Schezee Zaidi

ISLAMABAD: The first volume of Alhamra Literary Review is a successful attempt to break the silence of people who are inhibited or reluctant about expressing themselves and publishing their works. This unique collection of unpublished English writings by individuals both young and old is a refreshing blend of creative expressions in the form of poetry, fiction, non-fiction and photographs.

The Asian Study Group organised a reading session for the launching of the book at Khaas Gallery. Eminent poet Professor Alamgir Hashmi was the guest of honour while two of the editors of the book — Ilona Yusuf and Bina Shah — conducted the reading session with some of the young writers whose writings are included in the book. The book comprises writings collected primarily from Pakistan and also from around the world.

The book opens with two poems of Hima Raza. The book is dedicated to her for her exemplary efforts in promoting Pakistani literature and emerging writers. Hima died in 2003 without seeing the compilation of the book.

The collection of writings in the book reflects the dreams, hopes, sufferings and yearnings of individuals who have found a way to break their silence by nurturing their expressive flair that becomes a window into new worlds and a bridge to the future.

The short stories and poems published in the book seem to be more than just creative expressions. Some of the writings are annotations of events with historical perspective with a touch of personal experiences and feelings.

The book is divided into four parts; fiction, non-fiction, poetry and interview. The fiction part starts with Zahra Romana’s ‘Let’s Talk about Flowers’. The story is about her times in Beirut in 1980 as a ten-year-old girl, her harrowing experiences of times spent there, including the death of her brother. The minute descriptive form of the story helps the reader to clearly visualise the turbulent times and experiences of the writer.

Khadija Hasan’s ‘Amnesia’, Farhat Haq’s ‘A Modest Love Story’, Bina Shah’s ‘Blessings’, Kyla Pasha’s ‘The Leaving Contract’ and Saira Hasan’s ‘Full Circle’ are included in the book. The fiction part also carries a translation of Saadat Hasan Manto’s ‘Green Sandals’ by Khadija Hasan.

The poetry section carries some very fine specimen of contemporary English poetry by Hima Raza, Ilona Yusuf, Sorayya Khan, Zainab Omar, Aurangzeb Khan, Mehvash Amin, Shireen Haroun, Ansa Zafar, Zain Mankani, Mehrunnisa Yusuf, Harika Masud, Nadia Niaz, Kashmali Khan, Mahim Maher, Naveen Naqvi, Rayan Adnan Khan and Azka Tanveer. The book also carries innovative photography of Saidullah Khan Dehelvi, taken during his travel through various countries of the world. Sara Mahmood’s interview of Therese Benade also makes an interesting reading.

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“No, God didn’t make fairies or monsters.”

“Well, do you think there are dinosaurs living there?”

“No! God didn’t make fairies or monsters!”

“But dinosaurs are prehistoric animals, not monsters!”

“God didn’t make any of those things, he only made angels and human beings so that we could all be happy.”

“How about tigers?”

She looked at me and burst out laughing. “Tigers don’t live on islands, they live in the zoo!”

I decided to change my tack. “You know what I think? I think that a ship carrying tigers from a zoo in Africa to a zoo in Tokyo passed by, and it sank. Then all the tigers swam to shore and got to the island, and that’s where they live now.”

At any rate, we didn’t resolve who or what lives on Manora Island, but it was a nice piece of idle fancy. As for you, who or what do you think lives on Manora - or who should be living there?

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I got to the airport and went up the ramp to go around the passenger terminal. But to my horror, an army convoy of jeeps filled with Rangers had blocked the road off in front of the terminal, stranding the ordinary people on the ramp. There was nothing any of us could do; we could neither pass by nor reverse down the ramp, and nobody knew who to talk to about the problem. After waiting for twenty minutes, desperate passengers were beginning to get out of their cars and lug their bags to the terminal in 40 C heat.

This so enraged me that I suggested to the person with me that he start honking in protest. After a moment’s hesitation, he did so (he’d been swearing and cursing the blockage energetically up to that moment).

Everyone turned their heads around and stared at us. Me and my companion gestured that everyone should start to honk their horns. They stared at us a moment more, then began to follow suit. Suddenly, thirty people in cars were all honking their horns in unison. The kids in the car next to me looked at me excitedly and began to press on their dad’s car horn. I gave the thumbs-up sign to everyone, and then began to blast loud rock music from the car stereo, for a real taste of protest, rock and roll style.

Of course, our efforts fell on deaf ears; only when some fat army officer’s wife had disembarked from her plane and stuffed her way into the back seat of a waiting car did the convoy move off, with much fanfare and the ferocious Rangers ready to protect the fat old *censored* with their precious lives, leaving the rest of us ordinary citizens gasping in the heat and the dust. But we at least had the satisfaction that we could voice our displeasure, if only for a few moments, and tell the army-wallahs exactly what we thought of their hogging of the public domain as if it was their God-given right.

PS I posted this on my blog but I thought it could do with being posted here. And I apologize for my absence; PC problems.