The Express Tribune Magazine - February 26

FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Author! Author! candid conversations with Shohbaa De, Hanif Kureishi, and a slew of new writers

FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Cover Story 18 A Cat Called Shohbaa It’s De Time: Conversations with Indian Literature’s Item Girl

Interview 26 Intimacy in Karachi: The twelve pleasures of Hanif Kureishi Literature is still the greatest pleasure in his life 32 Out of the Blue Fledgling author, Ayesha Salman, tries her hand at magical realism with a sprinkling of Blue Dust

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34 The Other Side of History Aquila Ismail’s book, Of Martyrs and Marigolds, dredges up memories of her traumatic past.

38 Off the Court Hiitting Aces: Aisam talks about tennis and life outside the baseline

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Regulars 6 People & Parties: Out and about with Pakistan’s beautiful people 40 Reviews: What’s new in film and books 42 Ten Things I Hate About: Graduating

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Magazine Editor: Zarrar Khuhro, Senior Sub-Editor: Batool Zehra, Sub-Editors: Ameer Hamza and Dilaira Mondegarian.

Creative Team: Amna Iqbal, Jamal Khurshid, Essa Malik, Anam Haleem, Sanober Ahmed and S Asif Ali. Publisher: Bilal A Lakhani. Executive Editor: Muhammad Ziauddin. Editor: Kamal Siddiqi.

For feedback and submissions: magazine@tribune.com.pk

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Dil Trust UK hosts its annual gala in London

Guests

Zain, Umar Sayeed and Fasi-ur-Rehman

6

Shaukat Aziz and Ashraf Chohan FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Shaukat Aziz and Ashraf Chohan

Princess Laurentien

Ahmereen Reza

PHOTOS COURTESY SHAHID MALIK

Rubina Khaliq Riaz

Mishal Hussain

FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Humna, Umair and Sara Gillani

Javeria

n for her o i t i b i h x e holds an in Karachi i u q i d d i S Rani tion pret collec Farhana

Khatija and Tariq

Shayan

8 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Ashi and Nazish

Arshad

PHOTOS COURTESY VOILA PR

Rani and Gia

FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Waseem Noor launches his bridal wear and jewellery collection in Lahore

Nazi and Kiran

1.1 Amna Imtisal

Amna BabarBabar and Imtisal and

PHOTOS COURTESY SAVVY PR AND EVENTS

Amna Babar and Imtisal

Turab and Salma

Saira and Maliha

Waseem Noor and Natasha

d Aamir Mazhar

10

Sarah Tanwir an FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Iqra Rana

Sakib and Saira Omer

FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Sara and Babloo

Huma and

Javeria, Humera and Roshi

Asiya Malik Sarah and Bilal

Sadia and Zainab

12 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Saim and Amnah Maqsood

Sadia

Annie Mansoor

FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Zhalay Sarh

adi Hassan and Sunita

Kiran and Rohma

PHOTOS COURTESY STATUSPRO

Scentsation celebrates Valentine’s Day at their flagship outlet in Karachi

Tooba Sidra and Anem

Yousuf Bashir Qureshi

14 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Mohsin Firoz and Nadya Mistry

Zarmina Khilji

Azzfar Rehman

FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Tara Uzra

Dawood

Wajeeha M

alik Ladiesf un Melissa K Commod announces t elly he inter nwealth na Busines s Wometional launch of n in Kar achi

Nilofer S

aeed

Maheen Khan, Raheel Tariq and Shanaz Ramzi

Sidra Iqbal

16 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Muna Siddiqui and Naila Naqvi

Maliha Bhimjee

PHOTOS COURTESY THE ART OF ... PUBLIC RELATIONS

Mary Vargas and Sabeen Mahmud

Humaira Saleem and Sumeha Khaled

FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

a cat called shobha

M

BY MOHSIN SAYEED

ohsin Sayeed has a tete a tete with the femme De la femme of Indian Literature.

Raunchy, racy and risqué. These adjectives, which could easily be used to describe the latest Bollywood item number, are also liberally used to describe Shohbaa De’s

writing. And just like those infamous item girls, Shohbaa also turns heads wherever she goes and is a subject of impassioned and heated debate.

You either love her or hate her; when it comes to Shohbaa, there is no middle

ground. There are no mild ‘she is nice’ or more serious ‘she’s deep and rather intense’ kind of comments after you mention her name. It’s all or nothing, much like Shohbaa herself.

I spoke to Shohbaa at the recently held Karachi Literature festival, soon after a

small (and sparsely reported) verbal sparring match during her session. Concealed

behind her glamourous and polite façade, I sensed a slightly edgy and standoffish undercurrent.

“You don’t need to interview me,” she quipped, “it’s already written in your

head.” Clearly, this was not going to be a walk in the park.

Clad in a stylish deep purple long tunic with platform shoes, Shohbaa looked

every bit a crowd-puller. I had seen her for two nights running and her choice of

saris hadn’t particularly impressed me. Despite being a self-proclaimed Indophile,

the fashion sense of our neighbours is not something that makes it to even the top 100 of my list of favourite things about the country. But the purple tunic Shohbaa was now wearing was a relief to my jaded eyes.

During this trip she publicly praised Karachi and even privately was heard prais-

ing the city a great deal. It sounded almost gushing (“I wasn’t gushing, I was

appreciative,” she said, reacting sharply to my choice of words) compared to her impressions about Pakistan, (specifically Lahore) when she visited the city dur-

18 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

ing the 1996 Cricket World Cup. Back then, she wrote a column ridiculing Lahoris

which didn’t go down very well with the well heeled denizens of the city who had played host to her. So should Karachi expect a scathing Lahore-like column upon her return?

“Whenever I come back from Delhi I write a similar column (as the infamous Lahore

piece),” she says. “These cities are a bit too feudalistic, hierarchical and parochial for

my taste. Whereas in Karachi I feel much more myself, more accepted. It’s much more

open, like Mumbai,” she concludes. “There are so many influences in Karachi which

I don’t sense in Lahore.” She says she hopes to be pleasantly surprised when she goes back to Lahore now, as her previous column was a reflection of what she had seen and

sensed 16 years ago. “My experiences both times in Karachi have been qualitatively different,” she pauses, smiles, and then adds, “happily so.”

She says she finds much more openness and movement between classes in Kara-

chi. But it sounds strange to me that she mentions classes in an appreciative way.

After all, she is the one who years ago ridiculed Govinda for bringing in class differences and emphasising the South-North Mumbai divide. This was in a Stardust interview, a magazine she launched and edited in the early 1970s. In it, she sounded

like an absolute classist — the archetypal snobby South Mumbai town girl. Has age (she is 64 and the digits never looked better on any woman) softened her?

“That was a fabulous interview,” says Shohbaa. “The headline: ‘Class vs Masses’

was by the Stardust editorial team. I have consistently been a Govinda champion

ever since he charmed me by throwing out the regular Stardust questionnaire. He said it was very mundane and he would like to talk to me directly. He was very

disarming.” However, she defends the headline as a marketing gimmick to attract readers. “All of us editors, at one stage or the other, have done similar things to

19 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

COVER STORY

She finds being a classist ‘uncool’ in today’s world. “It doesn’t appeal to me. Crass behaviour has no class, it doesn’t matter where it’s coming from”

cism of her work in I hate Love stories by calling her a “fossil” and “menopausal”.

As I raise this point, I see her hitherto relaxed body lan-

guage becoming. I secretly curse myself for destroying the

hard work of the last few minutes by putting her defences back up. “Is this an inquisition or what?” she says with agitation creeping into her voice. “I wrote that to call a

woman ‘menopausal’ is ill brought up behaviour. After all, I am sure her mother will be menopausal at some

stage. But then we moved on. I am not harping about it.

I am not going to give her importance or attention. It’s a non-issue. You are making it an issue.”

We still have a lot of ground to cover so I decide to

get readers to respond. Stardust was right to slot it in that manner.”

She finds being a classist ‘uncool’ in today’s world. “It

doesn’t appeal to me. Crass behaviour has no class, it doesn’t matter where it’s coming from.”

So what does Shohbaa consider classy? “Refinement of

mind,” she says, before I even ask the question. “And it has nothing to do with which level of society you are com-

ing from, or your status and wealth. It’s something that is

change the topic. She signals that our time is up, but I press on regardless.

It’s hard to nail down Shohbaa. Her novels are labelled

“sleazy” and “pornographic” (as tweeted by Arbaz Khan after her searing review of Dabangg) or termed ‘raunchy’

and ‘racy’ by so-called literary circles. Her columns make

fun of society and her film reviews are scathing, but her television appearances and blogs often highlight grave issues that are plaguing modern India.

One of those was about a Muslim boy not being able to

innate,” she elaborates.

get admission in South Mumbai colleges. Shohbaa then

suppressed for long. It surfaces in one incident or the oth-

the colleges. She wrote that earlier she was in a bubble

However, her sense of superiority just cannot remain

er. On Twitter, Shohbaa called Sonam Kapoor “ill brought up” when Sonam responded to Shohbaa’s scathing criti-

20 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

called up principals and managed to get him into one of and never gave credence to such ‘urban legends’ such as communal discrimination, but now it hit her as a bitter

reality. Does Shohbaa then think communalism is on the rise in India?

“For every case of deprivation and prejudice, we have

many good examples of communal harmony, equality, encouragement and secularism,” she counters.

She admits that there has been a change, which is that

examples of bias are more articulated than in the past.

But then she claims that Muslims in India are also to blame for non-assimilation and backwardness. To an extent I agree, having observed that there is a severe lack of

education, along with a feeling of insecurity and a persecution complex prevailing among many Indian Muslims.

“The persecution complex I understand,” says Shohbaa, “as minorities everywhere suffer from this. I am sure Hindus here do as well.”

Finally, I get the passionate, outspoken and relaxed

Shohbaa De back. I silently vow not to rock the boat with any more questions that put her on the defensive and bring the interview to a premature end.

Warming to the topic, she relates an anecdote about

Mohammad Ali Road, a very famous Mumbai neighbour-

hood populated by Muslims. She had been going to the locality for years to shop or to eat sumptuous food during Ramazan, typically dressed in jeans or a sari and sporting a bindiya on her forehead. She has also done shoots for local and international magazines in the area as it is one of the most visually interesting precincts of Mumbai.

But now things have changed, she laments. “I was do-

ing a shoot there with a French photographer. I assure

you that I was fully clad and there was nothing objectionable about the shoot. But I was spat on from balconies,

told ‘we don’t want the likes of you in our area’ and physi-

cally chased out. I thought ‘what’s the point of trying?’ I

not just Muslims but people from UP, Kerala and Bihar, are

she reminisces.

baa believe this saffron extremism is on the rise?

stopped going there.” Disappointment tinges her tone as

She puts it down to a lack of education. “Only education

targets of prejudice and xenophobia in Mumbai. Does Shoh“If Hindutva was rising Narendra Modi would have

and awareness can transform their lives and give a better

been a national hero and a contender for the top job, but

But does that bleak depiction apply to all Indian Mus-

bless him for that, (did Shohbaa just bless a murderer?)

life to coming generations.” lims?

“I don’t mean to sound ‘classist’ but it is not so amongst

people like us: the educated, enlightened, exposed ones,” she says.

But then, a change for the worse is found on the other side

as well. The rise of Hindutva, hardline Hinduism, is a reality in today’s Shining India. More and more Muslims, and

he is not. He may have done a lot for the state, and God

and he remains a regional hero in Gujarat, but his appeal is not national.” Instead, she feels the Dalit vote will sway the next elections.

“I know I am putting myself on the line by stating this,

but that’s a fact.”

She is confident that the young India is not interested

in caste-based or rightist politics. “They just want pros(Continued on page 24)

21 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

COVER STORY

COVER STORY

I am going lawn shopping. It’s a luxury. I don’t know why it has not gone global as it can rock India, East Asia, the Gulf and even South America!”

Mangalsutars? What about the bedecked women who are

either saints or sinners and the men who are invariably spineless weasels? “It’s crazy!” she replies. “There seems

to be a longing to recreate an era that existed perhaps hundreds of years ago. It’s all a ratings game,” she proclaims.

“But still, it’s the only game in town till someone comes and changes the game.”

But we’re more than two decades into the Indian TV

boom, I counter. Shouldn’t the hysteria have given way

to some on-screen maturity by now? “Well, only a game changer can do that,” replies Shohbaa. “Ekta Kapoor did it

in TV and recently in cinema. She made two hugely successful films which are different and bold in their content. But I don’t know if she would like to come back to TV as she is gravitating towards cinema,” she concludes.

The same hysterical pattern is seen in Indian news

perity, a better future, more jobs and stability. Anything

based on a religious agenda and divisive politics is not a part of the future.”

Talking about young India brings to mind the rapid glo-

balisation and westernisation that many say is distancing

channels, I point out. “Yes, it’s shrieky and sobriety is

missing. That’s why I don’t watch Hindi channels and only make appearances on TimesNow and CNN/IBN. After all, we can’t deny the fact television has a greater ability to put your point across.”

Again, she holds the ratings game responsible for the ever-

the youth from their cultural roots. Not everyone is de-

increasing volumes of the armies of self-proclaimed small-

tance is typically made up of hardline groups, even mod-

evangelists,” she says. Sounds painfully familiar, I think, as

lighted at the prospect, and while the vanguard of resiserates like Vandana Shiva and Arundhati Roy have started voicing concern.

One glaring example of this ‘regressive progress’ is that

many young Indian girls no longer know how to wrap a

sari. This in a country that gave birth to this most sensual of garments!

“I think one generation is completely lost,” laments

Shohbaa. “I speak to students about this, but I don’t want

screen pundits. “Anchors have the eyeballs, so they act like I run over a mental list of our own Pakistani anchors.

And the bad fashion that’s so visible on Indian TV

screens? “Oh gosh, it’s a tsunami!” cries Shohbaa.

To me, Indian fashion seems to be stuck in a rut, and I

say as much to her. “It’s because Indian fashion designers

have still not been able to understand scale. They are still stuck in the boutique mentality,” she responds.

Once upon a time, she reflects, it was the ladies (wheth-

to be an auntyji who gives them bhashans and giyaan.

er from cinema or society) who used to dress their own way

out on is far more valuable than what they being seduced

it’s the stylists who dictate fashion and rely heavily on

It has to be illustrated to them that what they are losing into,” she explains.

But hope is not lost. Shohbaa gives the example of her

two daughters, who are 25 and 22. The younger daughter

is far closer to her roots and finds traditions, saris and Indian culture attractive enough to explore and adopt.

“Clearly, the generation gap has been reduced to five to

seven years because of technology and our fast changing world,” she quips.

Switching topics, I ask what she things about the om-

nipresent Indian soaps, chock full of Maan, Maryada and

24 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

and bring individuality and diversity to fashion. “Now designer brands. Therefore, there is no originality left.”

She also holds foreign designers and high street brands re-

sponsible for the squeezing out of smaller designers. “The indigenous designers are fighting for survival,” she says.

Shohbaa’s much more generous in her praise for Paki-

stan fashion, especially our own little fashion wonder

that’s known as lawn. “It’s fabulous!” she exclaims. “In fact, after this interview, I am going lawn shopping. It’s a luxury. I don’t know why it has not gone global as it can

rock India, East Asia, the Gulf and even South America!”

Music to my ears. Are you listening, Government of Paki-

firmly on the pulse of contemporary India.

lawn-haters who start making ugly faces and noises every

der politics to bodypolitik, Shohbaa De eloquently describes

At this point, Shohbaa informs me that she’s getting

that remains is for her to translate all this knowledge and

stan, Trade Development authority of Pakistan and all you lawn season?

late for her lawn shopping expedition and I realise that the interview is over. As I leave, I reflect that while her books

may be the sizzling item numbers of the literary world, she herself sounds more like a social historian with her fingers

From socio-political issues to religio-cultural topics, gen-

and puts things in perspective like a historiographer. All understanding into a social history book or a novel about contemporary India—a book that makes her graduate from item number girl to a substantial, artistic, serious performer of the written word.

“I wrote that to call a woman ‘menopausal’ is ill brought up behaviour. After all, I am sure her mother will be menopausal at some stage. But then we moved on. I am not harping about it. I am not going to give her importance or attention. It’s a non-issue. You are making it an issue”

PHOTOGRAPHY AMEER HAMZA AHMAD

25 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

COVER STORY

intimacy in karachi: the twelve pleasures of hanif kureishi

BY IMRAN YUSUF

T

he pleasure principle runs through Hanif Kureishi’s body of work like a fractured spine. Characters in his stories pursue pleasure to its bleakest ends; it is the purpose of all adventure; it gets them into trouble; it is the only consolation.

The British writer, who visited Pakistan for the Karachi Literature Festival, seems to have spent his whole working life trailing the effect of our own pleasure on other

people, charting its agency in self-discovery and agonising over how much pleasure is too much pleasure.

Drinking Kureshi was already sipping a drink when I met him in the Avari Hotel’s business

centre on his last night in town. The cityscape lit up the windows. He spoke with

a generosity of spirit and the nimbleness of a man with a plane to catch. Watch-

ing him project his brand of articulate cool from a white leather sofa, it struck me that here, tonight, this business centre is transformed: it is the closest Karachi gets to a bar.

Writing Fifteen minutes into our conversation, the photographer arrived. Kureishi halfjokingly asked the British Council aide if he looked alright, then turned to me and said: “That’s all that remains as the years go by: vanity … and jealousy.”

“What about writing?”

“Oh yeah, that never goes.”

He is working on a screenplay, a few essays and a novel about an old Indian writ-

er living in the British countryside. The themes? “Ageing, women and class. And writing.”

26 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Reading Even so, there are times when nothing comes. What gets him going on a slow day in the

study? Does he reach for one of his old favourites from the bookshelf? Graham Greene?

Proust? Baldwin?

“Freud.”

Kureishi says his fiction-reading days are behind him. That was his adolescence, his twen-

ties and thirties: long afternoons of serious reading on the sofa. These days he prefers history, politics and most of all psychology. Time is running out; understanding appears as far away as ever.

Women Why have you had such an effect on particular types of Karachiite (from what I can tell, the well-off bluestockings and mirthful homosexuals)? He played dumb. I told him I’d heard things I couldn’t repeat. “Oh go on, tell me all about it.” Women, even the dour type, the

kind who have taught literature to three generations of Karachiites, had wanted to jump him all weekend. “That’s so great. Lovely to hear.” Is it the way he writes about women and desire? “I can’t say … I can’t elaborate on my charms, I can’t do that.”

But he can say that “writers like women.” And women like writers. Judging by his old pal

Rushdie, looks are secondary: “Salman, look at him, he gets loads of women.”

27 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

COVER STORY

Women, even the dour type, the kind who have taught literature to three generations of Karachiites, had wanted to jump him all weekend

time for gang warfare; there’s more than enough conflict for him at the kitchen table.

Children He writes fondly — and honestly — of parenthood. Does he want to show his boys Karachi and Bombay one day,

to give them a sense of their father’s roots? He smiles. “I

kept thinking, driving around town in the car with the driver and the security guard with his AK-47, I wish my

boys could see this … but their mothers won’t allow them to come.”

Music Music streams through the pages of his fiction. He even

edited The Faber Book of Pop. Does he still like music? “I like white indie music. The Killers, The Arctic Monkeys.”

What about gangsta rap? “Oh no … what’s that new thing?

Football How’s this for irony: while Karachi’s literary groupies were lusting after Kureishi on Saturday early evening, he

Grime? My boys love it, I keep telling them that ‘this music is for white middle-class private-school boys like you, it’s expressly designed for you.’ It gives me a headache.”

was sprawled out on his hotel room bed, alone with a bot-

Humour

on TV. “Oh, it’s great here, you get ESPN, Star Sports, you

others laugh. Sometimes his jokes make the point quicker

tle of beer, watching Manchester United versus Liverpool

Kureishi loves to laugh. More than this, he loves to make

get everything.”

and better than a thousand-word essay. Other times they

Cities Kureishi is an archetypal flaneur. His visit here made him think, “What do I like about a city, what do I like about

are a deflection; you want him to plunge through the sur-

face but he refuses. It depends on his mood and whether you can spin a familiar subject to interest him sufficiently.

Paris, about London?” What does he like about Karachi?

Politics

New York in the 1970s. After a while, he’d feel compelled

pressed by the level of discourse in Pakistan. “Conversa-

He says Karachi is “a fascinating place” but it resembles

He is still sufficiently interested in politics and was im-

to “just walk about.” His family would try to stop him: “My

tion is much more frivolous in London.” I asked him if he

cousins, who were born and brought up here, were telling

me, ‘we don’t go here, we don’t go there, especially at this time’ … it’s a real shame.”

“What’s really great about cities is multiculturalism …

but everyone in Karachi is a Pakistani … that’s not the way

felt a perverse sense of envy here: words matter so much you can get killed for them; politics is more urgent; life is

heightened. “I would have before the fatwa. That changed things.”

Rushdie came up a lot this weekend. At his first session

the world’s going, the world’s becoming more and more

at the literature festival, Kureishi called him “the most

I told him, defensively, that Karachi was an ethnically

speech, there was no more Salman and nothing negative

mixed up.”

diverse city. He talked about culture. “Places which are monocultural have far less energy.” Karachi has energy,

but it isn’t his kind. Kureishi is post-Freudian; he has no

28 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

important writer in the world.” By the time of his closing about Pakistan. “Yeah, that was my Nelson Mandela moment. I decided not to say anything frivolous or mention Rushdie.”

A word on his voice. It is unique among British writers. It is not the boxer’s rat-a-tat of Tony Parsons or the posh drawl of Martin Amis. It has something extra, it has traces of all his origins and interests: clipped in some places, stretched out in others.

One wishes he had. For all the talent of the current

stars of Pakistani literature in English, how many of them would take on the very basis of the state of Paki-

stan. “Why would you want a society where everyone is the same?” Kureishi asked. And I had no answer.

Conversation A word on his voice. It is unique among British writers.

It is not the boxer’s rat-a-tat of Tony Parsons or the posh drawl of Martin Amis. It has something extra, it has traces of all his origins and interests: clipped in some

places, stretched out in others. There is the Bromley

street, a history of violence; there are melodious feminine tones which verge on the aristocratic; there is

something from his father, from all our fathers who were immigrants in Britain in the ‘70s. It is a modern British voice — it is a pleasure to hear.

Stories I let him know that I was a London boy from the suburbs.

“Really? You’re like me.”

His questions sliced to the heart of me: he wanted a

form, a structure to the person sitting opposite, a narrative he could work with. He thought it bizarre and

fascinating that someone from London could make a life in this city he found interesting but was happy to

leave. As I told him of my love and hate for the city, he said the only hope for me was to write a novel.

Literature: still the greatest pleasure in the life of

Hanif Kureishi. a

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COVER STORY

the other side of history

BY BATOOL ZEHRA

H

istory is always written by the victors, and in the case of the 1971 war, the dominant narrative has been that of atrocities committed against the Bengali population. But in her upcoming novel, Of Martyrs and Marigolds, Aquila Ismail dredges up the memories of her traumatic past in order to shine a light on the lesser-known atrocities of that conflict.

“My mother forgot how to speak Bengali after the trauma of 1971. It just went out of her head. She cannot speak it to this day,” says Aquila Ismail, as we sip tea in her sitting room on a winter’s evening in Karachi. One of the few Biharis who managed to flee Bangladesh after what is known in that country as the War of Liberation, Aquila now lives in the United States. But over 250,000 of her fellow Biharis still live in squalid conditions in Bangladesh today, as a stateless minority.

While the atrocities of the Pakistan Army against the Bengali population during

the war are well-documented, little is known about the plight of the Biharis who

were left stranded when East Pakistan seceded in 1972, and what they suffered during and after the conflict. According to some estimates, 750,000 Biharis were left in Bangladesh in 1972, and not only did they face persecution at the hands of Bengalis,

they were also disowned by Pakistan and became stateless overnight — in December

1971, while Pakistani army personnel and civilians were evacuated from Bangladesh, the Biharis were left behind.

But curiously, little has been written about the persecution faced by the Biharis.

That is now changing. Last year, Sharmila Bose’s Dead Reckoning generated controversy for suggesting that Bengalis were not just passive victims, but committed “ap-

palling atrocities” in the war for their liberation. Ruby Zaman’s novel Invisible Lines

with its half-Bihari heroine also brought out hitherto unrecognised dimensions of the conflict. This year, Aquila Ismail comes out with her Of Martyrs and Marigolds, a fictionalised account of the conflict, based on her own experiences.

Aquila, who grew up in East Pakistan, and is fluent in Urdu, Bengali and English,

remembers a time when there were no distinctions between herself and her Bengali

32 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

friends. “There was no division between the Bengalis

The university had been closed down when the cur-

and us. All my friends were Bengali. We never felt a dif-

few was imposed and the students’ hostels and teach-

That, of course, was the year that Ayub Khan initiated

this, Aquila was shocked to hear claims that 10,000

ference — till 1968,” she says.

the Agartala Conspiracy case against Sheikh Mujeebur

Rehman — the leader of the Awami League — accusing him of conspiring to secede from Pakistan.

“My friends used to tell me: ‘West Pakistanis are try-

ing to crush the Bengalis.’ So I used to think that Ayub Khan’s trying to crush us as well,” says Aquila.

But this sense of oneness with her Bengali compatriots

was about to change. In 1970, Aquila applied for admis-

sion at Dhaka University. Given an option between Urdu

ers’ accommodations were sparsely occupied. Knowing

people had been killed in the operation. A week later, when she went to university, she found out that at

least four to five people she had known were slain. The list put up in the university had 149 names in all. “An

army assault had taken place — this much is true. But 10,000 people were not killed — 10,000 is a huge figure. The myth starts from there. There must have been about 200-250 dead in all, from my estimation.”

In the mayhem that lasted from March 25 to April 10,

and Bengali as a vernacular subject in Intermediate, she

when the Pakistan Army took control, a large number

an essential part of her life. Placed on the Honours list,

hini. This is when it began to dawn on Aquila’s family

had opted to learn Urdu since Bengali was already such

Aquila should have been a shoo-in for admission. But to her dismay, her name didn’t show up on the list. When the family tried to find out what went wrong, they

were told that since Aquila had opted to take Urdu, “she

of Urdu speakers were also massacred by the Mukti Ba-

that they were not safe in the land they called home.

“Nobody was going to ask me who I voted for, it was just enough that I was Urdu-speaking,” she recalls.

The Biharis had become symbols of West Pakistan’s

couldn’t be from here”. The problem was resolved when

dominance and were attacked in retaliation to the ar-

East Pakistan, but a line had been crossed. “Everything

were in danger, says Aquila. “Bihari was a loose term

her father got an affidavit saying she was indeed born in was smoothed over but we began to feel that we were being singled out,” she says.

Still, at the time of the 1970 elections, Aquila’s fam-

ily voted for the Awami League. The results of that elec-

my’s suppression. It was not just Urdu speakers who used for people who came from Uttar Pradesh, Poona,

Maharshtra, for Punjabis, Pathans. Every non-Bengali was a Bihari.”

tion, of course, changed the course of history. Sheikh

Mujeeb’s Awami League won a sweeping victory. Meanwhile Bhutto, who had won a majority in West Pakistan,

began to delay the formation of the National Assembly with the support of the West Pakistani establishment.

Jubilance turned into suspicion in the Eastern wing, finally leading to a mass uprising.

On March 1, 1971, Yahya Khan announced the post-

ponement of the assembly session. Two days later, Aquila witnessed the strange spectacle of the flag of Bangla-

desh being raised in her university. She also saw armed young men on the streets — Bengali civilians who now

comprised the Mukti Bahini, the resistance force against West Pakistan. Meanwhile, on March 25, the Pakistan Army conducted a crackdown on Aquila’s university. She

remembers seeing the orange flames rising up late in the night, even though her house was 10 km away. “It was

as if an enemy invasion was taking place,” she recalls. “A full-blown military assault with tanks, machine guns, grenades.”

33 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

“We hated the army for what it had done. You don’t do this to your own people. They’re not the enemy.”

and they did not even want to talk about it. They only

wanted to talk about what the Pakistan Army had done.

They weren’t even willing to examine the role of the PPP in all of this.”

When the family landed in Karachi, Aquila’s mother

had Rs10 in her purse. Since her father was a civil ser-

vant, they were able to re-establish themselves, but even today Orangi Town in Karachi is filled with Bihari survivors who weren’t able to rehabilitate as quickly. In fact, the very title ‘Bihari’ is used to discriminate against

these people. “Why are those who came from East Punjab called Pakistanis while we are known as ‘Biharis’?” she asks.

Finally, in 2008, Aquila sat down to write the other

Despite the killings and hatred, Aquila’s family con-

side of the story. Not the story of the winning side, but

army for what it had done. You don’t do this to your own

been lies after lies after lies as far as treatment of Biharis

tinued to identify with the Bengali cause. “We hated the people. They’re not the enemy.”

When Dhaka fell into the hands of the rebels on De-

of those who suffered and were abandoned. “There have is concerned. I think the record should be put straight.”

The result is Of Martyrs and Marigolds, due to be

cember 16, 1971, Aquila’s family assumed that they’d be

published in February. “I thought it should be a novel

to live in Bangladesh or to go to what was left of Paki-

of conflict, the shades of grey that history does not take

presented a choice much like they’d been given in 1947:

stan. But that illusion was quickly dispelled. Non-Ben-

galis were attacked, branded collaborators, and shot,

because fiction is able to take care of the complexities into account.”

Writing the book proved to be an unexpectedly painful

bludgeoned and bayoneted to death. The Indian troops

process. “They say that when you write, it brings closure,

but as they withdrew, the pogrom began in earnest.

that I’d forgotten which came back to me when I started

had been protecting non-Bengalis during the conflict, Aquila’s family was forced out of their home on Feb-

ruary 4. “That was the day that we lost everything ... we didn’t even have a country. We were taken on a bus

but it actually made it worse. There were so many things writing. You start thinking: this really happened to me and that’s a pretty strange feeling,” says the writer.

Despite all the years, and all the pain, it seems Aquila

through the same route that I used every day to go to

still has a soft spot for her lost homeland.

more. At that time I didn’t feel so much pain because my

“They deserved to get Bangladesh for what (West) Paki-

Aquila, her mother and her sister were taken to a

own countrymen — you have to give political power to

university but it was strange because I didn’t belong anymind sort of shut down.”

camp by steamer, while her father and brother were put

in jail. At the refugee camp they were given burnt khi-

“I’m very sympathetic to the Bengali cause, she says.

stan used to do to them. It’s not what one does to one’s the majority in a democracy.”

There are no heroes in Aquila’s life story. While the

chri to eat and didn’t even know where the men were.

Mukti Bahini were to blame for the massacre of her fel-

reporters that we were women who had been raped by

Pakistani establishment. “The Punjabi bureaucracy

“The camp organisers would point to us and tell western the Pakistan Army.”

It was months before Aquila’s family was able to leave

the camp and make it back safely to Pakistan — and then

low Biharis, she also heaps blame on the army and West used to call them ‘bhookay Bengali’, ridiculing them for being short and dark,” she says.

Meanwhile, it is the Bihari population which has borne

only because they had friends in high places. But once

the fallout of the conflict. Many Biharis are stranded in

wasn’t necessarily interested in knowing about their

generation refugees,” says Aquila. “They are stateless ...

they made it to Pakistan, Aquila found that the press

plight. “I actually contacted Dawn to write about this

34 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

refugee camps to this day. “These are 2nd generation, 3rd we paid the price for supporting Pakistan.” a

R

off the court

aising a racket with Aisam-ul-Haq: Pakistan’s top tennis player talks about his book, tennis and life after marriage.

BY FARAS GHANI

You returned to Pakistan in between tournaments to launch your book. What is the book about and how did the idea come about?

The idea of the book came from my coach Robert Davis who’s been with me on

and off for the last 10 years. Because of the demands of my career, I’m hardly in

Pakistan — two months max at a time — so he told me to reach the youth of Pakistan in the fastest manner possible. The book comprises lessons I learnt as a Pakistani and Muslim, travelling for the past 12 years.

Did you write it yourself?

No, it’s Davis’ writing but the experiences are all mine. He’s an American who’s

also a travel writer and writes for ATP [Association of Tennis Professionals] magazines. The lessons are not just about sports. It contains my experiences on the road:

How I dealt with prejudice, about working hard, family values, not giving up while thinking about the end product. It’s not an autobiography but more of a guidance piece.

Does it also include mistakes that you made and advice for others to avoid the

same?

Yes, definitely. Some of the biggest mistakes I made were at the times when I

thought of giving up tennis. Things weren’t actually working out for me, I wasn’t

getting the recognition I deserved even in Pakistan. Neither was I getting sponsors to support my dreams and realise my talent. There were tough losses on the court but then I found the ability and courage to bounce back. I’m the only Pakistani

on the ATP tour so it was difficult. It took 12 years but I finally got recognition in Pakistan.

Tennis isn’t a household name in Pakistan. How can things actually improve?

I’ve become the door opener for tennis in Pakistan and I’m doing my level best to

promote it even more — but the federation has to capitalise on my achievements.

When people see there’s money in the sport, they’ll be encouraged to take it up.

Sponsorships, commercials and the like can bring about a positive change. We now have two sports channels in Pakistan. They should’ve shown our Davis Cup match-

es on TV. When people see what we do, the way we fight for Pakistan, awareness

35 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Before it was just me, me and me.

Now there’s a bit of Faha in there too.

She’ll be travelling with me for the first year of marriage but she has responsibilities as a daughter-in-law and that will come in too will increase — of the sport and the players.

Do you have any plans on improving the situation?

Yes, I wanted to open an academy but I’ve been trying to

get a piece of land in Lahore for almost two years. I haven’t

daughter-in-law and that will come in too.

You’ve also formed new partnerships on the court. How’s

that coming along?

It’s a big change for me. I now have three ongoing rela-

heard anything back from the government so once I get

tionships — with my wife, my men’s doubles partner and

schools for four to six year olds. Those kids will learn the

ciently. I try and take all of these changes in a positive way,

done with the book, I’m going to set up a programme in

basics of tennis, hand-eye coordination, etc. This will make

them interested in tennis instead of cricket and when they turn 11 or 12, maybe they’ll want to become tennis players.

Is there enough money in tennis to attract those kids?

There wasn’t enough money before but we have sponsors,

commercials and endorsements coming into tennis gradually. Even I’ve done a few commercials so that’s a positive

thing for a tennis player in Pakistan when he or she sees sponsors and financial backing.

Yes, that commercial. How come your parents weren’t

my mixed doubles partner — and I need to juggle them effitake them as an opportunity to learn something new. Rojer [my men’s doubles partner] is a great guy and works hard.

We’re still learning things about each other so hopefully, things will improve. I also became the first Pakistani to

reach the Australian Open quarter-finals [in mixed doubles] so that was an achievement too.

Pakistan’s on-court fortunes are also improving. How

much talent do we have in youngsters to keep it going after you and Aqeel go?

For starters, the juniors have to start beating me and

part of that?

Aqeel in order to progress. Aqeel has been Pakistan’s num-

the Olpers advert. However, the agency decided it was best

he plays. We had a four-man squad for the Davis Cup but

The initial plan was to have my parents play that part in

left to professional actors to do it. But now that I see the ad, I’m sure my parents would’ve easily played those roles.

Your routine sounds hectic. How does your wife Faha take

this? Do you get enough time out for her?

Well, we’ve only been married a short time so we’re still

learning things about each other. She’s been travelling with

me for tournaments. She was even with us for the Davis Cup tie in Lebanon [which Pakistan won] and I think she’s my

lucky charm! It was also the first time that I didn’t have to

ber one for the last decade and he wins every national event only me and Aqeel played. The coach and the captain didn’t

have confidence in the others. There aren’t any juniors who

can push us. The gap between us and them is huge. But the answer to that is simple: all they need to do is work harder

and they’ll get to where we are. They need to get interna-

tional exposure too. So I hope the federation has some plans of sending these kids abroad, or that international events start taking place in Pakistan once again.

You obviously don’t have too many years left. What do you

share a room with Aqeel [Pakistan’s number two] so that

want to achieve before you sign off?

need to train, she lets me. My life hasn’t changed when it

ously, I want to be the world number one as well and I’m

it as well. Before it was just me, me and me. Now there’s

obstacles recently and I know I can get to where I want to be.

was a good change as well! But she doesn’t interfere. If I

comes to playing but now I have responsibilities away from a bit of Faha in there too. She’ll be travelling with me for

the first year of marriage but she has responsibilities as a

36 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

I’m not going to give up until I win a grand slam. Obvi-

training harder than ever to achieve that. I’ve cleared a lot of

So hopefully I can make myself and the nation proud once again by reaching those targets. a

out of the blue D

BY BATOOL ZEHRA

oes new novelist Ayesha Salman have the magic touch?

The author must keep his mouth shut when his work starts to speak, says Nietzsche. After attending the 3rd Karachi Literature Festival, one imagines the

depressing corollary to that is, until the work actually starts speaking, the author must talk about it as much as possible. Amongst the clutch of Pakistani

writers chattering about their books and peddling their wares this year was Ayesha Salman, author of the intriguingly named Blue Dust. No, the title is

not a reference to 70s eye makeup trends, nor is this a sci fi/fantasy about a planet with cerulean sand.

I meet Salman on the first day of the festival at the Carlton Hotel, picking

her out amongst twittering aunties, tweeting journalists and plain old twits as she sprawls on a sofa in the lobby in what she has described over the phone as a “black dress”.

The publisher’s website says that Blue Dust is “an emotional, philosophi-

cal and cultural journey that maps the relationships, dreams, hopes and fears

of three generations of a family.” Thinking that unnecessarily cryptic, I ask Salman to give me an idea of what the book is about. “It’s about the human condition, really,” she replies airily, in tone that is vaguely British and definitely

jarring. “It’s about sexual repression, all kinds of discrimination, child abuse

and about all those things that even the most enlightened and educated one

of us we would rather just shove under the carpet. And this book is meant to provoke people to think in a way which opens them up to talking about stuff.”

Clearly, there’s little of importance that Salman has omitted to mention in

her first book. Despite repeated prompting, I get no closer to an understanding

of what the story is about or who the characters are. If Mohammed Hanif has

mastered his grasp on the obvious, Salman’s talent must lie in making even

38 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

Salman makes a living working as an editor for a think-tank and for someone who deals in words, she is oddly clumsy with hers

the clearest and simplest things appear confusing. There is no

box. “I think [they] tend to churn out the same political and so-

before. Salman makes a living working as an editor for a think

but talk about them in a different way, use different tools, take

question you can ask her which will not leave you foggier than tank and for someone who deals in words, she is oddly clumsy

with hers. She describes vodka as a ‘varicose liquid’, contends

that Milan Kundera is not a magical realist, and weaves elabo-

cial issues over and over. Okay fine, these are important issues

a risk. Indian writers do it; Pakistani writers don’t. I think it’s our colonial mentality.”

More trenchantly, Salman criticises the elitism of Pakistani

rately inarticulate responses to perfectly straightforward que-

writing, the aloofness and formality which is a result of focus-

reader — who appears firmly focussed on political and social is-

very popular trend to talk about the political and use that as a

ries. One wonders what will prompt the average Pakistani sues — to pick up her “philosophical and psychological novel”.

“I know a lot of people are writing about these issues but

the way I’ve written this novel is very different. There is some

magical realism in it and as the novel progresses, the line be-

tween fantasy and reality blurs a little bit and then you ask these philosophical questions. The storyline goes on and it’s

sing on the political at the cost of the personal. “It’s become a platform to sell your book. Well, I’m not gonna do that,” she

declares. Instead, she prefers to keep the focus on the smaller issues, things that happen in our own houses and are considered an embarrassment to talk about, experiences never mentioned in public.

“You will find village women readily share their experienc-

quite clear what happens to all the characters but the way the

es, tell their stories, but these elite women never admit to the

ing at things,” says Salman.

going to become a leper, dirty or polluted, because I talk about

story is told is unreal, so in that way it is a unique way of lookBut why, I press, in a country where people find it hard to

understand even satire, why magical realis? “I’m interested in

things they go through. But I’m ready to talk about it. Am I my experiences?”

Eventually, I circle back to the question nagging me for some

magical realism because to me it seems so real,” is Salman’s

time: what is ‘Blue Dust’?

dera, Camus, Kafka and even Hardy and I’ve always been fas-

very bad in the novel and somebody forces her to have vodka

— this novel is quite poetic too — and my poetry has been pub-

lium swirling in the varicose [sic] liquid is what made me think

baffling response. “I grew up reading people like Milan Kuncinated by experimentalism in literature. I’m a poet as well

lished in the UK. For the future, I would like to weave poetry into the prose and experiment a lot more — maybe the play form and poetry.”

Amongst the current crop of Pakistani writers, no one im-

presses her very much, except Aamer Hussein, whose book she hasn’t yet read, but who seems to her to be a magical realist.

The rest, according to Salman, don’t bother to think out of the

“There’s a 14-year-old girl who’s going through something

with crushed Valium. That image of the blue dust of the Va-

of blue dust. But once that image clicked, that idea of blue dust as a symbol of a lot of what goes on in the novel, became very poignant. It’s very dreamy. It’s very much about what you catch around you, the vapours around you and what they give you.”

One supposes that a writer is, by nature, more articulate in

her writing than she is in speech. But after this build-up, one hopes this one doesn’t bite the dust. a

39 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

REVIEW

the house that bourne built

BY NOMAN ANSARI

Now here is a film that likes to play it safe. Director Daniel Espinosa’s latest flick, Safe House, feels like it is a generic spy thriller, with action sequences that seem to have been burgled from the Bourne series’ house and a CIA conspiracy that defines the word ‘mundane’.

The film tells the tale of young CIA operative Matt Weston (Ryan Reynolds), who is in charge of a safe house in South Africa. Tobin Frost (Denzel Washington), a former CIA agent who had mysteriously gone rogue over twenty years back, is apprehended and brought to the safe house for interrogation. When the safe house is attacked by a group of rebels, Weston flees with Frost as his captive. As the plot develops, we discover that the CIA is frantically looking for a file that Frost had stolen before his capture. Frost, who was an extremely talented field agent, soon uses his expertise to play mind games with Weston, who while dodging rebels and local law enforcement,

hero business

BY ARHAM ARSHAQ

Iqbal M. Khan’s latest book, Leading Social Entrepreneurs of Pakistan: The Unsung Heroes, is a tribute to the numerous men and women of Pakistan who have played a positive role in improving the country. In the book, Khan looks at 92 social entrepreneurs, their successful ventures and the inspiration behind them. He considers these individuals to be fighters and encourages his readers to join the fray by becoming socially active and embracing the entrepreneurial spirit.

The book is split into nine sections. The first section provides a general overview of the book, while the others are devoted to specific areas of social entrepreneurship: Education, health, children development, micro finance, community development, environment & heritage conservation, human rights, gender issues and women empowerment. At first glance the book may seem to be a collection of autobiographical essays but it is more of an inspirational guide to those who aspire to make a positive impact in the country.

Unsung Heroes provides a detailed look into the lives of each of the 92 individuals. Khan analyses the successes of the many different social ventures and encourages his readers to not only applaud these heroes for their valiant efforts, but also to acknowledge

40 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

tries his best to escort Frost to another safe house.

The movie also has a romantic subplot involving Matt and his French girlfriend Ana Moreau (Nora Arnezeder). When Matt confesses to her about his true profession, she too is forced to flee when trouble breaks out.

The movie also features a number of narrative twists which regrettably are too obvious to be effective.

Where the movie does stand out, is in the performance of its lead character. Denzel Washington, one of the greatest actors of his generation, does a fantastic job as the charismatic and sociopathic rogue agent. Reynolds, on the other hand, barely makes the mark and the film seems a bit mismatched. I really don’t think that the Safehouse is worth the visit.

them as the true leaders of our nation. He introduces each entrepreneur by way of a detailed biography and then delves into their inspirations and achievements. Khan believes that precedents of social good can inspire us to improve our lives and the lives of those around us. This is one of the reasons why I believe that Khan’s efforts and analysis are of utmost importance and should be introduced in the curriculum of all students of business studies, if not earlier in life when a child is developing his or her personality and aims.

Khan talks a lot about good and evil in the book, believing that the country has been taken over by those who wish to do evil.

While the book promotes social entrepreneurship, it also stresses that fear of failure should not prevent an individual from taking action. Khan categorically states that had these ‘heroes’ refrained from taking action because of the fear of failure, Pakistan may have been doomed to an even worse fate than what critics and cynics currently complain about. Khan’s book may be the perfect guide to help us become the true heroes of Pakistan.

a mixed bag

BY SAMEEN AMER

It has been nearly twenty three years since John Grisham wrote his first novel and it has been nearly ten years since he wrote one that was actually worth reading. Yet, whether they lack character development, or a compelling storyline, or even an ending, his books continue to sell by the bucket load (that too in oversized buckets capable of holding millions of copies). This is due in part to readers (like me) who just don’t know when to give up. I have read each of Grisham’s legal thrillers since first discovering his work in the ‘90s, and despite my better judgement, still continue to dutifully visit Grishamville every year even though the idea that he is — or at least was — a good storyteller is starting to wear thin in the face of ever diminishing evidence.

So has his latest novel, The Litigators, managed to rejuvenate my faith in the author whose books used to be one of my favourite guilty pleasures?

A typical John Grisham affair, The Litigators once again takes the ‘little lawyer versus big corporation’ idea and runs with it. In the midst of a meltdown, a young lawyer named David Zinc walks out of a high paying job at the world’s third largest law firm, and into a world of ambulance-chasing at a dubious firm run by two attorneys who should have been disbarred before the book even began. After one of the partners stumbles upon a mass torts case against a drug company, he tries to turn the opportunity into a get rich quick scheme, embroiling the firm in a massive lawsuit that they then struggle to cope with. Meanwhile, David also pursues a lead poisoning case separately, fighting for the five-year-old son of Burmese immigrants who suffers severe brain damage after playing with a lead-tainted set of plastic toy teeth.

The novel has a promising and gripping start which, coupled with the book’s underlying wit, offers a well of opportunities to the writer.

Unfortunately, Grisham wastes all these opportunities.

The main plot isn’t very riveting, and the sub-plot is just too convenient. What Grisham seems to have wanted to do was contrast the two situations, but what he ends up doing is putting together two stories that drain the suspense out of each other. So as far as legal “thrillers” go, The Litigators is disappointingly devoid of thrill.

As for the characters, you’ve met them all before in one form or another. And yes, the writer has played off on the negative stereotypes of lawyers yet again, so there are no surprises there either.

That said, The Litigators is still better than most things John Grisham has written recently. It may be a predictable and formulaic legal drama, but there are glimpses of the old Grisham in parts of the book, and if you’re a dedicated enough fan, that may just be enough for you.

41 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

THE HATER

10 things I hate about

1 2 3 4 5

…graduating

BY FAIZA REHMAN

Endless trips to the registrar’s office. “Look, sir, I don’t care if this class is full. I’m a graduating senior and I

need to get enrolled. This is my 739th trip to your of-

fice. Do you realise how many unproductive hours in the cafeteria I’ve sacrificed for this noble purpose?”

Losing friends. They promise you that they would stay

in touch every hour, minute and second but the only kind of attention apportioned to you is in the form of pitiful “likes” on your Facebook wall.

What am I to do once the fortification of the university walls collapse and I’m shoved head first into the world?

There is no one to give me extensions on projects based on my whiny emails, imagined dead relatives, and creatively contrived diseases.

The uncertainty. Should I go to grad school? If yes, then

where? Should I run the mad rat race of the corporate sector? Or sit at home and wait for Prince Charming?

No really, WHAT does this world want from me?

More uncertainty. Am I graduating? No, no. This is too good to be true. Have I finished my credits? Have I

cleared my dues? Have I filled out this form? And that?

And that other one? Have I taken all my compulsory courses? Oh no, I still have to take Politics of African Eskimos.

42 FEBRUARY 26-MARCH 3 2012

6 7 8 9 10

Rishta aunties. Well, yes I’m graduating from university. But that does not mean that I’m seeking a career

in being the lifelong victim of your son’s fiendish ego problem.

Castles in the air. Huge, grandiose, grotesquely unrealistic ones. You know something’s amiss when your Anthropology major friend says: “I’m going to get rich doing field work in the Rann of Kutch after graduation”.

Fear. It took four years, gigantic sacrifices of your ego, and lots of tears and rants to come to terms with this

place and its people. Will the real world be as patient?

Do you have the nerve and energy to replicate your endeavours?

Regrets. Tender troubles suddenly turn grave. After four whole years, you realise that you really did like

him in ‘that’ way after all. But it’s too late since he’s scampered off with that scantily-clad, fish-lipped sophomore. Haye!

Last semester laziness. Since you’re a graduating se-

nior, you decide that you’re too cool to attend classes, buy your reading material, turn in any assignments or even care. Five hours before the final exam, you decide

to log off Facebook, unpack your books and curse the “education system”, and regret your laziness.