The Express Tribune Magazine - June 23

JUNE 23-29 2013

Who can resist a woman in a sari?

But for the Parsis, the gara is more than a symbol of femininity — it is a historical identity with centuries-old roots in China

JUNE 23-29 2013

Feature

A Gem of a Story Hidden in a mountain outside Peshawar is a rare earth mineral that can make men millionaires

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Feature

Extra Ordinary Hundreds of extras in TV crime show re-enactments make up the underbelly of the industry

34 Feature

Blanket statement

Cover Story

Lady Gara For the Parsis, the gara is a historical identity with centuries-old roots in China

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Kasur’s traditional khais artisans have been working to come in from the cold

38 Regulars

6 People & Parties: Out and about with the beautiful people

40 Review: Star Trek: Into

Darkness and irrelevance

42 Health: Don’t fear the smear

Magazine Editor: Mahim Maher and Sub-Editors: Ameer Hamza, Dilaira Mondegarian, Zainab Gardezi and Mifrah Haq. Creative Team: Amna Iqbal, Jamal Khurshid, Anam Haleem, Essa Malik, Maha Haider, Faizan Dawood, Samra Aamir and Asif Ali. Publisher: Bilal A Lakhani. Executive Editor: Muhammad Ziauddin. Editor: Kamal Siddiqi.

For feedback and submissions: magazine@tribune.com.pk Twitter: @ETribuneMag & Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ETribuneMag Printer: uniprint@unigraph.com

PEOPLE & PARTIES

achi r a K s to e m o 3c 1 0 2 awn l i r a Hira L

Naheed

PHOTOS COURTESY TAKE II

Saima, Falak, Sehrish and Abeer

Amna, Marvi and Mahi

Maria

Easha and Shiza

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Samia JUNE 23-29 2013

Nazia and Sania

Saira, Hira, Ramia and Sidra

JUNE 23-29 2013

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Marium, Saira, Shehla and a friend

Urooj and Shumaila

Adeel and Sarwat

Uzma Al-Karim and Jia

Mr and Mrs Shoaib

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Shamira JUNE 23-29 2013

Flo and Sikander

Seema and Nazia

Sofia Naveed Lari

PHOTOS COURTESY TAKE II

Umair, Eeman and Qamar

JUNE 23-29 2013

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Fatburger comes to Lahore

PHOTOS COURTESY PINHOLE STUDIO

Amber and Hina

Areeba, Aiza, Fatima and Shahleeza

Tooba and Mariam

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Amna JUNE 23-29 2013

Fariha and Zofeen

Debi and Doreen Bailey

Maida

JUNE 23-29 2013

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Ayesha and Sabeen

Sarah

PHOTOS COURTESY PINHOLE STUDIO

Ayan, Saad and Zainab

Laiba, Ena, Sarah and Darood

Zara and Rohma

12 JUNE 23-29 2013

Samreen and Attiqa

Neha and Fatima

JUNE 23-29 2013

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Geeti, Xille and Zara

Fahad, Amina and Samra

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Annie Jaffry JUNE 23-29 2013

Harris and Sarah

Cybil and Jawad

PHOTOS COURTESY VERVE

Mountain Dew hosts the premiere of Fast & Furious 6 in Islamabad and Karachi

Asim, Sarah and Hira

Qurat, Ahmer and Madiha

JUNE 23-29 2013

PEOPLE & PARTIES

Iraj and Moiz

PHOTOS COURTESY VERVE

Sadaf, Madiha and Zahra

Tashia and Yasir

Zaeina Haider

Mr & Mrs Malik Riaz

Shammal and Juju

16 JUNE 23-29 2013

Adnan Pardesi and Ayesha Omar

Meera Ansari and Ayaz Anis

JUNE 23-29 2013

PEOPLE & PARTIES Ali Xeeshan exhibits his collection, Jalsa-e-Ishqat, in Lahore

Ali Xeeshan, Nooray, Fahad Hussayn and Maida

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Maram and Aabroo JUNE 23-29 2013

Natasha with a friend

Guests at the event

Nazneen Anwaar and Saira Omar

PHOTOS COURTESY CATALYST PR & MARKETING

Junaid, Sarah and SNH

JUNE 23-29 2013

JUNE 23-29 2013

JUNE 23-29 2013

JUNE 23-29 2013

JUNE 23-29 2013

COVERSTORY

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In their silk threads, the Parsi gara saris ris ft trace a story of commerce, culture and craft he from the times of the British Raj in the nt Subcontinent

BY DILAIRA MONDEGARIAN IAN

arsi girls become women the day they wear a sari. The sari perawanu or sari-wearing ceremony is a rite of passage. At the centre of the celebration are five married women who help the girl wear a gara or sari for the first time. They tie a small knot of rice, a symbol of fertility, into the corner of the pallu before sprinkling it with rose water. If tradition is identity, then what you wear is one of its clearest markers.

“The most distinctive item of Parsi women’s clothing from the third quarter of the nineteenth century was undoubtedly the gara,” write Shilpa Shah and Tulsi Vatsal in the introductory chapter of the book Peonies & Pagodas: Embroidered Parsi Textiles from the Tapi Collection (2010). The book traces the origins of the gara — imported from China into India by Parsis between 1830 and 1865 — and its reinvention in modern times. The history comes to life with oral accounts of how different Parsi families came to acquire garas. So for example, novelist Bapsi Sidhwa inherited three garas from her mother which she passed on to two of her daughters. “One of them is most unusual — it has coloured birds and flowers all over the purple sari and looks stunning,” she told the authors.

The gara’s history is shrouded in mystery but it is generally believed to date to the Zoroastrian migration from Iran to India during the British rule in the Subcontinent. In the mid-1800s, Parsi merchants began trading in China. In his book, Indians in China (2005), Madhavi Thampi mentions how they were called baitouren or ‘whiteheads’ in the Chinese port of Canton because of their distinctive headgear. As the numbers of Parsi settlers in Canton grew, many of them were hired as middlemen by the East India Company.

Along with sending raw cotton to China, the Parsi traders of India also acted as a bridge for the silk brocades and embroidery from Chinese pherias or craftsmen, according to KE Eduljee of the Zoroastrian Heritage website. This aesthetic made its way on to the sari. One can only assume that the Chinese technique was copied in places such as Surat in India where there was a steady flow of Parsis from China.

“Chinese-style embroidery was also used on other items of clothing such as jhablas (tunics) and ijars (pyjamas),” according to Peonies & Pagodas. Although initially worn by upper-class Parsi women, “over time these embroidered garments spread to other layers of Parsi society”.

This is how symbols of pagodas and pavilions and Chinamen came to form the resplendent borders of the garas. Eighty-two-year-old Nina Russi Wania, who lives in Karachi, inherited a Chinese-embroidered gara from her mother. “Earlier on, they were especially made for members of the family in India,” she told The Express Tribune, adding that the style was to wear them with white blouses.

As expected, the Indian craftsmen who copied the Chinese embroidery began to insert their own particular visual vocabulary. Demand for their work went up as local products were cheaper and it took too long for the orders to come in from China.

Since then India has come to be known as the epicentre for the Parsi gara. “[Gara embroidery] is very popular, mainly in cities like Mumbai, Delhi and Hyderabad,” Rayomand Maneckshaw of Revival Sarees told The Express Tribune over email from Mumbai. His company produces hand-embroidered saris with work so fine that it is almost impossible to distinguish the front from the back. Alongg with Maneckshaw,, p g

26 26 JJUNE JU UN UNE UN NE 23 2 2323-29 33 2 29 92 2013 013 01 0 113 3

The gara’s history is shrouded in mystery but it is generally believed to date to the Zoroastrian migration from Iran to India during the British rule in the Subcontinent

W

ear it Parsi style: If you buy a traditional gara, it’s best to wear it in the Parsi style to flaunt the embroidery in all its glory. Instead of bringing the end (the pallu) from behind and draping it over your blouse and torso, to hang in loose folds behind your left shoulder, bring it over the right shoulder and secure the folds to let it splay in the front. This way the front corner of the pallu will fall close to the hem

2277 JUNE 23-29 2013 013 3

other designers such as Kersi Dubash of Nazakat Collections and Dinaz Phiroze Bhada, who custom designs garas, have also made a name in Parsi circles.

Although garas may have originated in India, they have travelled far and wide. Dr Don Johnson, a specialist on South Asian textiles, exhibited his collection, “Beyond Peacocks and Paisleys: Handcrafted Textiles of India and its Neighbours,” at the Goldstein Museum of Design, University of Minnesota, in 2011. Famous Mumbai researcher and teacher, the late Mani Kamerkar, played a major role in influencing his interest in Parsi textiles. “When Eleanor Zelliot, a retired professor of Indian history at Carleton College, was going to India, among other things, to see Mani, I asked her if she could ask Mani if it was possible to get some samples of Parsi embroidery,” Dr Johnson told The Express Tribune over email. He had met Mani during her visit to the Twin Cities several years earlier and she had been “highly impressed with the various South Asian things in [his] apartment.” Mani actually “hacked” off five pieces of gara embroidery from some of her old saris which Dr Johnson added to the display of his exhibition.

Given how sought-after Indian garas are, business has been good for Indian designer Kersi Dubash who has been visiting Pakistan since 1996 to display his collections in cities such as Karachi, Lahore, Peshawar and Islamabad. When the news of his arrival breaks in the Parsi community of Karachi, women prepare to splurge on what they consider to be the best choice for any formal event.

For the December 2012 centenary celebrations of the Banu Mandal in Karachi, an association formed to help the poor, almost every Parsi woman was seen elegantly draped in her jewel-toned gara. Among them was Nina Russi Wania who wore the badam (almond) patterned, 100-year-old gara that was presented to her

by Gulbai Nusserwanji Mehta, founder of the Karachi Zarthosti Banu Mandal. The heirloom was passed on to her after the demise of Mehta’s daughter.

With the passage of time, the Chinese-inspired gara technique has undergone major transformation. KE Eduljee mentions the karolia gara with its spidery flowers, the pink and yellow polka dotted Kanda-papeta (onions and potatoes) gara and the chaklachakli gara, with the juxtaposed birds are some of the more popular designs today. And while traditional garas came in shades of magenta, royal blue, turquoise and red, trendy Parsis today prefer bold, black garas with matching coloured blouses.

Unlike original Parsi saris that were made on resham (silk), “embroidery is done today on crepe or preferably on georgette, using either satin stitch or French knots with silk threads,” explains

Eighty-two-year-old Nina Russi Wania inherited a 100-year-old gara PHOTO: ESSA MALIK/EXPRESS

Centenary celebrations of the Karachi Zarthosti Banu Mandal

cccessorise: Refrain from wearing jewellery that will draw attention away from the gara. A string of pearls compli to compliment the white embro embroidery, will more than suffice.

As the ‘old’ style of As d draping the pallu over tthe head exposed only the left ear, Parsis back tthen wore a single ‘chandelier’ earring

Rayomand Maneckshaw. Dinaz Bhada adds that georgette is preferred today as the fabric is lighter and easier to carry. A classic gara is so heavy that it is a challenge to walk in it.

However, when it comes to motifs, much hasn’t changed. Birds continue to feature prominently, especially roosters. “They frequently appear in most of our designs as they are considered a symbol of light and help ward off evil,” says Bhada. Other birds include cranes, considered birds of paradise, sparrows and swallows. Roses, jasmine and chrysanthemums are also intricately woven, usually 30 of them to represent the 30 angels for each day of the month, according to the Zoroastrian Heritage site.

“The trend has veered towards textiles with ‘value-added’ surface ornamentation, particularly those worked on with embroidery,” writes Shipla Shah in the concluding chapter of Peonies & Pagodas, explaining how the gara has turned into a “new fashion classic must-have.” Tracing the revival of the gara in India, she highlights the contribution made by the Ratan Tata Industrial Institute in Mumbai that provides services to repair and restore old saris. Furthermore, she credits Rayomand Maneckshaw’s work and that of Farzeen Daver-Boomla, daughter of the widely credited 1960s gara revivalist Naju Davar, who has expanded her business outside the community in Mumbai.

“You don’t have to be a Parsi to wear a gara,” says Bhada. The machine-stitched garas can range between Rs24,000 to Rs40,000 and can take up to 20 days to make. The hand-stitched ones come with a higher price tag. “A fully embroidered hand-stitched sari could cost more than Rs100,000, while crudely made copies can be made for a fraction of that price,” says Maneckshaw. Some heirlooms in Mumbai are worth up to Rs300,000 — a small price to pay for a timeless piece of art.

“Gara embroidery is an important part of our tradition and extends to our respect for embroidery from other cultures,” says textile revival expert Professor Shehnaz Ismail, the dean of design at the Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture in Karachi. She asserts that people still continue to make a living from this craft because of its profitable nature, although many are now engaging in replicating the designs via machine and computerised embroidery as it helps bring down the prices. “Gara embroidery is a sheer joy to look at and it is most certainly going to survive but shall likely cater to a very small niche.” A 29 JUNE 23-29 2013

FEATURE

A Gem f a To a visitor, Zagai Ghar may look fairly ordinary, a hillock like any other in Fata. But to the villagers, it is a gem of a mountain, brimming with riches in the shape of gemstone and rare earth deposits.

I came across Zagai Ghar in 2008, while on my way back from Mulagori in Khyber Agency, famous for its marble processing plants. My host had warned me about the Taliban base near the mountain but despite the threat to non-locals, I was keen to visit.

It was only this May that I managed to make it there. As I stood at the foot of the mountain, wondering if I had the stamina for the climb, I succeeded in befriending two locals, Fazal Malik and Yarzada, who agreed to accompany me. We started our ascent at noon and didn’t pause till we had crossed the 100-metre mark. Halfway through my energy drink and the climb, I realised that curiosity wasn’t enough fuel for mountaineering.

The mountain has turned mining into a money-minting profession. Rumour has it that discoveries of the reddish brown beroj, known as ‘Bastnasite’ in the international market, have turned men into millionaires overnight. Two years ago, a teenage boy told me that a villager had found a jewel which, even when it broke into two, sold for hundreds of thousands of rupees, enough for him to buy a brand new Toyota pickup. The legend seemed almost too good to be true.

The presence of two ancient wells near the crest signalled that perhaps in the days before the arrival of the Khalil, Mohmand and Daudzai tribes in Peshawar during the Mughal era, locals may have been aware of the riches hidden in the mountain. We also found several small trenches dug by miners in search of the stones. But I wanted to see a real mine that I was told was only at the peak.

Mining apparently started here in earnest in 2007 courtesy an Afghan called Hazrat Mian who still lives in the area. He was an experienced miner and had worked extensively in Afghanistan. His presence drew the suspicion of the local landlords who owned the hillock. And one day he was caught digging near the crest. After that, another villager found a good-sized stone which sold for several hundred thousand rupees, forcing the owners to open up. One stone was bought for Rs1.4 million by a foreigner.

“Mining here is a game of luck and patience so I abandoned it,” says Yar-

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Mining is said to have started in 2007 with an Afghan who was caught digging here.

Stones worth Rs1.4m have sold on the international market JUNE 23-29 2013

Hidden in a mountain outside Peshawar is a rare earth mineral that can make men millionaires

BY RIAZ AHMED

a Story

Zagai Ghar’s red Bastnasite A gem-cutter working with a stone on the faceting machine The rugged terrain of Zagai Ghar poses quite a challenge for any inexperienced climber

zada. According to him, if four miners found a stone worth Rs200,000 after searching for six months, it broke down to earning a little over Rs8,000 a month if they split it. This hardly made it worth it. “We are poor so our families cannot wait for six months. Only those who have that kind of time and money can wait.”

Sitting under the shade of a tree at the bottom of the mountain three hours later, I began to understand how this stone had changed lives in a place where only the drug trade could make you a millionaire overnight.

According to Shafiullah, a dealer in the main Namak Mandi gem market, Bastnasite can fetch thousands of dollars in the international market. “The rare mineral mined in Zagai is not for jewellery. It is used in decorative pieces, mainly bought by nature museums or collectors around the world.”

The lack of proper mining techniques and the use of dynamite have posed a major problem for the dealers. Almost 90 per cent of the stones are lost during extraction and the ones retrieved are irregularly shaped, reducing their market value. And something tells me that the mining for Bastnasite in Zagai is far from becoming a business that the government will patronise any 33 time soon. T JUNE 23-29 2013

FEATURE Someone yells for the kidnappers to come up. A scrawny gawker is pushed aside.

Arooj starts walking through the field of elephant grass in her limp lawn suit and black leggings.

Three men leap out. One of them grabs her and yanks her hair. Another hoists her up. A donkey cart trundles by with a farmer and his wife who curiously look at the scene unfolding. Someone snickers that maybe that should be the getaway car.

The team of about ten people has been standing in the heat in Bagh-e-Korangi since 2pm, shooting the re-enactment of a kidnapping scene for one of the major channels. The mock kidnapping will add flavour to one of its crime shows. None of the actors are really paid. They’re just doing it because they want to be on TV. Two-minute re-enactments of crime scenes were adopted as a technique by Pakistani news channels about four years ago. The format was so popular that the ratings went through the roof. Programme after programme started shooting them and with it created demand for these actors, who are considered worse than C-class talent as a senior cameraman with a television channel put it. He should

For hundreds of extras in crime show re-enactments the craze to come on TV means forming the underbelly of the industry

BY MARIA JAFRY PHOTOS BY MOHAMMAD KASHIF (KT)

know, he’s shot many of these scenes and is the unofficial director of photography at the channel.

“They come from everywhere: far-flung areas of Karachi such as Malir, Landhi etc. Basically they are college-going students, government employees or unemployed people,” explains Abdul Karim Yousuf, who is a producer with Azaad film production. “They don’t have any ego issues so that is positive. But sometimes it is difficult to explain scenes to them as they are not trained.”

These actors barely have any formal education. They are “mun kholay bhand types” (open your mouth and make a mess) as the cameraman describes them — actors who are not even required to deliver dialogue, but fill in as the crowd for a washing powder ad or put bums on seats for a morning show audience.

According to one estimate there are about 250 to 300 actors of this ilk in Karachi. They pay about Rs3,000 to register with an ‘agent’ who is little more than a sleazy middleman in an apartment. There are four major talent coordinators or agents in Karachi. In return the agent liaises with the television channels and sends carloads of the extras for the shoots that need bodies. The television channels give the agent one cheque and it is up to him to pay back his actors. This does not often happen, especially with the newbies. For example, actor Ali’s talent coordinator once faked his signature and took his cheque.

The women get a particularly rough deal. They are expected to ‘audition’ in backrooms and there is no protection on the sets. The women, young and old, enter a world where there is no such thing as saying ‘no’. Most of the women just put this abuse down to the price they have to pay. There are only rarely cases like Maya* (not her real name) who quit. “I reached out to a coordinator through an advertisement in a newspaper. The guy was really dishonest and after all the work I did he kept the money,” she says, adding euphemistically: “I was not comfortable with the environment and the demands as well.”

The men in the industry have an exceptionally poor opinion of the women. “Ye larkian chowrangi kaat ke ai hain,” says the senior cameraman (they’ve taken a short-cut).

He insists that the girls and young women are happy to do anything it takes to get on TV. “Anything!” he stresses. He insists, though, that he has never taken advantage of anyone because of one clear deterrent: his reputation. “Plus my boss would bury me alive if he ever heard that I had done anything,” he explains. “And then, if one of these extras ever got famous and complained of sexual harassment…”

But the reality is that these actors seldom become famous. At the most, if a young woman is exceptionally good-looking, she may go on to do a few advertisements. But unless you land a big-ticket act, these jobs don’t pay. “Different

FEATURE

channels pay different amounts,” says actor Ali. “[…] pays the lowest as I only got Rs500. However, [… ] is good with the money and they usually pay up to Rs3,000.”

The one success story that is cited is of Ali Zafar who started his career with a role in a commercial and went on to do music videos.

Given his talent though, he was said to be paid Rs20,000 for his first appearance.

But money never really is the motivation for these actors. They are obsessed with coming on television and are willing to go to any lengths to make it happen.

Dilkash, for example, moved from Hyderabad to Karachi, leaving behind her two children and husband when she was picked for one television drama serial. “I was living alone in Karachi for around five to six months till my husband was transferred,” she says. “This was the most difficult time for me and made me want to give up. But my passion for acting gave me the strength.”

The actors are even, in many cases, expected to bring their own costumes. Khurram Abbas found he was always cast as the policeman. “It used to be a lot of trouble every morning to borrow a police uniform and as I was always landing such roles I finally went and had my own stitched,” he says. “So now I own a personal wardi!”

The reward, explains actor Ahmed Faraz, is being recognised in the street. He has been acting 36 for about eight years now after reJUNE 23-29 2013

Money never really is the motivation for these actors, who will settle for even Rs500. They are obsessed with coming on television and are willing to go to any lengths to make it happen... any lengths

alising that this industry was the one place where he could work out his fantasies of becoming a pilot, doctor, gangster, survivor.

As the pay is low and erratic, most of the men have part-time work elsewhere. Dr Faisal Masood works in nutrition at the KCHS Medical Centre in Karachi. “Acting is not my profession but my passion,” he says. “I am only able to work part-time and can’t take too many roles due to my [job].” He is still one of the relatively educated actors and even invested in training from the Arts Council of Pakistan, UNESCO and Eveready Institute of Performing Arts.

Generally, though, the quality of acting is wooden at best. “Not everyone knows how to cry,” sniffs Hafeez Ali of H&I Productions. He is an agent who says he represents 30 actors. “I’ll show you how to cry at the drop of a hat.” Hafeez still has some training having started working with PTV as an extra more

(Top) A crew shoots a scene on Korangi road with the cameraman hanging out of the window of the Suzuki.

(Bottom right) Hafeez Ali of H&I Productions in his office off Baloch expressway and (bottom) A television channel’s director explains the action he wants for a kidnapping scene shot in Bagh-e-Korangi with Arooj (in pink)

than a decade ago. In 1996, he had a walk-on role and was paid Rs225 for his efforts. Those were different days and even the producers and directors were cut from a different cloth. “Previously, [when you needed extras] they’d grab four friends from here, four friends from there,” he explains. Today he will get requests for at least 12 extras in a week. He breaks it down: Three policemen, two ruffians, two heroes...

While extras are needed for morning shows as well of late, the bulk of them are used in the crime shows. As they are shooting in Bagh-e-Korangi, the violence seems almost real in the kidnapping scene. The man who grabs Arooj’s hair and face does it with a disturbing amount of zest and vigour. Arooj doesn’t flinch either.

Indeed, it is telling that the reenactment of the crime scene, in particular, has become so popular.

It was in it that the rape scene became acceptable as it is now dressed up as ‘news’. “If you put this in a drama it would be fahaash [vulgar],” says the senior cameraman. The people in the industry explain it away with a pinch of pop psychology: they are providing society catharsis. But for the actors who recreate these scenes, especially the girls, an undercurrent of sadomasochism is unmistakable.

It is hard to tell if acting is an escape for them from the reality of their lives or if they really believe it will bring them the fame and glory they dream of.

It was in the crime scene re-enactment that the rape scene became acceptable as it is now dressed up as ‘news’

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Blanket

statement

Kasur’s traditional khais was almost dead as an art but its artisans have been working to come in from the cold

BY KHUZAIMA FATIMA HAQUE

If Sindh is famous for the rilli, Kasur is known for its khais. But unlike in Sindh, the artisans of Kasur are struggling to keep their dying craft alive. They are getting some help from interior designer and freelance journalist Iram Ansari who has made it her goal to help revive and preserve this tradition and also empower the artisans.

Ansari is a member of the Daachi Foundation, a non-profit organisation set up to revive and promote the arts and crafts of Pakistan. When the foundation was established, each committee member had to adopt a craft, which they were then responsible for revitalising, protecting and monetising. Ansari picked the khais. “I simply felt that the khais of Kasur was a totally neglected lot,” she says.

Khais, a form of light blanket, was created during the Mughal era to meet the demand for cotton blankets. It was woven by hand in village households and would take days to create. One blanket consists of four parts which are later woven together to make a chockra, the size of a bedsheet. The most popular colours are deep yellow, red, black, blue and green (white being regarded as neutral).

Ansari had believed that the khais has potential only if marketed properly. But when she went looking for khais artisans in Kasur, she found only one. The elderly man was the only one weaving by hand. His sons preferred to work on machines and refused to learn the craft from their father. This virtually spelled the end for khais-making.

Ansari spent almost a year researching the weavers of Kasur to discover what was going wrong. “[The craft] needed new design[s], a new direction. Most importantly, it needed to be marketed the right way,” she says. So, the first thing she did was change the colour palette altogether. The weavers were using a traditional combination of bright colours with the same old designs and there was no 38 variety.

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Ansari’s plan had three phases, the first involved getting the artisans to weave khais in thematic shades for winter, summer, autumn and spring collections. Working closely with the artisan, Ansari would first choose the colours and then they would both experiment with different designs and combinations. The idea was to encourage the weaver learn new designs and techniques.

When Ansari had a chockra made in a certain colour scheme for the final collection, she realised that it could also be used in a variety of other products. She went out and bought lap trays, tea cloths, napkins, cosmetic bags and cushion covers and showed them to the artisans. This helped them think beyond the blanket in to entirely different product lines.

She also realised that she could involve other artisans in the different stages of making these products. “I showed my own lap tray to a carpenter and trained him to make more like these while using the khais as a cover of the bean bag at the back.” The carpenter was happy to learn and it soon proved to be a side-business for him since it did not take too much of his time. Similarly a tailor was shown how to stitch the small cosmetic bags out of the khais provided by the artisans.

Marketing was a challenge. The only promotion that the artisans got was from peddling their wares on bicycles. They would roam around the streets of nearby cities, shouting out to customers, trying to strike a bargain. Ansari helped them jazz up their packaging by putting the finished product in cellophane lined with colourful jute thread tassels.

The artisans were pushed to display their work at the Daachi Mela. “The products sold like hot cakes,” says Ansari. “They were picked up by craft lovers and people who were interested in keeping this ancient tradition alive.”

The success was encouraging and all those involved in the project, the carpenter, the tailor and the weaver felt a sense of accomplishment. “By making these mats, runners and tea cosies I have realised how interesting it is to try new ideas and how I can implement them in my everyday work,” says Shahbaz who works in upholstery, quilting and drapery. “Things that we thought were useless are being used in an innovative way.” This extra work has made it possible to save for a UPS that will help him continue work during power outages.

Even for carpenter Mohammad Bashir, who has been making furniture for 40 years, the work has been fruitful. “For me, it is like a side business and boosts my household budget,” he says. “And I thoroughly enjoyed using different materials to make a small useful product like a lap tray.” He enjoys working with the team and often gives Ansari ideas on how they can improve their sales, evidence that the project not only stimulates old artisans but also educates those who work with them.

Cushion: Rs1,000 Teacosy: Rs800 Handbag: Out of stock Runner: Rs1,600 Toiletries Bag: Rs1,600 (set of 2) AVAILABLE WITH IRAM ANSARI 0333-4245834

Into Darkness and Star Trek Into Darkness is a long, long way from a disaster, but it belongs in the darkness, where no one can see it

BY JAHANZAIB HAQUE I ignored the gaping holes in plot logic. I suspended disbelief as long as I could and tried to match my emotional responses with what the film was trying so hard to make me feel. But I gave up when rogue Starfleet agent John Harrison aka the genetically modified superman Khan Noonien Singh (and a very white Khan at that) says, “My name is Khan…” and members of the audience whisper in response, “…and I am not a terrorist”.

Director JJ Abrams has indeed made a science fiction film, but I would be loath to call it a Star Trek film. It has little of the mystery of space and the wonder of exploration that Star Trek stands for, not to mention a (very Hollywood) injection of what the scriptwriters believe to be socio-political relevance ala a universe on the brink of war.

Aside from the opening sequence of the film, which promised so much Trekkie goodness complete with kooky-looking aliens and a reckless mini-adventure into a volcano, Into Darkness is not about space exploration or the deeper questions of science, man’s existence in the Universe and the ethics of dealing with alien life forms. No, it’s your typical, tired Hollywood cliché of good guys versus terrorists versus corruption within the good guys. It is a political-war drama that resonates well with current times — but I didn’t pay for a political-war drama, did I? To be clear, the film has some merits, and is worth the money for the ticket. The acting is generally solid despite the deeply flawed script, with particularly outstanding performances from Zachary Quinto as Spock and Benedict Cumberbatch as Khan, who is the real treat of the 129-minute feature. The special effects and 3D are very good, and the film is a visual delight. Unfortunately, just like the recently released The Great Gatsby, fans will walk into the cinema expecting an intelligent handling of a mega-franchise, and walk away feeling entertained, yet hollow and let down. (Warning: spoilers ahead) I am enticed with promises of a Klingon war. I get about four sentences of Klingon and a total of 15 minutes encountering any alien species at all! I am introduced to a super-hot Carol Marcus, the love interest of Captain Kirk, only to find out she’s less scientist more military-baby with the flimsiest of reasons provided for her motivation to be on board the Starship Enterprise. Keep in mind, Carol is one

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of a total of two female roles in the entire film. The only other female with a talking role is Uhura, who spends half the film being strong and independent, and the other half as Spock’s whiny girlfriend.

Much of the plot is focused on Captain Kirk coming to terms with what it means to be a true leader and stepping up to that role, all the while building his relationship with his crew, particularly Spock. While Chris Pine does a great job playing the young Kirk, the script lets him down again and again. What we walk away with is a Kirk who is too easily swept along by the events around him, often happening at such a frenetic pace that we cannot appreciate the few tough calls he does make. Also, it seems a true captain is defined by defying gravity in some truly spectacular physical feats, or as film critic Christopher Orr puts it, Kirk is played as “one part Han Solo and two parts Evel Knievel”.

The plot enters a downward spiral the further you get into the film. Is Khan a super-hero or a super-villain?

He starts out evil, committing acts of terrorism, but we learn he is fighting a corrupt military regime for the sake of his family. I’m confused, but not the good confused in which you feel a character is complex. Rather, this is confusion borne of poor scriptwriting, and while we do indeed end the film with Khan being declared one of the most dangerous enemies the Star Fleet ever faced (really? That’s it?), I am still rooting for him and his kind.

In the end, Captain Kirk is killed off for all of 15 lackluster minutes in what is a massive dramatic fail. If Abrams had left him dead only to be reincarnated in a third film, that would have been a brave and exciting ending.

Instead, what we get is a painfully easy and predictable return of Kirk ala Khan’s blood — and don’t get me started on how poorly executed and forced was the entire side plot of ‘Khan’s blood is magic that revives furry creatures and humans’.

It is clear that Into Darkness is designed to appeal to a mass audience, and that is where it has failed for anyone who is not part of this dumbed-down blob of humanity.

For the rest, the film is entertaining enough, visually appealing enough, and in classic Hollywood form, forgettable enough to fade into irrelevance without a second thought. a

irrelevance

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HEALTH We fear the diseases that creep up on us with no symptoms. For women, one in particular is caused

by Human Papillomavirus (HPV). You can catch the bug during sexual intercourse. The virus can quietly begin wrecking the cells of your cervix. If you are lucky, your immune system will overcome the infection on its own in a few months. But if a particularly fatal type of the virus manages to stay put for longer than that, it may take as long as 10 years before you will find it has progressed to cervical cancer — the second leading type of cancer among Pakistani women.

In Pakistan, chances are that a woman will find out about the HPV infection through “opportunistic screening”, says gynaecologist Dr Sadiah Ahsan Pal, because few actively get tested.

“There is no awareness campaign like in other developed countries where governments provide vaccines free,” she says. “Here, women happen to come to a doctor and are told to get a pap smear. But not all gynaecologists will do it.”

The Papanicolaou or Pap smear is recommended when a woman becomes sexually active. It is used by doctors to detect abnormal changes in the cells of the cervix, even when the patient does not feel any symptoms. A spatula is used to collect cells in the painless test. If the results are fine, you should ideally repeat the test every three to five years up till the age of 60. However, if the test detects an abnormality, further tests are ordered to take a closer look.

If they reveal the presence of pre-cancerous lesions, invasive procedures are used to remove the infected area to prevent deterioration.

“The disease at this stage is curable through minor surgeries and these women can go on to have babies,” says Dr Pal. “But if the disease progresses to cancer [stages 1 and 2], major surgery has to be done to remove the uterus.”

In the advanced stages, cervical cancer is too malignant for just the uterus to be removed, warns Dr Razia Korejo. By that time the cancer has usually spread throughout the body.

Prevention from cancerous strains of the HPV is a little heavy on the wallet.

The simple test comes costs Rs800 to Rs2,000 at private hospitals, unless you get a free one at some of the governmentrun hospitals. The recommended

BY MIFRAH HAQ three-dose preventive vaccine costs between Rs4,700 to Rs9,000.

Treatment for cervical cancer is radical and expensive. The 2008 statistics from GLOBOCAN, a global project, state that 11,688 women out of every 100,000 develop cervical cancer annually in Pakistan and 12.9 per cent of them die.

Though anyone can contract HPV, poor women are more at risk. “They are less likely to get pap smears done, they practice poor hygiene, and usually have early marriages,” says Dr Pal. “The cervix of a teen is susceptible to oncologic changes. Starting in the 20s, the cervix matures and can fight back cancers better.” A

don’t fear the smear

Pap Smear test

Hospital Private

Government 42 JUNE 23-29 2013

Lost battles

Rs800 to Rs2,000 Free

11,688

women out of every 100,000 develop cervical cancer every year in Pakistan and

12.9%

of Pakistani women die of it yearly

HPV Vaccine Gardasil by Merck Sharp & Dhome of Pakistan Ltd (3 doses over 6 months)

Rs9,000

Cervarix by GlaxoSmithKline (3 doses over 6 months)

Rs4,700