The Express Tribune Magazine - July 24

JULY 24-30 2011

Pakistan Psychoanalysed ...If nations are like people, what kind of person would Pakistan be? And what if that person went to see a shrink?

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REVIEWS

TRAVEL

FEATURES

PEOPLE

HATER

JULY 24-30 2011

Cover Story 20 The Psychoanalysis of Pakistan Dim the lights and bring out the couch — if Pakistan were a person, here’s what he would tell his therapist

Feature 30 Shell Shocked These days, jaded Pakistanis don’t know who to believe and who to blame

Feature 32 Does The Caged Bird Sing?

Pakistani women in jail practice yoga, study English and sew to deal being in captivity

Portfolio

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34 Abstract Expression Narrating tales via images that revolve around the self

Travel 38 Tourism Evolution An eco-friendly tour is a guilt-free way to explore Thailand’s unspoiled wonders

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Regulars 6 People & Parties: Out and about with Pakistan’s beautiful people 44 Advice: Mr Know It All answers your questions 48 Reviews: What’s new in films and books 54 Ten Things I Hate About: Being an intern

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Magazine Editor: Zarrar Khuhro, Senior Sub-Editor: Batool Zehra, Sub-Editor: Hamna Zubair.

Creative Team: Amna Iqbal, Jamal Khurshid, Essa Malik, Anam Haleem, Tariq W Alvi, S Asif Ali, Samad Siddiqui, Mohsin Alam, Sukayna Sadik.

Publisher: Bilal A Lakhani. Executive Editor: Muhammad Ziauddin. Editor: Kamal Siddiqi.

For feedback and submissions: magazine@tribune.com.pk 4

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Origami held a screening for the movie Slackistan in Lahore

yesha and a Mehreen, A

friend

PHOTOS COURTESY ORIGAMI

Hassaan with a friend

Hamza Huma and a friend

6 JULY 24-30 2011

JULY 24-30 2011

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Rifah and Sarah

Aamir and Hassan

Asifa

Lahore Snob Team

8 JULY 24-30 2011

Shahzeb, Shafiah and friends

JULY 24-30 2011

PEOPLE & PARTIES

The model and choreographers’ search for the 3rd Karachi Fashion Week was attended by a group of young hopefuls

An aspiring model

Nadya Hussein Tooba

Waiting for th

eir moment

Tariq Amin

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JULY 24-30 2011

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Sanam Agha, Zurain Imam

Choreographers Hamza and Farooq at the show

Sunita Marsh

all

yg

Rizwan Be

12 JULY 24-30 2011

Imran Qureshi

JULY 24-30 2011

“I lie when I’m late to meetings” Zahra Raza, of Islamabad based multi-label boutique L’atelier, on soul mates and her fear of losing the people she loves.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Which talent would you most like to have?

To end up with one’s soul mate.

I wish I could play the guitar.

What is your greatest fear?

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Losing my favorite people.

Till now its L’atelier for sure.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would

Taking the people who love me for granted.

it be?

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Fakeness.

What is your greatest extravagance?

I would come back as a lioness.

Where would you most like to live?

The place doesn’t matter, it’s where my family and friends are.

To be at a resort next to a pool, getting pampered at the spa and

What is your most treasured possession?

eating good food.

A black scarf with thin white stripes.

What is your current state of mind?

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

To conquer.

A family sleeping on a donkey cart.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

If you didn’t do your current job, what would you choose to do?

Patience.

I would be a model and a graphic designer.

On what occasion do you lie?

What is your most marked characteristic?

When I’m late to a meeting.

I’m funny and loud.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

Who is your hero of fiction?

Nothing, I’m happy with myself.

Thumbelina. She’s small like me.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Honesty.

Coco Chanel... In order to be irreplaceable one must always be

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Ambition.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

“No way!” “Seriously!” “What the hell!”

When and where were you happiest?

On a flight to London in January 2004.

different.

Who are your heroes in real life?

My brother and my father.

What is your greatest regret?

Let’s not even go there.

What’s your favourite quote?

‘A girl should be two things, fabulous and classy!’ Coco Chanel. a JULY 24-30 2011

15

COVER STORY

the psychoanalysis of

pakistan If nations are like people, then what sort of person would Pakistan be?

And what if that person were to see a therapist?

BY HAIDER WARRAICH

The door creaked open as the therapist led Pakistan into the room, his clothes drenched, his hair wild, his shirt unbuttoned, his hands covered in mud. “This is the last time I see you without an appointment, Pakistan.” The therapist tried not to reward Pakistan by obliging to his unannounced visits and subsequent tantrums, but this time, she knew that there was something terribly wrong.

Pakistan lay on the couch, with the therapist sitting behind

him close to the door. She dimmed the lights, giving the weath-

ered wood paneling a bronze glow. She hadn’t known Pakistan for long, but long enough to detect a disturbing pattern. Having changed several therapists, Pakistan followed a predictable

course with all of his previous shrinks — starting off in a blaze

of intimacy, slowly withdrawing, reaching a point of violent confrontation and then starting over with someone else. She

knew that he badly needed her to understand him, even as he erected every possible obstacle in her endeavours to do so. Every session with Pakistan was a struggle — both for the therapist, as

she tried to decipher his thoughts and motivations beneath the

white noise of his obscurantist denial and obsessive paranoia — and for him, as he resolutely prevented her (and himself) from reaching his innermost chambers.

The therapist had no idea just how old Pakistan was, for even by

his own accounts, his birth was a matter of great dispute. Pakistan

was born either in the Bronze Age when the Indus Valley Civilisation was established in Mohenjodaro. Or, in the 8th century with

the arrival of Muhammad bin Qasim, the 17-year-old Arab general, who became the first man to plant the flag of Islam in the Indian

Subcontinent. Along the way, he also planted seeds in the collec-

tive Jungian psyche, the shoots from which continue to surface to this day. Sometimes he claimed to be born as a reactionary ideal in

1857. His real genesis, in 1947, was corroborated by an official birth certificate. Though that might simply be the day he was separated from his Siamese twin in a rather bloody operation.

The therapist took out her file to review her notes. From ses-

sion to session, Pakistan varied from bouts of extreme pride and

COVER STORY grandiosity– touting the mark on his forehead from excessive

ary rounds and an even more incendiary faith, Talib, with the

in the neighbourhood, showing off the missile tattoos on his bi-

did for Uncle Sam what no one else could have. After the fight,

prostration during prayer, picking fights with the toughest boys ceps — to states of despicable self-loathing — slitting his wrists to

atone for his ‘sins’, claiming to have disavowed his religion and

his brethren, shooting up heroin to disassociate himself from self-reflection. It was difficult to pin a diagnosis on him. Her initial hunch was that he had manic depression, swinging from

grandiosity to doom and gloom. But she couldn’t pick that diag-

when Pakistan and Talib turned around to celebrate their victory

with a series of high-fives and ‘Allah-u-Akbar’ chants, Sam was

nowhere to be found. All they had to show for their efforts was a crate full of Kalashnikovs, heads full of grandiose delusions and

a stash of smack to ensure insight remained an unwanted guest.

Pakistan, far from smothering Talib’s zeal, channeled it to

nosis, since these personality traits had persisted since about as

settle scores with India in his unending struggle to regain his

Pakistan’s life thus far to inch closer towards a diagnosis.

dia, it was Pakistan who was influenced by his oddly appealing

long as the therapist could note. She relied on what she knew of Pakistan’s childhood remained of great interest to the therapist.

While it was a topic that Pakistan refused to confront directly, draw-

ing from his nightmares, his rambling digressions, and notes she had received from his previous therapists, a vague picture had come

together. Born on the stroke of midnight, Pakistan and his twin

brother, India, had had a tumultuous childhood, resulting in frequent fights, bleeding noses and cut lips. Orphaned in his infancy

with the premature death of his father, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, frequently beaten by his estranged brother (who also took away

Pakistan’s favourite cashmere sweater), deeply insecure due to his short stature, and lacking any sort of guiding hand, Pakistan had a tormented upbringing. Once he attacked his brother to take back

his sweater but failed (though he still claims it was his brother who started that particular round of fisticuffs). To this day, Pakistan refused to acknowledge any blood relationship with his brother, claiming to be a separate entity from him.

cashmere sweater. But in his efforts to agitate Talib against In-

cousin. Meanwhile, Qaeda ran out of his supply of Ritalin® and, no longer in the spotlight, grew increasingly bored in his subur-

ban house-cave. Convinced that Sam, who no longer showered him with attention, was the root of all the evils in the neighborhood, Qaeda went to Sam’s house with his bamboo stick and poked it right into Sam’s eye. Sam, infuriated, attacked Qaeda,

who had taken refuge in Talib’s house-cave next to Pakistan’s,

and demanded of Pakistan that he too join him in fighting both Qaeda and Talib. Scared out of his wits by the heavily muscled and belligerent Sam, Pakistan shaved his beard and donned a

suit to convince Sam that he was ‘with him, not against him’.

But in his heart, Pakistan could not abandon Talib, and banking

on Sam’s short attention span (possibly due to serious ADHD),

hoped to be able to hold off any Public Displays of Affection with Talib until Sam’s interest fizzled out.

But Talib just didn’t get it. He began to attack Pakistan for sup-

After his companion and childhood friend, Bangla, abandoned

porting Sam. Talib and Qaeda dealt Pakistan blows the likes of

neglect and abuse he had inflicted on her, Pakistan transitioned

whatever was important to him. But for all the pain they inflict-

him in the early ‘70s, instead of reflecting on the many years of

into another high of energy. His charisma won him many friends and he formed a relationship with a mysterious sheikh, who

would go on to have a deep impact on him. Sheikh Al-Wahab charmed Pakistan with his white robes and his shiny Rolexes (which he would jingle whenever he wanted Pakistan’s attention). The therapist could see that Pakistan believed that the

which he had never received, tearing into him, ripping apart ed on him, Pakistan blamed everyone else in the neighborhood.

Unable to remove himself from his association with Talib and

Qaeda, and yet fully aware of their actions, the therapist noted that Pakistan found himself more confused, more in pain, more depressed and more vulnerable, than ever before.

The therapist formulated Pakistan’s history into what she re-

sheikh, and his devout breed of Islam, offered him a chance to

garded as a pattern of unstable identity, unstable relationships

Armed with this new identity, Pakistan entered a phase of

ent diagnoses she had written on her sheet including adjust-

reconstruct his identity … but it was a dangerous façade.

gradual psychological self-mutilation, wherein he began to erase

all memories that contradicted his new self. He grew a beard, rode his pants high on his tummy and learnt Arabic, but forgot

his own native tongue. In his attempt to be born anew, he began to loathe himself: his brown skin, the festivals he celebrated, and

and fearful attachments. She started crossing out all the differment disorder, substance abuse, depression with psychotic fea-

tures, dysthymia and anti-social personality disorder, until the only diagnosis un-maimed by her pen was borderline personality disorder.

And yet, even armed with this knowledge, the therapist contin-

the culture he shared with his estranged brother.

ued to have a difficult relationship with Pakistan. She knew that

In fact, Uncle Sam encouraged Pakistan’s violent streak in order

for she barely knew anyone in the entire neighbourhood who was.

Pakistan’s newly found religiosity didn’t go entirely unnoticed.

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help of his Arab roommate, Qaeda, and Pakistan’s full backing,

to settle a score against its long time adversary by training Pakistan’s crazy cousin, Talib. With his AK-47 loaded with incendiJULY 24-30 2011

this was not just because Pakistan was, to put it mildly, un-normal, “What happened, Pakistan? You look terrible.”

Pakistan remained mum, looking blankly up at the ceiling. The

23 JULY 24-30 2011

24 JULY 24-30 2011

The blank look left Pakistan. The therapist knew what was going on, a rock had been upturned, and from beneath it had scampered out a thousand repressed memories. Memories of a father who never said his prayers, who swore by his suit and his whisky, of a time when festivals were marked with kites rather than blood from sacrificial animals running in the streets. therapist prodded on, “Why do you have mud on your hands?”

“But haven’t these Muslim ‘brothers’, hurt you more than even

those who you claim are your enemies, including your actual sibling? Look at how you’re bruised, scarred, hurt — isn’t that the work of your so-called brothers?”

“They are angry, and justified in being so.”

“So they have the right to spew hatred and commit violence, but

no one else does? Why bend the rules for them? Your sheikh has taken more from you than even your worst enemies: he took away you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I have me.”

“What me, Pakistan? What of you do you have left?” The thera-

pist’s frail figure shook, her spectacles danced on the bridge of her nose, as she continued to unabashedly counter-transfer.

“All of me is here in front of you. Me, born to live life governed

by the laws of Islam, and to vanquish the apostates who tarnish its name.”

“But how can that be! Don’t you remember that when you were

born, not in the 8th Century, but in 1947, your first law minister

was a Hindu, and your finance minister was an Ahmadi, a sect you now consider as worthy of murder!”

“That cannot be true! Why wouldn’t I remember it if it were so?

Wait, you are right, but how…?”

The blank look left Pakistan. Suddenly, he was awash with

“A great flood destroyed my house. I had to dig myself out of

palpable emotion. The therapist knew what was going on, a

waters took her away. My crops have all run a-waste.” Pakistan

out a thousand repressed memories. Memories of a father who

the rubble. My cow, Rani, my princess, I couldn’t find her. The

spoke in a monotone, staring blankly at the ceiling. The therapist didn’t know what to feel. A part of her believed he was pre-

schizophrenic, his ability to process reality crumbling slowly.

Another part felt that the heroin was like a virus, forever impairing his ability to test reality. She tried to feel sympathy for him, but found herself unable to do so. “Did anyone help you out?”

“Sam helped me out, not because he cared, but because he feared

that if I lost my mind a bit more, I would blow up in his face.”

The therapist carried on, without believing his entire flood

story. Just a few years back he had come running to her, with an earthquake-story in which his house was leveled, and here he was again, carrying on what was now becoming a comically long

list of tragedies, some real, some imagined. “Why do you think these catastrophes happen to you?”

“It is a test of my faith, or a punishment for my transgressions,

rock had been upturned, and from beneath it had scampered never said his prayers, who swore by his suit and his whisky, of

a time when festivals were marked with kites flying in the sky rather than blood from sacrificial animals running in the streets.

Clearly in pain, Pakistan held his head. He tried to get up from

the couch, before falling onto his knees, his hands covering his ears, ensuring that nothing but the voice within was heard. The therapist ran to the door, but stayed on to look at Pakistan writhe

as alarmed guards ran in to pin him to the ground. Her unfinished case history was still lying next to her chair in the room.

She was shaking. This would be her last session with Pakistan

not so much because Pakistan’s malady awoke no empathy in her anymore, but because she knew she had stepped on the wrong

side of Pakistan’s split monochromic psychological spectrum of blacks and whites.

Pakistan’s search for reflection began anew; a search that he en-

I can’t seem to understand.” The therapist’s attempts at objectivity

sured was always a never-ending spiral, where the journey itself is

misery became a source of mirth, rather than solemn reflection.

Pakistan would be if she were to meet him after some time; she

began to fail, as Pakistan’s contradictions started to amuse her. His “What transgressions?”

“I have failed my religion and no matter how much I pray for

forgiveness, Allah continues to punish me. And I continue to be Sam’s slave. I have shaved my beard and started wearing suits

just so that he does not suspect me of being with Talib. But inside, I know that I am in the wrong, and that is why Allah-Almighty punishes me.”

enacted only to avoid the destination. The therapist wondered who

wasn’t even sure if she would recognize him. She held the notebook tightly next to her chest and walked off determined to hold on to her

diagnosis, if nothing else. And yet, she knew that in spite of all that

he had endured (and inflicted) he had still lived to tell the tale. A survivor and stubborn to the core, she knew he’d be back. And while

he wouldn’t be pretty for his pains, she knew, irrationally, that she might just like to see him again. a

JULY 24-30 2011

25

FEATURE

shell shocked

Fighting a war against an unseen enemy has taken its toll on Pakistanis – we don’t know who to blame and who to believe

BY IFTIKHAR FIRDOUS

Grief and sorrow hang over the village of Matta like a shroud. Under this suffocating miasma the villagers prepare to bury one of their own – a young man named Baseer who had recently joined the Frontier Constabulary. He lost his life along with 69 fellow recruits and 26 civilians in one of the many terrorist attacks that this country has suffered. The convoy of recruits had been about to depart from Shabqadar when terror struck in the shape of two suicide bombers, their explosives designed to maximise casualties, ball bearings shooting out like bul bullets – tearing through flesh and metal alike.

With his rage overpowering his grief, the

brother of the slain man begins to scream

and curse the Taliban. “It’s because of the Taliban that my brother was

killed, I’ll shave off their beards and

sleep with their wives in the same madrassas they used to train these bombers!” Inconsolable,

he continues to shout – until

three heavily bearded men appear at the scene.

“Take the boy inside,” says the father, “he’s not in his sens-

es.” As the three men, elders from the local mosque, begin

to seat themselves, one of them begins to speak to the gathered crowd of mourners.

“Do you think that any Muslim would kill so many of his broth-

ers?”

The collective response is immediate. “No,” say the assembled

mourners. “No Muslim could do such a thing.”

Encouraged by the response, the cleric continues: “Nor can a

suicide bomber cause so much destruction.” As he continues, his

voice rises and his eyes bulge. “It was the Americans,” he concludes. “This was a drone attack!”

His audience is more than willing to believe this

version of events rather than the more unpalatable truth.

“This was an American training facility (that

was targeted). After Osama’s death the Amer-

icans were told to withdraw, and so they fired missiles from their drones to kill the

same people who had served them. They are no one’s friends!” says the elder.

As if through a toxic alchemy, his words

transform the atmosphere. Rage begins to

“I saw three planes, the one that fired the missile was followed by two other planes as if they were giving it protocol!” he said.

As I looked at him, speechless, he continued: “Why don’t you people report the truth?”

replace sorrow; this rage is not directed at

the Taliban, but the Americans. The mur-

mur of ‘drone attack’ begins to rise in volume

as the crowd finds an explanation for the car-

nage that they can digest more easily. At this

point, anyone who tells them they are wrong will

be dubbed an ‘American agent’ and an ‘infidel’.

Ironically, at the same time the Taliban spokesper-

son was calling up reporters to claim responsibility for the

Shabqadar attack, but that claim simply fell on deaf ears, not

Not far from where I stood the remains of the vehicle used in

only at this particular funeral procession but seemingly across

the attack lay in twisted chunks of blackened metal, the engine

Denial like this ran deep even before the May 2nd operation

even succumbed to this collective insanity, with local newspa-

the rural areas of Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa and far beyond.

that resulted in Osama bin Laden’s death, but the covert opera-

tion in Abbotabad seems to have deepened the syndrome. For many, patrio-

pers running reports that called it a drone strike and not a car bombing.

“It is distrust and disinformation that has led us to this point,”

tism and anti-Americanism is

says Dr Khalid Mufti, a leading psychiatrist who has treated a

The car bombing that claimed sev-

we need someone to bridge the gap (between denial and reality),

now one and the same thing.

eral lives at the CID police station on Pe-

shawar’s Jamrud road was no different. After

the suicide attack, there were many calls made to re-

porters from their relatives, contacts and members of the pub-

lic who claimed that it was a drone attack. There were six people

who were even ready to testify on the Holy Quran that they saw three drones from their rooftops.

Covering the blast, I was approached by an angry young man

named Usman, a resident of the area.

“I saw three planes, the one that fired the missile was followed

by two other planes as if they were giving it protocol!” he said.

As I looked at him, speechless, he continued: “Why don’t you

people report the truth?”

and chassis number still visible. It seems that some journalists

number of patients from the war-torn tribal areas. “But I think

and I believe that will happen soon as public awareness is rising rapidly.”

But despite his optimism, I find

it hard to believe that the gap will

close anytime soon. Society is al-

ready distrustful of politicians, bu-

reaucrats and the police. Now even the

once-sacrosanct military is viewed with suspicion. Never were the lines between

fantasy and reality as blurred as they are today. Numbed, traumatised and brutal-

ised, the people of Pakistan don’t know who to blame, and who to believe. a

does the caged bird sing ?

For women in this jail, captivity is full of contradictions

BY FATIMA RIZWAN

“It is traumatic enough to be living in a prison, and even more traumatic to not know when you’re going to get out,” says Aisha Chapra as she sips on her spinach soup and talks about her experiences teaching yoga at the women’s prison in Karachi. As our conversation touches on violence and trauma, skips over healing and settles on yoga’s impact on the prisoners, I wonder how the inmates at the women’s prison react to ‘new-age’ philosophies and remedies like yoga to alleviate stress.

“Yoga is about the liberation of the soul, and freedom

from certain thoughts,” says Chapra. “Obviously it touches

different people in different ways, but in the specific con-

text of prisoners — since most of these women have had experiences with violence — it helps them be grounded in the present moment.”

The Karachi women’s prison is inhabited by women who

are accused of theft, trading narcotics, murder and other crimes. Out of the 68 inmates in the prison only 20 have

stood trial and been convicted and the rest do not know what the future has in store for them.

For them, regular activities like yoga are a much-needed

distraction from the banality of life in prison.

“Initially we only used simple concepts: watching your-

self, stretching, listening to different sounds around you,

stopping the mind from constantly thinking about the past

or the future. The students only began to use yoga as a way

to forge a deeper connection with their own psyche in the last two or three months,” she says.

She says that students have given her positive feedback about

“do something” in captivity must take stupendous amounts of optimism.

As I enter the room where stitching classes are underway, an

her yoga lessons, but refuses to tell me any more. “I prefer not

inmate who introduces herself as Sana is busy attaching lace to

tween me and them by talking about them in that way, and one

has given us all the equipment we need, and we get to keep the

to indulge in the details,” she says. “I’ll be creating a divide beof the things that yoga brings about is unity: during yoga we feel

like one big body breathing together, it’s this beautiful feeling of oneness.” Speaking of divides, sitting in an air-conditioned café

breathing in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee while discussing the problems of incarcerated women seems like an easy way out

a kameez, and says, “Sheeba madam (the jail’s superintendent)

money we make from stitching.” The sewing instructor is a woman is her 70s, Madam Naseem. “People ask me what it is

like to go to a prison and teach … they ask: isn’t it scary? And I tell them bilkul nahi, it is not what you think,” she says with

resolve, and I nod in agreement. Thus far my preconceived no-

for me. Clearly, a visit to the prison is in order.

tions have been proven wrong. There are no bunk beds, no caged

she tells me: “Activities like yoga keep the prisoners busy and

though there was an eerie weight that hung upon us no matter

When I speak to the prison’s matron, Abida, on the phone,

reduce fights between the women. Also, since they are learning something new — they can then teach it to their kids,” she says.

cells, no urinals in the middle of the ground or bleak grey walls, how light-hearted the conversation — it was after all a prison.

I ask Sana how helpful these classes are for her, not in monetary

Mothers who have children under the age of eight can opt to

terms but psychologically. “It keeps me distracted, which is nice…”

at home. So not only are some inmates trying to keep their own

jra hota hai (a cage might be made of gold, but it is still a cage).”

bring them along to prison if there is no one to take care of them spirits up, they are trying to raise children in confinement too.

she says, but then adds: “Lekin pinjra soonay ka bhi ho, pinjra pinNot all prisoners are as forthcoming. I ask a prisoner reading

When I prepare myself to visit the prison, I am all geared up

the Bible if she attends any classes in prison. “No,” she replied

in my head. Fehmida, a representative of the Society for Human

what I think of the recreational classes?” she adds? “Sorry,” I

to speak to the inmates, but the words of an NGO worker echoe Rights and Prisoner’s aid (SHARP), has worked with prisoners at

the women’s jail before, and when I called her for advice she said

curtly. ““I am in a jail, in confinement, and you are asking me mumble as I scurry off.

This prison is full of a million stories, both sad and hopeful. I

the prisoners I would meet would be anything but forthcoming.

manage to talk to an inmate who is sitting on her bed, textbooks

you are an outsider. But you will see that for many, the prison is

my Masters exam” she says without looking up. I try to conceal

“It’s unlikely that they will tell you anything because to them a safe haven as the world outside is not very welcoming to them.”

When I arrive at the prison, I am pleasantly surprised by the

cleanliness of the place and the well-maintained facilities. Addi,

the prison officer who becomes my tour guide and has been

working in the prison for 24 long years, says: “This place is like a mother’s womb for the inmates. They cannot move around, but at least they are safe — safer than anywhere else.”

This is a unique way of looking at confinement, for sure. Apart

spread out all around her. “What are you studying?” I ask. “For

the shock in my voice and say, “Oh, what are you mastering in?”

She mumbles something and I ask her to repeat herself — twice.

Finally, she says she is studying International Relations, and will

take the exam in the prison’s office — and then after this, she clams up once again. Suddenly I feel like even more of an outsider, a voyeur peeking into the lives of these caged women. Mumbling a vague goodbye I make my way out of the prison.

Reflecting on the preconceived notions I had before visiting

from weekly visits from doctors and basic literacy lessons, activi-

the jail and my new view of the place and its residents, I am re-

muse. The classes at the prison, be it Quran classes, computer

between your thought and your reaction. Let me put it this way

ties like stitching and yoga must be a good way to keep busy, I

lessons, English, Math, yoga or stitching are all voluntary. What each inmate opts for is a personal choice. The bad news is that

not all inmates are as enthusiastic as others, but who am I to judge, I think to myself, as I see a few inmates simply lying on

their beds, staring listlessly at the ceiling fans. The will to simply

minded of what Ayesha said when we met: “Yoga creates a space

— and this is a broad statement to make but — when someone is committing a crime, in that moment their reaction takes con-

trol of them, they don’t have that space to pause and think. Yoga gives them that space and hopefully this is how it will help my yoga students in the prison.”

a

33 JULY 24-30 2011

PROFILE

r

abst act exp ession

Island of the Dead Revisited

34 JULY 24-30 2011

TEXT AND ARTWORK BY SHEHERBANO HUSAIN

“There is tremendous healing power in realising that

your personal difficulties are

a timeless, natural part of the human journey, and that you can change your sense of reality through reinterpreting

the story in which you imagine yourself to be living.�

Jonathan Young

My art has revolved largely

around the self and story-telling has always been one of its

fundamental features; mythol-

Red Desolation

ogy reinforces the idea of a single humanity and can be used to unveil universal truths that

are common to all, providing roadmaps to success in the face of adversity and confusion.

Currently working in a mixed

media language, I paint images

using both personal and archetypal symbols to depict psycho-

logical and emotional states.

Collage

facilitates

flexibility

and immediacy, allowing the

juxtaposition of different influences, ranging from art history and mythology to science

fiction and chaos theory. The

works seek to have a universal appeal that transcends cultural identity and divides.a

35 JULY 24-30 2011

PROFILE

Rescue Dawn

36 Blood of Eden JULY 24-30 2011

Metamorphosis II

The Waves of Love

Morphic Resonance

TRAVEL

In a departure from the typical Thailand vacation, the writer explores the delights this tourist hotspot can offer a visitor who likes to keep things ‘green'

tourism e

BY SAIFUDDIN ISMAILJI

Flooded by travel brochures, each flashing pictures of exotic places, the one word which draws your attention today is “ecotourism.” Its definition has evolved over the years and I have travelled around the world to record its transformation.

During the 1980s, when on survival training in the wilder-

nesses of Pakistan, Nepal and Kenya, conducted by the Adven-

ture Foundation of Pakistan, I defined it as: “Take nothing but

An unspoiled jungle — finally

pictures, leave nothing behind but footprints.”

In the mid-nineties, due to an upsurge in the awareness of the

negative effects of mass tourism on previously sheltered local communities, I added to the definition: “… and ‘adding’ value to the locals as compensation for breaching their privacy and stealing a look into their cultures and lifestyle.”

Now it has been redefined as “visiting natural areas with the

objectives of learning, studying or participating in activities that do not negatively affect the environment; whilst protecting and empowering the local community socially and economically."

Holding true to my current definition, I embarked on my re-

cent journey to the east coast of Thailand, a place thriving on ecotourism. My destination was the Faasai Eco Resort — which would be the base of my eco travels in the serene location of Kung Wiman Peninsula.

Welcoming me upon my arrival was the owner of the resort,

who volunteered to take me on a tour of the resort. We walked through a veritable jungle, the backyard of the resort; a result of the owner’s careful planning.

The place appealed to me so much that after a quick nap I was

38 JULY 24-30 2011

evolution

The stream next to the Eco Resort

back in the forest exploring the abundant variety of fruit trees

and its spice garden, and I also managed to stumble upon a min-

eral water lagoon. Surrounded by the wilderness I could hear the gushing stream which flows with plenty of fish; a fact that also makes it a haven for a large variety of birds. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace — I felt at one with Mother Nature, as clichéd as that may sound.

While surveying the area we also visited a neighbouring or-

chard, where trees were laden with longan (dragon eye fruit),

jack fruit, pineapple and durian. Chanthburi is the renowned

capital of durian, the king of fruits in South East Asia which is also well known for its foul smell, quite like that of gym socks after you have sweated it out, unfortunately.

The resort was filled with eco-friendly surprises on the inside,

too. Instead of taking a dip in a regular chlorinated pool, you shall find yourself wading in a mineral-rich pool of water fed by an underground spring.

The resort also boasts of a leisure forest trail which takes you

over a hill to a secluded beach. On the sublime beach with a rocky shoreline, away from the hustle and bustle I had left far behind, I felt truly blessed.

Overcome by a feeling of fulfillment, a thought crossed my

mind: “Would this place ever be the same if more and more peo-

ple started visiting it and interfering with its unspoiled beauty?”

Awakening me the next morning was the sound of nature —

the chirping of birds and the pitter-patter of a drizzle. I hit the

road once again sustained by a wholesome meal of cereal and coconut juice. We drove a few kilometres from the Resort to Hua

41 JULY 17-23 2011

Laem Fishing Village, located at the foothills of the Cardamom

Mountains, to observe the local fishing community. This was an opportunity to experience a simple lifestyle where people sustain themselves from the natural offerings of the sea.

Confirming my worst fears, I was informed that owing to the

increasing number of visitors the fishermen had started supplementing their insufficient income by offering tourists accommo-

dation at their homes. Some of the locals had also attempted to improve their sanitary facilities to cater to the tourists — a death-

blow to the rural lifestyle. Disturbed by this trend that altered the natural order of things, I turned and distracted myself with the beautiful view of the nearby White Water Lake.

For my third and final day at the resort, on a quest to extract

the ultimate from my eco-travel experience, I travelled deeper into the forest. I start my expedition by driving for an hour and

a half to the Khao Chamao National Park. The museum at the entrance has an interesting display of forest ecology and wildlife

within the park area — a great way of getting acquainted with the wildlife within the park.

Fishing the eco-friendly way

The Park is divided by its two primary features; the main to-

pography which includes the Khao Chamao forests and the Yad Khao Pan Tee, standing at a daunting height of 1024 metres. The

fertile, moist, evergreen forest features many natural attractions; a large variety of trees, natives of the area, waterfalls and

caves. The area along the Prasae River is a sanctuary for wildlife,

home to all sorts of mammals, amphibians and reptiles. If you’re lucky, you can catch glimpses of elephants, crown gibbons, sea cows, barking deer and a wide variety of bird species.

This is the true feel of eco-tourism, the passion for which

A thought crossed my mind: “Would this place ever be the same if more and more people started visiting it and interfering with its unspoiled beauty?”

brought me to this place. It is an opportunity to be in sync with

nature; to admire its beauty without tainting it; to appreciate its offerings without spoiling it and to cater to the survival of its inhabitants without contaminating it.

Today, however, this new buzzword has attracted many people;

some wanting to contribute to ‘green’ travel and some wanting to make a quick buck off it. To ensure that you are in for a good

eco-travel experience always be sure to distinguish ‘green’ tourist traps from the genuinely eco-friendly ones. Thankfully, there

are still some people out there who are genuinely concerned for the future of healthy tourism, tourism that depends on sustainability and preservation.a

40 JULY 24-30 2011

ADVICE

mr know it all From relationship blues to money woes, Mr Know It All has the answers!

Q. Dear Mr Know It All

My husband knows nothing about computers. Despite this,

he claims he knows it all. The last time I had an issue with my

laptop, he insisted on messing around with it, and I lost half my files. This time, I’m having another problem with my laptop, and

I know as soon as I mention it he’ll demand that he fix it. I don’t

cavewoman whose husband went on to make the wheel when he was actually just trying to fix her food processor!

Q. Dear Mr Know It All

We’re a group of three happily married girlfriends who like to

want to say no because he gets terribly offended when I suggest

get together and dine out once a week to just keep in touch, relax

his Mr-Fix-A-Lot fixation without hurting his feelings?

have the time to do otherwise. My problem is this: both my

that he isn’t the reincarnation of Steve Jobs. How can I rid him of Clueless

A. First of all, please take the thing you said about Steve Jobs

back. The guy may be a genius, but he’s a bigger douche bag (I’m not the only one who thinks so … there’s a Facebook group dedi-

cated to his douche-baggery!) and comparing your husband—the

man who loves you enough want to fix your things for you—to him is just plain wrong and might even require a bit of repentance! Now, coming back to the point in conversation, you have

to remember that almost every man is guilty of a little misunder-

and catch up on each other’s lives, something we would never

friends subconsciously pick food off my plate when we’re eating

and it drives me absolutely crazy! I think it’s very rude, especially when they order salads and then eat half my food too. How can I tell them to lay off without sounding condescending?

Territorial

A. Let me reemphasise one of life’s most important rules: thou

shalt not, nor let others, creep around your neighbour’s plate for it is rude, unhygienic and unforgivably primitive!

You should tell your friends you’re suffering from some sort of

stood crime called ‘trying to impress women.’ When we’re dat-

a severe ailment that’s transferable through the specks of saliva

things for you. It may sound silly, but it’s our small way of show-

sadistic reason it doesn’t, however, than I’m afraid you’ll have to

ing, we tend to overspend; when we’re married, we offer to fix

ing you we’ll protect you and make things alright … since you don’t appreciate that, may I suggest something as erratic as NOT

going to your husband with every little problem you have? Surely a 21st century strong, independent woman like yourself knows the directions to the repair shop?

Remember though, you may succeed in taking the man out of

44

house to feed your man’s appetite for fixing them … just like the

the DIY, but you can never take the DIY out of the man. So have a

heart, be a good wife, and keep finding broken things around the JULY 24-30 2011

in your food. That should keep them forks away … If for some get over your fear of sounding snobby and lay the issue on them!

I happen to know a lot of people who suffer from the wild fork

disorder, but all my close friends now know better than to dig into my plate because I’ve told them I might love them enough

to drive them to the hospital after beating them up for touching

my plate, for instance, but I’m still not crazy about tasting their

saliva. It’s as simple as that! Besides, you never know when you might have to dine with the Queen. You gotta prepare!

Q. Dear Mr Know It All

I ran away with my guy at the beginning of this month. I came

back to my folks within 10 days because I was feeling guilty about

what I’d done. My parents consider my guy and his family really bad because he lives in Kashmir. He even sent a proposal for me

literally shredded to pieces all the respect your parents might

have had for you. Salvaging that confidence will be hard work,

but like I always say, there’s nothing in the world that can’t be done if there’s a clear mind and an open discussion involved!

First of all you’ll have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. To have

after this incident. My dad told me that it was all up to me, that it

loved someone so passionately and then having to watch that

will totally cut me off from my family after I marry him. If I say no,

most excruciating of physical pains, emotional pain fades out

was my decision. But the problem is that if I say yes to him, my dad my life will be empty internally. So I just stayed quiet. My sisters have seen him and consider him a loving and caring guy but they can’t help me out. I am confused. Don’t know what to do…

On the fence

very love slip out of your hands must feel awful, but just like the with time. Remember that. Along with the fact that this is not

going to kill you or make your life empty. That’s just the depres-

sion talking, which you yourself will have to overcome if you want to stir this tragedy into the right direction.

Have you considered asking your parents what it is about being

A. I’m trying really hard to see what I would have done in a

a Kashmiri that is so “bad” to begin with? Does he have a training-

away from home is a stupid, stupid thing to do and it isn’t even

er job? Or is there a khala ka beta in the picture somewhere who

situation like this, but I can’t. You know why? Because running

remotely romantic in the real world which, believe it or not,

doesn’t bear any similarities whatsoever to what you and I grew up watching in Indian movies in the 90s.

You’re lucky your parents have taken you back in despite their

stubbornness, and believe me you couldn’t thank them enough

for doing so. Call it holier-than-thouism if you must, but our society is light-years away from fully letting kids make their own

day-to-day decisions, let alone elope and then expect a warm round of heartfelt blessings from the family.

By running away instead of facing the challenge, you’ve both

camp inspired beard that they don’t like? Does he not have a propthey’ve taken a fancy to instead? What are they so worried about?

Involve your sisters in the picture and make them sing songs (not

literally, obviously) about the guy’s loving and caring nature. Sib-

lings don’t get to sit and enjoy the drama without playing a part in these sticky situations … What I’m saying is, if this guy’s really

that important to you, I think it’s time for you to get over your qualms about losing the family and have a serious three-way discussion with your parents. Talk, talk and talk. Answer these and

a hundred other questions that they might have before expecting them to open up to the possibility of letting you two be.

Got a problem you just can’t solve? Mail us at magazine@tribune.com.pk and let

ILLUSTRATION: JAMAL KHURSHID

our very own whiz take a crack at it!

45 JULY 24-30 2011

REVIEW

featured review of the week

film ready, steady, go

BY ALI SYED

After having seen Wanted and Dabangg, I had certain expectations from Salman Khan’s latest movie Ready that did not exactly get fulfilled. However, to say that Ready was not thoroughly entertaining would be unfair.

Directed by Anees Bazmee, who has in the past made blockbuster comedies like No Entry, Ready stars Salman Khan and Asin Thottumkal (from Ghajini) along with a long list of the best comedic actors Bollywood can boast of at the moment, led by the amazing Paresh Rawal.

Without giving away too much, Ready is about Prem (Khan) and Sanjana (Asin), whose paths cross each other when the latter, while running away from her uncle, pretends to be someone she is not. Somehow, as it usually happens in the typical Bollywood movie, the boy and the girl fall in love with each other. However, Sanjana, who turns out to be the niece of two warring gangsters, ends up needing Prem to rescue her from them. The movie then revolves around Prem’s attempts to persuade every other character on screen to help him teach the uncles a lesson.

As mentioned earlier, the cast in Ready may not be star-studded, but it sure is brimming with talent.

Sanjana’s uncles are played by Sharat Saxena, who has been playing villainous and comic roles since I was barely out of diapers and Akhilendra Mishra, an excellent actor who has never failed to entertain. Meanwhile, Mahesh Manjrekar, Manoj Pahjwa and Manoj Joshi have been cast as Prem’s father and two uncles, respectively.

You may not know them by their names, but their on-screen presence is certainly something to look forward to.

A separate mention must be made for Paresh Rawal, who is not unknown to anyone who knows anything about Bollywood.

However, what did disappoint slightly was the choice of the lead female. Asin, though she certainly is good to look at, especially on the big screen, does a mediocre job. She doesn’t dazzle you, and 48 doesn’t have that wit or charm, or dare I say — that X factor that JULY 24-30 2011

just a girl Asin doesn’t dazzle you, and doesn’t have that wit or charm, or dare I say — that X factor that is expected from a protagonist

Ready is full of slapstick humour and violence without bloodshed, which makes it sort of a family movie (apart from the subtle perversion in some jokes)

DUO Top five onscreen couples featuring Salman Khan 1. Salman and Madhuri Dixit in Hum Aapke Hain Kaun and Saajan 2. Salman and Karishma Kapoor in Andaz Apna Apna and Biwi Number One 3. Salman and Aishwarya Rai in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam 4. Salman and Lara Dutta in Partner 5. Salman and Katrina Kai in Yuvvraaj

is expected from a protagonist. No other female character in the movie has much of a role, so Asin didn’t even have any competition and could really have used this movie as her launching pad. Sadly, she does her career a huge disservice by mincing her way through the movie ineffectively.

The film has some very catchy and memorable songs out of which “Dhinka Chika” has become the most danced at song at mehndis in Pakistan.

Ready is full of slapstick humour and violence without bloodshed, which makes it sort of a family movie (apart from the subtle perversion in some jokes). While I wouldn’t place it at the same level as Dabangg, you’re in for a reasonably good time if you watch Ready.

Just don’t get your hopes up too high.

49 JULY 24-30 2011

REVIEW

film `

just one chance

BY SAMI SAAYER

Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (ZNMD) — It could have been one of the all-time greats… but it ends up being just another good film.

I might sound a bit harsh but the director, Zoya Akhtar, commits a grave sin by becoming too long-winded, and to make matters worse, she unforgivably underestimates the intelligence of her audience.

Drawing parallels with Dil Chahta Hai is inevitable but unfair.

The only thing the movies have in common is that they both deal with the relationship between three man-friends. I would personally consider it more in line with The Bucket List, where the main characters aim to break out of their ruts by doing things they have never done before, but even that movie contains a different message altogether.

Besides inadvertently acting as an advertisement for tourism in Spain, ZNMD is a story of three lifelong friends going on a once-ina-lifetime trip. It starts out as a bachelor party but ends up being a revelation of sorts — the three friends do things which make them look at the world with a whole new perspective and inspires them to change the course of their lives.

Although educated humour, good acting, witty dialogue, amazing locations and cinematography work in favour of the film, the drawn-out character building extracts all the fun from ZNMD. I mean, Hrithik’s character is over ambitious; this is clear from the introductory scene and really doesn’t need reinforcement. Unfortunately, constant reinforcement is all we get.

Running close to three hours, it’s a long film, and clearly shouts out for some sharp editing. I mean, the song where Hrithik treats us to weird orgasmic expressions after being kissed is neverending.

Speaking of Hrithik: I found his performance disappointing. The brilliant actor that he is, I expected a lot more from him. Although he made an attempt to do justice to his challenging role, he wasn’t 50 very convincing.

JULY 24-30 2011

spanish flavour in bollywood Besides inadvertently acting as an advertisement for tourism in Spain, ZNMD is a story of three lifelong friends going on a once-in-a-lifetime trip.

Farhan Akhtar does a good job in a performance marked with excellent comic timing and fluency. He also got a chance to recite some of his father’s brilliant poems, but lost eloquence there. Abhay Deol is the best among the three –he pulled off his big role in style. Naseer was awesome in his cameo — a lesson for Hrithik.

Katrina Kaif, as usual, wastes some of the most inspiring lines of the film with horrible dialogue delivery. She has been in the industry long enough; we can no longer buy the excuse “Hindi is not my thing.” The Hrithik-Katrina pairing is also fails to generate any chemistry on screen — a task better left to Akshay Kumar.

A film like this, perhaps with less talented people, would have been one to watch. When talents like Hrithik, Farhan, Abhay and Zoya are involved, one would expect another Dil Chahta Hai, but ZNMD never even came close to it. Will ZNMD be an earner? Probably yes… Will it be an all-time classic? No.

book blood and fire

BY ZARRAR KHUHRO

I’ve been obsessed with Genghis Khan ever since I found myself watching Aakhri Chatan on PTV as a child. Based on Nasim Hijazi’s novel of the same name, this series traced the depredations of the Mongols in Central Asia, which eventually resulted in the utter destruction of the Khwarezm Shahs and the virtual depopulation of what was one of the most vibrant centres of the Muslim world.

Since then, I’ve snapped up just about anything and everything on the Mongol empire, from John Wayne’s the Conquerer (not recommended) to the more recent Mongol (too inaccurate). So when I came across Conn Iggulden’s Wolf of the Plains, I picked it up immediately.

Igulden is known for his historical fiction, notably the Emperor series on Julius Caesar, which I wasn’t a big fan of. So it was with some trepidation that I started to read his latest saga. I wasn’t disappointed. Starting with Wolf of the Plains and ending (so far) with Empire of Silver, the series follows Temujin from his beginnings as a refugee on the endless plains of Mongolia to the man whose word and warriors brought death and destruction countless nations and whose legacy still lives today.

The word Mughal after all is a corruption of Mongol and the surname Chughtai is probably also derived from Genghis’s son Chagatai Khan. Here ends the history lesson. Back to the books.

From the first page we are transported to another world: the bitter sea of grass that shaped a nation of warriors who shook the world. The harsh winters, the struggle for survival and the impact such a brutal environment has on those who live there is brilliantly depicted. To a tribesman death is closer than his own shadow and weakness, or what we would call humanity, simply cannot exist in such a land.

In writing a book like this, it is easy to succumb to the sweep of history and gloss over the acts of individuals. In the hands of a novice, the events take precedence over the people who caused them and historical characters become mere ciphers — their personali-

historical fact While he excels at depicting Mongol society and its eventual transformation from scattered tribes to a nation, Iggulden tends to lose momentum when the hordes cross over into Central Asia. ties lost in the giant tapestry. Luckily, Iggulden is no novice and under his expert treatment, even bit characters are sketched out fully, and we can identify with their situations, feel for their failures and very often, wonder at their casual brutality.

While he excels at depicting Mongol society and its eventual transformation from scattered tribes to a nation, he tends to lose momentum when the hordes cross over into Central Asia. Historical errors and omissions do tend to creep in especially when he depicts the society of the Khwarezm Shahs, especially when he misspells Jalal-ud-Din and Jelaudin — an anglicisation that completely changes the meaning of the name. Iggulden has been previously criticised for playing fast and loose with historical fact, something that is unavoidable in historical fiction, but at least in this series he adds notes explaining the liberties he took and the omissions he is guilty of. Still, I would have liked the more brutal legends of the Great Khan’s burial given at least a short nod. All in all despite its foibles (which are few and far between) the Conquerer series is a roaring good read. a 51 JULY 24-30 2011

THE HATER

10 things I hate about ...being an intern

1 2 3 4 5

Work simulation. Pretending to look busy is just as

strenuous as actually working — in fact it requires

much more creativity and dedication, like switching between the “make-believe-research” and the “actualresearch” tabs on your browser in time. This actually takes time and effort to perfect, folks.

Perpetual guilt. Since you are an internee you can’t be Youtubing or Facebooking with as much liberty as oth-

er employees, and make sure never to laugh out loud regardless of how hilarious today’s “Cyanide and Happiness” is.

Great expectations. So what if it’s just the first half of

your first day? How do you not know where the IT desk is? *bewildered look*

BY FATIMA RIZWAN

6 7 8 9 10

“This wasn’t in the job description” you will hear yourself wondering time and time again. Well, too bad kid-

do. When you enter the workplace looking that eager and that perky, there will be consequences.

Vague boundaries. Since you will be working here for six weeks — two months tops — you will occasionally

feel the I-can-say-anything-euphoria. You will then

follow your instincts and tell your supervisor how much blue suits her, in response she will give you an awkward why-are-you-talking-to-me-look.

No remuneration. Like most interns, you probably

aren’t being paid more than a few thousand bucks. So you’ll understand how frustrating it is to pretend to be enthusiastic about a project, babbling on about how it

will add to your CV… when all you care about is spending the rest of your summer in bed or catching up on “How I Met Your Mother”.

Leftovers. The work given to you will mainly be heaps of labour that no one wants to indulge in.

The humiliation. As an intern, you really have no

status in an organisation. So you aim to fly below

the radar, but you know that whenever some “real employee” walks past the desk and sees your unfamiliar face, he’ll inevitably ask your superior,

“Who’s that?” To which they’ll give that ego-crushing reply: “Just the intern.”

Homelessness. There will be no work station that is

“actually” yours. The moment Mister-Just-Married returns from his honeymoon, you will be sent back to the PC which only works in MS-DOS mode.

Being the outsider. Since you aren’t exactly part of the ‘corporation’, the ‘official’ details will be withheld from you. For instance:

“Can you start on that project where you compare

everyone’s performance with their respective salaries?”

“Sure, where do I get to the payroll database from?”

“Just assume random numbers for now.”

54

“Uhh...”

JULY 24-30 2011

a