to some photographs of her father from his early days as editor for Dawn which someone had sent to her she says, “When I looked at the photographs of that young man – with a face disturbingly like my own – I knew that if I did not love him already, I would until God’s heavenly Muslim universe had descended and taken him from me for good.”

But she quickly sets the record straight: “A saddening thought. But you were, Pip, always exuberant about your editorials and your articles, even when you did them everyday.”

When all’s over, I walk away, self-contained, a trifle triumphant over the Yale-wallahs: I consider Sara’s discourse my intellectual property right solely as a Pakistani first and a Lahori second. I saw it happen. “She looks so dukhi (sad)” says the young Nandini as we walk out together. Her male companion, another Indian student, has specially come to hear Sara, but leaves disappointed. “Maybe she’s not well…it seems that she didn’t really want to be here.”

Read the book! That’s what I did and could not lay it down. “A Proust in Pakistan, to wander among her own several lives” now gives us a rare peep into the secret life of Pip - a man with human frailties, never mind his self-righteousness.

The aging and ailing Lion as Sara calls her father “adopts” Shahida in the hoary twilight of his life. The woman – crude to the core and scheming to the hilt according to Sara’s accounts, works in the advertising section of The Pakistan Times where ZAS is the big boss , she comes howling with a complaint of sexual harassment. Not only is the alleged abuser (innocent of the crime) summarily kicked out, but “Pip came home with his blushing daughter”, giving Sara and her siblings a “stepsister”!

Sara tantalizes the reader with the ambivalent relationship between the young woman and her father. We’re told how Shahida takes over the life and home of Pip, who badly needed a “companion” and allows this peroxide blonde with a generous bosom to ransack their home – throw “Mamma’s china” out, put up shining cheap curtains, get rid of the gold nib Parker and Mont Blanc that “Papa” loved to write with. She even accompanies him to New York during a UN session and stays grandly at the UN Plaza!

“After you had left, Pip, stepsister Shahida began pestering each of us for ‘por-torni’”, until they finally figured out what the Punjabi wench wanted was a power of attorney to keep ZAS’s Lahore house where she’s set up a Z.A Suleri Trust Foundation and ambitiously appointed herself the President!

Sara regales us with her tale of “Scorch & Soda” (Scotch) that ZAS enjoyed furtively and loved eating “meat sausages” – who cares if they had a bit of pork! “Get rid of the sausages !Hide the sausages!” bellowed ‘Pip’ to his kids when some “religious-looking visitors turned up” at the hospital in London where ZAS was admitted.

As for politics: there was “Bobby Shafto (Nawaz Sharif) fat and fair with his Model Town estates and innumerable mills of corruption”; while Benazir Bhutto “promsied some hope until she married her scoundrel.”

Sara abbreviates “Paki” for Pakistan and “Mozzies” for Muslims throughout the book. They make for an easy read, why quibble?

“Ifat wore rings, just as I do”. Sara can say that again: I have a hard time counting the number of glittering baubles covering all her 8 fingers as she tentatively turns the pages while reading from them.

“Yes Pip, he (Austin) is still my husband…you see me married, domesticated,” Sara addresses her father and recounts her marriage to a widower; a millionaire, a Goodyear (the tyre man); double in age with a daughter “older than I am…I leapfrogged to become a step- great grandmother”. Austin Goodyear owns a yacht called “Mermaid” and a farmhouse in Maine. “Sara make him a Muslim”, urges ZAS from afar.

Who won’t remember Abdul Ali Khan - “a feudal gentleman if ever there was one” as the Principal of Aitchison College. Well the tyrant expelled Shahid (Sara’s brother) for writing “libelious and obscene lyrics about his various teachers. Pip called him over the phone a bull and a pig” when he refused to take Shahid back.

And Zeno – Dawn’s most respected columnist: “would send poisoned darts at Pip and Pip would send them back at Zeno”.

“What was it about Pip’s relationship to friends?” asks the daughter who cannot “recall a single of his friendships that was not somehow trammeled by history.” Of his cousins “Uncle” Shamim and his younger brother Nasim the journalist who later became the UN Ambassador at New York, ‘Pip’ never saw eye to eye.

“Pip your handwriting still can wrench me as your Quran (that ZAS gave when Sara left for the US in 1976) has traveled with me – and will forever – from home to home.”

“Ifat-Tillat-Nuzhat-Sara”, ZAS would yell and each of his daughters would come running: “If possible we would still be running to his side today.”

Except Ifat and Nuzhat are dead and so is ‘Pip’.

“Good night, sweet Pip, flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! You will be back more times than you know. I was always obstinate,” thus ends a daughter's elegy, Boys will be Boys.

NOTE: This article was first published in Dawn, 23 Nov 2003. We have published it here on Jazbah.org with permission from the author.

Once upon a time in Karachi...

Kartography by Kamila Shamsie

Kamila Shamsie' Kartography is an exciting novel, especially for those who have lived in Karachi. Set in the Eighties and Nineties in one of Pakistan's largest cities, it is a tale of friendship, love, betrayal and anguish. Karachi is just as important to the story as the two main characters, Raheen and Karim. For those who lived through those years in Karachi, the novel serves as a bittersweet reminder of a difficult time in a beloved city.

Thirteen years old, Raheen and Karim, are best friends who’ve been together since birth. Their winter holidays have just started and their plans of spending their days roaming the city with two other close friends, Zia and Sonia, are being spoiled by their parents. Nervous about the safety of their children as the ethnic violence escalates, the parents are planning to send them away for the holidays.

Living in the better part of town, the four friends are somewhat shielded from the violence. Thus, while death toll in the city rises daily, the biggest worries of the young teenagers seem to be not being able to go to the beach or drive to the airport coffee shop when they want – the oldest of the group, Zia, has recently acquired a fake driver's license. Trying to enjoy life like normal teenagers, they sometime seem almost oblivious to the violence. In reality, it is always in the back of their minds even as they make jokes to trivialize it.

"'And they say the elite aren't affected by what's happening in the city,' I'd quipped to Karim a few weeks earlier when I found out softball had been cancelled altogether..."

As the years pass, some unpleasant truths are revealed and the four friends are forced to face bigger issues in each of their lives. As children, Raheen and Karim could read each other's thoughts and complete each other's sentences. But as they reach their early twenties, events from their parents’ past put them at odds with each other and their lifelong friendship at risk.

With the parallel story of Yasmin, Zafar, Maheen and Ali who are the parents of Raheen and Karim, the author touches on another dark period from Pakistan's history. The four parents have known each other since their college days when they lived through the civil war which resulted in the creation of an independent Bangladesh in 1971. That year has haunting memories for the four parents. It is also the year in which the parents swapped partners yet managed to keep their friendship alive. Raheen struggles to untangle her parents' past which is colliding with her own world. It is days away from 1995 when Raheen writes the following note to herself:

"Dead bang between our beginning and our present, is 1971, of which I know next to nothing except that there was a war and East Pakistan became Bangladesh, and what terrible things we must have done then to remain so silent about it. Is it the shame at losing the war, or guilt about what we did to try to win that mutes us?"

Will the friendship between Raheen and Karim survive the pressures of the ethnic violence that surrounds them in the present as well as that which occurred even before their births? Will the parents live up to the expectations of their children? How will Karachi effect the lives of each of the characters?

The novel which starts out at slow pace soon becomes difficult to put down. Kartography is a coming of age story of four friends. Shamsie’s characters are vividly portrayed. Each is very different from the other. Though mainly a story about Raheen and Karim, Zia and Sonia are every bit as intriguing. The flashbacks to the parents' college days are revealing of another time and mind set. Karachi is portrayed as a complex city, lively and dangerous. One thing is for sure, as a native, Kamila Shamsie is in love with her city and manages to invoke in the reader a longing to experience the vibrant life there.

Kamila Shamsie's other novels include 'In the City by the Sea' and 'Salf and Saffron.' Her biography and links to interviews can be found on Sawnet.

Attar of Roses by Tahira Naqvi

Reading the stories from Tahira Naqvi's short story collection "Attar of Roses," is a psychological tour to the gentler times, when people were assigned to a distinct position in the world and they carried out the duties of that position with dignity without much grumbling.

Is it the negative portrayal of the society? I feel that it is the portrait of the society as it exists. The seeds of progressive thoughts are already there in these stories, the narrator in many cases is the mouthpiece for the progress, but the stories themselves are populated by the men and women who have placidly accepted their place in the society and their duties to the family. The characters are full of free spirit but have consciously accepted their lot.

The stories touch many aspects of the educated urban middle class life of Pakistan. Many of the characters are teachers and doctors. The stories are filled with very sensitive and carefully drawn details of the family life. It makes one very nostalgic for those long, fun-filled summer vacations; family visits with cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents, picnics and weddings and such things. Stories like "Love in an Election Year," "A Peep Hole Romance," and "A Woman of No Consequence," deal with the arranged marriages and the reactions of young girls to three very different faces of the arranged marriages. The last one is a serious tale of the unrelenting desire for sons in the society, with disastrous consequences.

Baji Sughra of the "Love in an Election Year" says to Shabo, her cousin, and the narrator of the story,
"Well Shabo, she wants too much. You can either be a good wife and mother or a good leader. And she wants to be all three."
Here 'she' in question is Benazir Bhutto. On the surface, the statement looks anti-feminist, but Baji Sughra is a realist, a woman of the world, and a curable romantic. The author unfolds the summer fling between Baji Sughra and Javed Bhai with as much secrecy as the secrecy of the affair itself. In the end, Shabo, who is hurt by Baji's behavior, says:
"As we embraced, the sharp gold edges of her long kundan earrings cut into my cheek."
That sharp cut is the symbol of Shabo's initiation into the adult world. She must now face the harsh realities of life.

The title story "Attar of Roses" and another one called "A Man of Integrity" have the male protagonists, who are drawn into the mystique of the women outside of their marriages. Portraits of these men are done with a sensitive and a poetic bent. The account of the slowly unfolding temptation is very seductive. Although the two stories end on very different notes, the men come off looking as sensitive souls, good husbands, and good fathers.

The "Notebook," is the story of a bride locked in an abusive marriage. She gradually becomes aware of her own creativity amongst her embroiled domesticity. I think that her alleged barrenness ironically releases her from the oppressive ties that bind her. The gentle husband of "The Man of Integrity," and the brute of a husband from "Notebook," are very different, but both have one thing in common. They both are unaware of their wives' need for a creative outlet. Images of food are plentiful and are used to show creative side of the woman trapped in an unhappy domestic life. Purple peels from an eggplant are likened to the swatches from a purple robe, tender and firm peas are likened to the emerald beads and so on.

"New Beginnings" is a story about the empty nesters, I do not know what to make of it, but the story contains some awesome similes: "The afternoon rehearsal was like a load of bricks upon her back. Her arthritis straddled her shoulders like a harness."

Although many of the stories such as "Love in an Election Year, and "Atonement" touch on the sociopolitical issues in a lighter vein, "History Lessons" is the only one that deals with the politics head-on. A flogging of three teenage convicts is set to take place on the Maidan in front of the Central Jail. The events of the day unfold for the reader through the eyes of a schoolteacher. A group of women, hoping to take advantage of the anticipated crowds, is gathered near the Maidan to protest the Shariat law. The dialogue between the liberal thinking youthful teacher and the conservative science teacher clearly brings the two opposing points of views in focus.

"Shadows" and "Master" are the two of the weaker stories. They lack a focus and the point, if it exists, is lost on the readers like me. "Largesse" is a story of an ailing grandfather. Here again the slick similes and the carefully rendered descriptions of domestic life make the story enjoyable for me. "The words sat like stones on his tongue.." I felt that the lyrical description of the watch is a metaphor for the timeless gift of love offered by the Grandfather.

"A matter of togetherness" is a tale of hypocrisy of the religious society. The woman who valued her religion in life is cheated of her faith in her death due to this hypocrisy. A sharp but muted commentary on the religious fanaticism.

I liked the stories for the lyrical prose. There are no major upheavals in the lives of the characters, no situations where a crucial life-altering decision is made. The characters stay within their socially acceptable sphere. The wife in the 'Notebook' comes close to making such a decision. Another woman character faced with the injustice simply has no energy left to fight back. Therefore, as I said in the beginning, the stories are a mirror to the life as it existed and may still exist in parts of Pakistan.

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Tahira Naqvi's second short story collection, 'Dying in a Strange Country,' was published in 2001. She has completed a first novel, which, like the stories in Attar, is set in Pakistan. Tahira Naqvi has also translated from Urdu several works of renowned writer Ismat Chughtai, and a collection of stories by well-known Pakistani writer Khadija Mastur titled, 'Cool, Sweet Water.' Ms Naqvi's biography and links to interviews can be found on Sawnet.

Pratibha Kelapure is a multilingual reader and writer. She enjoys analyzing poetry and prose to discover new meanings from her own slightly warped point of view.

Working women in Pakistan Book review of Taboo and Between Chaddor and the Market

Significant debates have occurred detailing the profession(s) that women chose (or not) and the effects that such choice have on the larger Pakistani society, both in terms of gender roles as well as economic market studies. Oxford University Press seems to have made considerable strides in providing venues for such literature in the last few years. The two books reviewed here are amongst such works published by OUP Karachi. Both books are about women’s professional careers: Fouzia Saeed’s book Taboo (translated into Urdu as 'Klunk' ), analyzes “the phenomenon of prostitution (not just as a sex worker but as a cultural professional) ...through it have looked at Pakistani society and its gender roles” (xix: 2001), while Mirza’s work engages with data “engendering the embeddedness of market in society, by analyzing the interfaces which emerge into women’s life world and the market due to women’s entry into office jobs” (Mirza 2002: 4).

Saeed uses a primarily ethnographic approach to the subject, yet applies a narrative format that arguably allows for the material to be easily absorbed by a larger audience. The end product is highly informative, simultaneously being effortless to read. The accessibility of the narrative should not be equated to triviality. Saeed has clearly spent much time struggling with the subject matter prior to publication. She outlines the many difficulties she faced with “Pakistani society’s ’good people’, specifically the ’civilized and cultured’ people in our national bureaucracy” (17: 2001).

The interviews and analysis provided by Saeed focus on socialization of the people who work and live in Shahi Mohalla and power dynamics within that socioeconomic framework. The study was conducted over a 10 year period, and her work is saturated with self reflexive commentary. One glaringly obvious issue Saeed was not able to overcome was her biased and disparaging views of the middle class Pakistani women. The homogenous construction of the middle class is problematic, simultaneously however, allowing a subculture of the Mohalla to exist freely in her work. Shahi Mohalla in Lahore is gloriously described, each detail allowing for the story to elaborate the lives of the people who inhabit the small alleyways : prostitutes, the pimps, managers and customers, as well as the musicians who provide the melodious backdrop.

Saeed traces through the traditional practice of prostitution in South Asia (specifically in Pakistan) and illuminates the interconnections between performance theory and myths surrounding prostitution. In a valiant effort, she communicates the real people aspect, and demystifies the otherness of the “cultural profession” practiced by prostitutes.
One of the most intriguing facets of the narrative is the issue of gender within Pakistani society. On the most basic level, the Mohalla is where the birth of a daughter is celebrated with more gusto than in mainstream Pakistani society - where the female is the breadwinner. That sequence is juxtaposed with the complexity with which women are treated in the work force in mainstream Pakistani society, established and elaborated by Fouzia’s own personal experiences discussed in the book. Lastly, one is left with a slight feeling that the book does not discuss the phenomenon of male prostitution that is on the rise in major centers all across Pakistan.

'Both books, Taboo and Between Chaddor and the Market are texts that clearly deal with women in various professions within Pakistani society; how these women have changed through time, and how they have changed society.'

One might make the argument that female prostitution is based on a market exchange type model, where as long as there is a demand, there is a supply. A demand for beautiful women, however, does not only exist in these professional and employment circles. Jasmin Mirza’s book Between Chaddor and the Market, points out that “the integration of women into the office sector does not follow a homogenous pattern but includes the recruitment of women as skilled ‘human resources’ , the employment of women as ‘showpieces’ and of course, many forms between the two extremes” (Mirza 2002: 153). She follows through with many examples of women being turned down for the job because they were not fair (light-skinned) enough, or the bosses saying “we want a pretty girl” (Mirza 2002: 152).

[Reviewers Note: This is not to draw parallels between the two occupations, but rather to realize the embedded gender biases within Pakistani society irrespective of profession of the female.]

Mirza’s aim is to analyze the labor market integration of lower-middle class woman coming into the office sector of the work force in Pakistan. A very intriguing phenomenon as a vast majority of these women come from Muslim conservative households. The study hinges on certain basic questions: how do these women experience their first steps into the (male dominated) office sector? What discontinuities emerge between their own life world and the world of work, and how do the women handle them? How is the office sector itself embedded in society; or, in other words, what are the interactions between the social and gender order of society and the office environment? How do they influence the access of women to employment, gender relations, and the gendered organization of work and space at the workplace? What changes have occurred -- in women’s lives as well as in the office sector -- due to women’s entry into office jobs? Mirza conducts an actor oriented study where the focus is on women’s logic of action, their negotiation strategies and their rooms for maneuver, and on the question regarding how these are related to their life world (2002: 4-5).

Mirza conducted her research in Lahore, Pakistan. Through her qualitative research methods, and interview heavy data, Mirza successfully achieved her goals set out in the beginning of her study. The focus is primarily on thirteen women, who represented somewhat ’typical’ cases, which enabled Mirza to follow those specific women through a period of about one year. The framework of the study is well organized and builds sequentially through to the conclusion.

Mirza begins by a discussion of the institution of purdah and the meaning for the gender order in Pakistani Muslim culture. The first couple of chapters contextualize the life world that these women would experience - from kin relations, to non kin-based male associations. Having established the matrix from which these women may have emerged, Mirza conducts a clear sociological and statistical study of the urban labor market, specifically how it relates to female office workers. The integration of lower-middle-class women into this labor market, and the multiple levels of their experience presented, after which Mirza provides a thought-provoking and well substantiated discussion of the manner in which office culture changes through the women’s presence. Before concluding, Mirza teases apart the many facets of how such alteration in the women’s lives affects their lifestyles at home. The study concludes with an affirmation of lower-middle-class office workers being the active agents of change in the labor market, in their own conservative class, and in society at large (2002: 232-233).

Between Chaddor and the Market is a valuable text for many reasons: firstly, the statistics and variety of sources are very useful; secondly, the interviews provide thick description in a manner yet to be seen on this topic; and finally the interlacing of theories of purdah, the lower-middle-class woman and the urban labor market, is one that is frightfully understudied -- this book is a major step in understanding the complexity of issues surrounding women in the workforce in Pakistan. Perhaps the one issue that was slightly plaguing, was that women were constantly placed in opposition to the male - I am not sure if that is always the case, nor if that is always an entirely viable form of argument.

Both books, Taboo and Between Chaddor and the Market are texts that clearly deal with women in various professions within Pakistani society; how these women have changed through time, and how they have changed society. These books are the beginnings in understandings of women in Pakistan - clearly establishing the heterogeneous complexity that exists within the many gendered orders of Pakistani society. These are very important first steps to eradicate the one dimensional (sometimes, if we are lucky, two dimensional - but rarely three-dimensional) view of the Eastern woman from the western lens.

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Uzma Z. Rizvi is a Doctoral Candidate in the Department of Anthropology, University of Pennsylvania. The focus of her academic work is primarily, the study of culture, including topics on South Asia, the diaspora, archaeology, politics,
cultural theory, feminism, material culture, theater, and film. As a cultural practioner/producer, Uzma is a co-founder, associate artistic director and literary manager of RASA Theater, Inc (NYC), and can be heard on 89.3 FM (WCNJ)
on the Banana Chutney Mix.

This review was originally published in the American Institute of Pakistan Studies Newsletter. It is published here with permission from the author.

BREAKING THE SILENCE IN TEHMINA DURRANI’S MY FEUDAL LORD

Post-colonial literature consists of a body of writing emanating from Europe’s former colonies. It addresses the concerns of history, identity, ethnicity, gender and language. An important consequence of post-colonialism has been the acknowledgement and reappearance of women’s experience after being concealed from the histories of colonial societies. Many of the fixed representations of non-Western women have been powerfully rejected in a plethora of contemporary writings; most of them in their different ways refute imaginings deeply. As Nabaneeta Dev Sen points out in her article Women and Literary Imagination, writers like Jean Rhys, Anita Desai, Buchi Emecheta, Olive Senior, Nadine Gordimer, Grace Nichols and Arundhati Roy have placed women at the center of history, as makers and agents of history, not mute witnesses to it.

All across the world, especially in the Indian sub-continent, the act of writing is for a woman essentially an act of breaking her silence because her repressive patriarchal/racial society has taught her to be culturally silent. The feminine is essentially the marginalized consciousness that operates on the periphery of patriarchal discourse. Such an insight into the marginal self is provided by Tehmina Durrani’s My Feudal Lord.

Tehmina Durrani, a Pakistani English authoress, in her autobiography My Feudal Lord describes her traumatic marital life with Gulam Mustafa Khar, an important politician in the Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto government, who later became the Chief Minister of Punjab. Professionally a charismatic champion of democracy, on the personal front he was an inveterate wife abuser. This autobiographical novel won the Italian Marrissa Bellasario prize and was later translated into several languages. My Feudal Lord is divided into three parts respectively aptly entitled Lion of Punjab, Law of Jungle, and Lioness. Throughout these sections one can map the progress of Tehmina from an ordinary elitist housewife to an emancipated human being contesting for equal rights and women’s empowerment.

In Pakistani society, where the Muslim patriarchs dominate, the entity of women is that of inferior beings, both intellectually and socially. Her main raison d’etre seems to be an instrument for the satisfaction of the man’s sexual desires and perpetuation of the species. Tehmina writes:

"The women in our circle did not seem to look beyond their raised noses. They chattered endlessly about disobedient servants, clothes, jewellery and interior decorations…. Many a day in the lives of these women was completely devoted to the topic of what to wear that evening."

Tehmina herself was no exception to this rule and fashioned herself mechanically to cater to her husband’s preferences, be it in appearance, attire or makeup. Moreover she reveled in the conventional social expectations of the behaviour expected of a married woman.

In the first part of My Feudal Lord, Mustafa is portrayed as a man who revels in the total subjugation, repression and oppression of his female counterpart. Tehmina's conventional upbringing conditioned by her patriarchal social environment in which she lived, made her accept her husband Mustafa’s physical assaults and sexual brutality, enduring these attacks as a part of her destiny. That was the social ethos which inculcated itself into her being. Her mother’s comment aptly illustrates this:

"If a husband behaves in a strange or unreasonable manner, you should treat him like a sick human being, like someone who needs medical care and treatment. Deal with him like a psychiatrist."

Yet Mustafa is neither sick nor unreasonable. He is simply insanely and irrationally possessive in a manner reminiscent of the Duke of Ferrara in Robert Browning’s My Last Duchess. For, according to Mustafa, a woman, like land, is “ power, prestige and a property” - a commodity meant for utilization and consumption in whichever way the owner / master deems fit. Surprisingly, when Tehmina becomes pregnant as a result of Mustafa's violent rapist tortures, he takes a lot of personal care of her. However, a close reading of the novel makes the reader realize that it is not out of love for her but in the hope of a male heir that Mustafa is attending to Tehmina. Her endurance of Mustafa’s tortures is the result of an archaic patriarchal value which inculcates a sense of slavery into the essence of womanhood. This extends to sexual domination of the wife by the husband. Patriarchal discourse does not regard sex as a means of mutual physical enjoyment but rather as a tool of dominion. This is why Tehmina tries to perpetuate her marriage bond with Mustafa, realizing fully well that in her society, a divorced woman is the most despicable of the human species. Her heart-rending description of her loveless marriage is revealed as:

"There was not a day that Mustafa did not hit me …. I just tried my best not to provoke him …I was afraid that my slightest response to his advances would reinforce his image of me as a common slut. This was a feudal hang – up: his class believed that a woman was an instrument of a man’s carnal pleasure. If the woman ever indicated that she felt pleasure, she was a potential adulteress, not to be trusted. Mustafa did not even realize that he had crushed my sensuality. I was on automatic pilot …responding as much as was important for him but never feeling anything myself. If he was satisfied there was a chance that he would be in better humour. It was at these times that I realized that prostitution must be a most difficult profession."

Part Two of the novel is set in a politically turbulent atmosphere of General Zia’s coup, overthrowing the Government of Prime Minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto and establishing a military regime. Mustafa, a Bhutto loyalist now falls from grace in the new regime and along with Tehmina , goes to London via Mecca. Before leaving his country, Mustafa promises the Government of General Zia that he will bring back some important documents from London and these will help in the total liquidation of the Bhutto Government and will thus prove Mustafa’s loyalty to the present military regime of Pakistan. Yet once Mustafa reaches London, his dilemma is resolved and he decides to remain loyal to the Bhutto Government and so he starts contacting all possible exiles there. In London Mustafa and Tehmina start a fashionable life as exiles. At this point both Tehmina and her family have accepted Mustafa with all his perversions and atrocities and they are living in an apartment owned by Tehmina’s parents who want their daughter and son-in-law to live happily together. They also urge the two not to file for divorce. Her father tells her:

“You can only leave his home in a coffin.”

Emboldened by his father-in-law’s approval and attitude, Mustafa starts behaving as before and to make matters worse, he begins seducing Tehmina’s younger sister Adila, while physically assaulting Tehmina regularly. Overcome by his physical assaults, Tehmina finally raises her voice telling him:

“This is my father’s house and I do not think that you should dare to lift a hand on me here.”

However her protests become feeble once she realizes that her family will not support her at all and she can hardly hope to receive support from anyone else. Left with no material and mental support and with the hope of a bleak future before her, Tehmina reconciles yet again with her brute of a husband. Her only consolation is in the power of the Almighty to whom she prays constantly to alleviate her sufferings and to make her husband realize his shortcomings. The last straw comes after Tehmina becomes pregnant again and unforseen circumstances compel her to visit a male doctor. This hurts Mustafa’s enormous ego and he sees Tehmina’s visit to a male doctor as an unforgivable transgression whereby she has insulted his manhood and his right over her as her husband. He beats the pregnant Tehmina brutally. This is an insight into the sexual ego of the feudal master who treats his wife as a possession. For the first time in her life she considers divorce but realizes that she might have to forgo her right over her daughter. So she once again reconciles with her destiny:

“A prisoner ultimately settles into a monotonous routine. Anger recedes, senses dull. The spirit is crushed.”

Politics in Pakistan begins changing with the execution of Bhutto in 1979. The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan helps Zia consolidate his position in the domestic politics of Pakistan with the support of the American Government. Bhutto’s sons mobilize the support and sympathy of a large number of Pakistani people in exile. And this exiled community dreams of dislodging Zia forcibly. Mustafa senses the futility of this attempt and feels that this revolutionary group aiming at overthrowing the Zia Government will strengthen Zia and give him an excuse to eliminate all the supporters of Bhutto who were still in Pakistan. So Mustafa changes his potential strategy. He starts traveling the entire continent, mobilizing support from those in exile, tirelessly delivering lectures at public meetings for a sensible change in the Government of Pakistan. At this stage of his life and career, he appears to be a champion of democracy in public life, although he is still an inveterate wife-abuser in his private life. His words enthuse Tehmina and she starts believing that soon her country shall be free from the clutches of martial law imposed by the military government.

In the course of time, Mustafa develops an incestuous relationship with Adila, his sister-in-law, which is subsequently discovered by Tehmina. Yet Tehmina blames not her husband but her sister for and complains about the affair to her mother that her sister has been seducing Mustafa. The reason for Tehmina’s one-sided complaint is that she may protect her husband’s honour in her parent’s house. But the results of these are drastic as Mustafa batters her with the butt of his double-barrelled shotgun and strips her nude, taking away from her even the last vestige of security. This episode has an oppressive effect on her soul and she describes:

“This episode would cripple my spirit perhaps beyond salvation. From this movement forward it would be nearly impossible for me to function as an individual. There was not one iota of self- esteem left. The shame had burned it down to ashes. “

The basic teaching imparted to every woman in a patriarchal society is to remain a silent spectator, even as a victim to any injustice meted out by the man and to be very careful of not going public with any personal crisis which may harm the “honour” of her man. However even social constraints have their limits and one day Tehmina cannot take it any more. So Tehmina retorts in fury when he next tries to hit her:

“The next time you raise your hand on me. I will pick- up a knife and kill you.”

After this warning, Tehmina remains with her husband and visits India with a diplomatic mission. After the meeting, she visits the Holy Shrine of Ajmer and her prayer reveals her deep devoutness and reverence for her religion:

"My two shadows were at my side as I entered the shrine. Their Hindu presence disturbed my Islamic prayers……..I asked God to curb Mustafa’s bouts of violence and insanity. I want a normal home with peace and harmony. I prayed that God would give Mustafa respect and end in exile."

After their return from India, Mustafa and Tehmina file for separation under the court of law in England. This is granted, and after the legal separation, Tehmina decides to cut her hair thereby sending a message to Mustafa that she will never return to him, as he had been besotted with her beautiful hair and the act of cutting it is symbolic of her cutting him out her existence. She writes:

"He knew that I had finally decided not to return to him ever again. Otherwise I would not have done away with what he loved most about me. Without my hair he was a weak Samson."

However now that she has forsaken him, Mustafa’s male ego is affronted and he begins wooing her back with a vengeance. Eventually he succeeds in winning her over by enthusing her with his noble mission of returning home to rescue his country from the clutches of its martial Government. A kind of ideological affinity makes the two of them return together to Pakistan upon which Mustafa is immediately arrested at the airport. Tehmina, being his wife, receives much public attention and is for the first time accepted as a leader of the people. Being a dutiful wife, legal separation not withstanding, Tehmina visits the jailed Mustafa regularly and tries to mobilize public support for him. He has no alternative except her and so he controls his temper. Eventually however his perversions dominate him and his lust for her resurfaces making him rape her in jail on his birthday. Tehmina is physically ravaged by the wounds he inflicts as she is still recovering from surgery. This is the final straw and she applies for the Islamic “Khula” or divorce granted to a woman as long as she relinquishes all her claims to property. Mustafa tries desperately to prevent the termination of their marriage because she is the sole means of his release from jail. So successfully does he brainwash her into dreaming of an ideal society and envisioning him as the champion of democracy, that she relentlessly and successfully campaigns for his release. When Mustafa emerges from jail his real self is revealed - he is not the champion of the downtrodden masses, but the same selfish, jealous, egoistic and possessive man. Amazed at the public image and support built by Tehmina around herself, he raves with jealousy and does not acknowledge all her efforts in his release from jail and, on the domestic front resumes his illicit relationship with his sister- in- law Adila. Tehmina, however, is no longer docile, compromising, submissive and tolerant. As she tells him in the presence of all:

"Your marriage according to the Koran, was over years ago when you slept with my sister, I have been living with you in sin. The contract stood null and void long ago."

She now decides to complete the divorce proceedings and also begins to write an autobiography. She believes that ethical compulsions demand this act of courage and she owes it to her closed and repressive society to reveal the deepest personal secrets of her life. The new emancipated Tehmina has a courage born out of endurance oppression, and believes that:

"Silence condones injustice, breeds subservience and fosters a malignant hypocrisy. Mustafa Khar and other feudal lords thrive and multiply on silence. Muslim women must learn to raise their voice against injustice."

Patriarchal discourse limits and transcribes the image and identity of Tehmina but she inverts the social and familial constraints to emerge as a new woman. She strives against all odds to escape all forms of essential categorizing that render the subaltern or minority woman both the victim and unwilling perpetrators of damning stereotypical metaphors both by Eurocentric imperialism and the patriarchal tenets of her Islamic society, the power politics in Pakistani Government and the social ethos of Pakistani marital life. Tehmina is urging her readers and other socio-culturally repressed sisters to rediscover their marginal self and thereby gain emancipation and empowerment.

BOOK REVIEW ..... A Beggar at the Gate By Thalassa Ali

A Beggar at the Gate is Thalassa Ali's second novel, part of a trilogy set during the tumultuous period of Punjab history that followed the glorious reign of Maharaja Ranjit Singh. The first book, A Singular Hostage (2002), featured an adventurous Victorian woman, Mariana Givens, who risks her life and reputation to save Saboor, a young boy with mystical gifts. In Beggar at the Gate, we follow the fortunes of Givens and Saboor as they return from a two year sojourn in Calcutta . The novel is a fast-paced tale of their experiences in Calcutta , their adventures on the road, and their involvement in the political upheaval following the death of Kharrak Singh, Ranjit Singh's opium-addicted heir.

The novel begins in Calcutta . We learn that Mariana lives with her uncle and aunt and is shunned by the English because of her marriage to Saboor's father, Hassan Ali Khan Karakoiya,. The marriage and the events leading up to it are the subject of A Singular Hostage , which one should read for the plotting of the second novel to make sense. This interracial, inter-religious marriage was orchestrated by Hassan's father, a Sufi mystic and leader in Lahore , who learns in a dream that his grandson is in danger and only Mariana can save him. On her wedding night, and before consummating her marriage, Mariana jumps out of a window with the child and runs away to Calcutta to keep the boy alive.

At the beginning of this novel, Ali paints a picture of the English in Calcutta that is stereotypical—snobbish women, delicately constructed social hierarchies, religious hypocrisy, and the occasional decent people. A scene in Calcutta 's St. John's Cathedral deftly delineates the nature of this society:

“ Around her [Mariana] the congregation twitched and whispered. A woman nudged her husband. Another woman, in black, who had appeared to be sleeping, sat up and began to fan herself vigorously. Two rows away, a newly arrived girl and her sharp-faced companion turned in their seats to look back at Mariana, smug satisfaction on their faces. Like her, they knew what was coming. Unlike her, they were enjoying themselves (8).”

As the story develops, Mariana's uncle is posted to Kabul and Mariana herself receives a letter from Lahore requesting the return of the child. Consequently, she, her aunt and uncle, Lady Macnaghten's servants and baggage, Charles Mott (Lady Macnaghten's nephew), Mariana's devoted servant Dittoo, the albino courier Ghulam Ali, and Saboor, together embark upon a cross-continental journey from Calcutta to Kabul . Ali details the logistics of this move, with its horses, elephants, china, silks, chandeliers, and an army or servants, with such an eye for the absurd that it forms one of the most entertaining segments of the novel:

“ Lady Macnaghten had made a great display of nerves as she watched more valuable belongings being packed onto the bullock carts, but nothing dire had yet happened to her chandeliers, her porcelain, or her brandy, although the camels had managed to smash more than half her ordinary china before the train reached Allahabad ” (84).

As the entourage wends its way across the subcontinent, Mariana endures more than her fair share of adventure with a strong dose of British fortitude. Not only is her fate connected to the role the British would eventually play in the political life of the Afghans and Sikhs, but she must also come to terms with her own unresolved emotions about Hassan Ali Khan.

Mariana is a plucky heroine, the Punjabi and English protagonists are given equal play in the novel, and we are introduced to a host of intriguing characters, from Punjabi royalty and the family of the Sheikh to numerous servants. Mariana's encounters on the road allow Ali to draw a nuanced portrait of 19 th century India that takes into account class, gender, region, religion, and race; the historical research is well done; and the plot is fast-paced and engaging. For all these reasons, the novel is well worth a read. However, it is also troubling. Since the publication of Edward Said's Orientalism about 25 years ago, discussions have raged in literary and intellectual circles both in South Asia and in the West about the relationship between culture and imperialism. Thalassa Ali, however, seems to have bypassed all these debates. She unabashedly recreates an imperial world in which the most exciting, non-stereotypical character is an English girl with enormous courage. In contrast, the Punjab is tyrannical and savage: the predominantly royal characters are depicted as bloodthirsty and eager to kill in their struggle for the throne, and a scene depicting sati reflects very much what 19 th century British travelers often noted as one of the most savage elements of Hindu India.

While these depictions are driven by historical research, one must also question this unrelenting English historical lens. My concern here is not with historical accuracy - one cannot deny the practice of sati - but rather the ideological lens through which it is argued. The sati stands in contrast to the signs of civility that exist only in the Sheikh's haveli . The British occupy an intermediate position with regard to civility and women's rights; although they don't burn their widows, the English women do experience sexual vulnerability. The sheikh's haveli , on the other hand, is both a sanctuary and a model for women's rights. It is this compartmentalization that I question in the ideology that underlies the depiction of Panjab.. In Ali's India, we never escape the notion that the “East”, especially the Islamic East, is mysterious and exotic, a background for one English woman's voyage of self-discovery. One might argue that this novel reflects Ali's own experiences, as an American who married a Pakistani, lived in Pakistan for several years, and studied Islamic poetry and Sufism. However, when the novel is so thoroughly focused on English colonial history in the Panjab, with a fictional Victorian heroine as the character through whom one assesses the impact of English imperialism, it is problematic todo a simplistic autobiographical reading of the character of Mariana. Although one admires Mariana for having taken the effort to study Urdu language and poetry, ultimately her acquisition of knowledge leads to what Said defines as Orientalism and which he argues is a “corporate institution for dealing with the Orient—dealing with it by making statements about it, authorizing views of it, describing it, by teaching it, settling it, ruling over it: in short, Orientalism as a Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient”. In light of the scholarship that has followed Said's work (including that of Gayatri Spivak, Robert Young, Homi Bhabha, and Antoinette Burton), as well as the novels of Amitav Ghosh, Salman Rushdie, Allan Sealey and others on British imperialism in India, one can't help but wonder: isn't it time for us to leave behindhistorical romances dripping with Raj nostalgia and find other ways of writing about a very critical period in South Asian history?

Interview with Maniza Naqvi

Maniza Naqvi is the author of On Air and Mass Transit. She was born in Pakistan and has been living in the US since 1990. Besides working at the World Bank she is also finishing her third novel and has already started writing the fourth one. We talked to Ms. Naqvi about her writing and what it has meant for her.

(Interviewer's note: The following interview was conducted through e-mail exachanges.)

I read somewhere that you were born in Lahore but you consider Karachi your city. At what age did you move to Karachi?
I moved to Karachi at the age of 26 and, in hindsight now, perhaps my view of it was exactly that of a stranger or a foreigner who falls in love with a place upon arrival and then proceeds to understand the place and its residents in depth without taking things for granted. Since nothing about it was known to me since birth I viewed it and understood it on its own terms and was absolutely enchanted by its every aspect. I explored it from end to end and was not confined to one part of it. I had no area affiliations or inhibitions, it was all very new and fabulous every where I went. My relationship to Karachi was as an independent working adult and so I made my way through it on my own terms every day. I have chemistry with the city, it suits me, I feel very much in tune with it and treat it as though it has a personality. And it does, its very "challo", its very ambitious, and very fast paced and has a rhythm to it. I think every city has that, I feel that with a deeper intensity for Karachi. Lahore, is very special to me, I don't think of it as a city, I mean that's not what it was for me, at the age I live there, it was and remains a series of well known and welcoming homes and drawing rooms. Of course Lahore has its gorgeous tree lined Mall Road and avenues, beautiful parks and the enchanting old city, but for me it is the inner spaces I mentioned of homes. Karachi is the city in which I interacted and functioned outside, in its offices, in its traffic, in its factories etc.

What was your childhood like? Do you have brothers and sisters? Did your parents encourage you to get an education?
I had a wonderful childhood, which was spent in rural Pakistan, on the banks of the Indus and the Jhelum and in the foothills of the Himalayas with a diverse community of friends from all over the world because my childhood was spent at big irrigation projects where international contractors were involved in the construction. Like most Pakistani parents mine wanted the best education for all their children and were fortunate enough to be able to provide that for us. We were encouraged, my brother, my sister and I to learn whatever we wanted to. Curiosity was key and my parents instilled that in all of us. We had long discussions over tea and dinner every day and read newspapers from cover to cover.

I read that you attended Kinnaird for a short while and then came to the United States to complete a business degree. What do you feel are some of the major differences between college life in Pakistan and in the United States?
Chaudry Sahib's Tuckshop at Kinnaird had the best tea and somosas. Simply couldn't be matched in the US. I didn't enjoy my one year of education at Kinnaird, since it was too rigid and lecture driven, perhaps I took the wrong classes. I did enjoy the friendship I had there, some of the most wonderful women I have ever had the privilege to meet were at Kinnaird when I was there. I learned a lot about the humanities from them over tea and somosas and long hours in the winter sunshine on the big front lawn. Education in the States, allows a greater opportunity for exploring and expressing curiosity.

When did you first start writing?
I think I always wrote. I started writing my first novel in 1983 and finished it around 1999.

Before you wrote your first novel, Mass Transit, had you published any other work such as short stories or any articles?
No.

Can you tell us a little bit about Mass Transit? How did you get the inspiration to write it?
I was obsessed with mapping the political history of Pakistan in a personal way and felt it would all slip away if I didn't express it in the form of a novel. Karachi represented to me the essence of all that was right with Pakistan and all that could go wrong. It is the main character or protagonist in Mass Transit.

Tell us about the experience of getting your first novel published? Was it difficult?
It was very difficult, until Oxford University Press(OUP) in Karachi loved it. It was the first novel that they published. The experience was wonderful. I was over the moon. I am eternally grateful to the wonderful editors at OUP.

What were some of the difficulties which you faced before Oxford University Press decided to publish it?
The main difficulty I faced was remaining confident and having faith in myself with each successive rejection. That's the worst thing for anyone who writes.

Your novel, On Air, is about a woman's who gets a chance to host a radio talk show, an experience which leads her to reflect upon her life. How did you get the idea for this story?
The novel is about experiences of joy, hurts, shame and grief that people carry within themselves and which they find difficult to articulate and which they pass on through generations. I use the metaphor of a late night radio talk show as a metaphor for many things, for modernity, the sub conscience, for invisibility, for isolation, for restlessness, for community and for the deep connection between all people.

Do you ever write in Urdu? Have any of your English works been translated into Urdu?
No, I don't write in Urdu. I would love to have someone translate Mass Transit, On Air and the other stories I've written into Urdu.

Are there any authors who you consider your mentors? Which authors have you really enjoyed reading?
I consider Noam Chomsky as my mentor. The authors I enjoy reading are so diverse that this would be a very long answer.

You currently work for the World Bank. What does your work there involve? Do you travel often for your work?
My work is in the area of poverty reduction in post conflict countries through programs which support a greater participation of citizens in policy making and public financing decisions; demobilization of militaries and labor markets and employment.

Does your experience of working at the World Bank have any affect on your writing?
My work experience is a great source of professional satisfaction for me and I appreciate it more and more each day.

When was the last time you were in Pakistan?
I am in Pakistan as often as I can manage. I'll be there at the end of the year again.

Are there any autobiographical elements in your novels or are they purely fictional, derived from your imagination? Do you ever base any of your characters on real-life individuals you've known?
I think everything that an individual writes or creates whether it is in writing or any other form of art is autobiographical to some extent. Have I been a radio talk show host? No. Do I understand and feel for all my characters? Yes.

What are you working on these days? What are your future plans?
I'm still refining my third novel, which is called Stay with Me. I have contributed short stories for two forthcoming anthologies, one which is compiled by Bapsi Sidwa and should be published in 2004 and another by Fawzia Afzal which should also be published in late 2004. I've started on a fourth novel which I hope will be satirical and for now is called That Sara Aziz!