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Strokes from Within by Naiha Raza

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The first word

Strokes from

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Flowing Ink

Emotions Translated

Book

Review

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By Maryam Miirza | Editor

Poetry becomes that one thing that can make you see what you never even imagined. And the highest sentiments can be made insignificant and the lowest can be held into the greater light.

And fiction shows you perspectives, many, of a single thing. It takes you to different eras, different cultures. You experience what you never might in real life.

Aspiring novelist, not-really-a-closet poet, blogger; Maryam is a freshman at Kinnaird majoring in Media Studies. She is forever ‘adopting’ words that have been forgotten (current word: Traboccant, meaning superabundant). She hates being told that she should be studying Literature.

in a different realm. So huddle into a corner and immerse in the issue of strange, dark fantasies. And so we celebrate both, giving I would also like to introduce to you you the many valuable pieces that the two newest members of our are sent by our contributors. team. Aniqa Mumtaz has now joined us as our junior editor and Ayesha And along with these we also show Raees will be helping us with the you the colors that fill into your life. design. The entire poetry section has been made by her. But this time we’ll show you a darker side of things. Quite a few of our I wish both of them the best of luck additions this time are inspired by and many years with Reality Rothe gothic literature of yore. And the manticized! artwork by Naiha Raza also dwells

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Section Designs by Ayesha Raees

To Have and to Hold by Hina

The blazing sun blinds my eyes… An And suddenly…as if in a dream… Such The meadow starts to come to life, That I can The wind can almost caress my face, I can feel my so The fragrance can tickle my thoughts, And the water falls in the back, Eve Collecting at the bottom and mirroring the meadow’s beauty on its cool clear surface… The me If I stretch my hand further, Leerin Just a little further… It might touch the glistening dewdrops on those crimson petals, I want Petals as red as the blood coursing through my veins… To h But as I stretch my hand I feel the distance start to grow… And to ge I feel it all slowly moving away… To Slowly…silently…mockingly… And watch in silen Fainting into a distant horizon, It’s all a blur now… I wan I can hear the dark whispers behind me… And shiver as They are pulling me back… I want to see my refle I try to resist, But their pull is too strong…their force too magnetic… And become ob And as I slowly open my eyes, If only the Sunshine is just plain sunshine… One more moment The smell of the meadow has scattered somewhere in the air… Close t The petals are all gone…

a Khurshid

nd reality comes with pain, wretched…excruciating pain, n feel my insides crumble to dust… oul slip away and the emptiness within… Every day, every night, ery moment that I breathe… It haunts me, eadow follows me like a wraith… ng out from the dark shadows… I want to run away… t that meadow to become real… hold those petals in my hand, et lost somewhere in their beauty… pour my heart out to them, nt awe as my tears mix with the dewdrops, And they become one… nt to stand under the waterfall, the cold water sweeps my pain away… ection silhouetted against the meadow’s beauty… blivious to those voices pulling me back… e reality would wait a little longer, and I could hold my dreams in these palms, then real tight and never let go.

Wicked 13

By Mehreen Mujeeb In solitude A candle stands Unused Unbruised

We lived in darkness Composure prevails The candle wick has been lit A tamed flame which stands alone Slowly melts and pauses

In a world Charged with electricity Switches and wires Tie our eyes so they won't see When there is no electricity In fear we cry for light When even with bulbs

The smoke becomes a drug Reflecting flashbacks in the air We slowly start to realise Like a candle we melt and stand Until our wick can no longer burn

The Murdered Girls By Maryam Mirza I’ll make murdered girls live again Follow their drops of blood, Rusty in places Black in some Scrubbed clean by bleach By the hand that held the knife. I’ll grant them one last wish And it wouldn’t be revenge Nor would it be a chance to live again. We’ll redecorate Heaven. It’ll be our Earth in the sky.

Death Said

By Ayesha Raees The Death told me that day when the rained refused to cry that today was not my last day and I pleaded with him ripping his ripped cloak “Take me. Take me now,” He did not respond, “Take me instead” I am not here to collect deaths he whispered into the dark night I am not here to do as I please I am only here as the orders say I cannot do as I may Carry on, little girl don’t lie in a heap the rain will soon fall and carry away your grief The Death told me that day when the rained refused to cry that today was not my last day and I pleaded with him ripping his ripped cloak “Take me. Take me now,” He did not respond, “Take me instead”

I am not here to collect deaths he whispered into the dark night I am not here to do as I please I am only here as the orders say I cannot do as I may Carry on, little girl don’t lie in a heap the rain will soon fall and carry away your grief

Another

No one can see the misery No one can see the pain No one can see me suffering As I go through it again

All my dreams are haunted My life is worse, still No one can hurt me more When i can hurt myself at will

I am addicted to the pain Don't care if it is a sin Come on, give me the blade I'll put a rash on my skin

There might be some hope That keeps me going from within Maybe even that i can trade For another gash on my skin

Shrouded in a family's sorrow Lost in love's woe I'll end up sitting in a corner No one will ever know

I'll cut myself today Maybe a cut too deep Nothing will hurt anymore For I shall forever sleep

Who knew bleeding was fun I can even do it with a grin I'll hide quietly in the shade And start to hash at my skin

I wonder if i should do it For there is a loss in that win Maybe i'll do it tomorrow And settle for a slash on my skin

r Slash at my Skin By Ali Hassan

Flowing Ink

18 17 | Countarpart by Kanwal Mukhtar 21| Manto by Syed Zeeshan Ahmed 25| Hello Alice by Noor Rehman

‘One step at a time, one at a time…’ No matter what I told myself, the next step would be even harder. I concentrated on each one, telling myself there was a long way to go, but only ‘one at a time’ and I’d make it. Nothing helped of course. I didn’t lose faith; I still concentrated hard on each one. Nevertheless, the path got rockier and rockier and it became more and more difficult to place my foot safely anywhere. I was hyperventilating now, and the path started getting narrower.

Counterpart

My head spun and claustrophobia began creeping up. And I had no option but to keep going, no matter how hard it got. Life or death, there was no other option of course. But isn’t life supposed to offer you some charms?

By Kanwal Mukhtar

It could be a foe, a threat, a menace. As if I cared. Things couldn’t get any worse anyway.

A hysterical giggle burst through my lips, thinking of charms! How grateful I’d be if there was just a place to sit down for a few moments at least! I stumbled on a rock and it cut through my foot, the blood was profound and it turned scarlet instantly. A dry sob built up in my chest, I didn’t have any energy left for a real crying jag. My head spun and stomach heaved, while my heart beat somewhere in the range of my adam’s apple. ‘Keep pushing on,’ there was no other way.

I desp could rough And t wasn’ ahead

It wa track and in It cou cared

I caug be un The s how I if I de was t But m wond every

I was huge He tu I bare With narro I shie menta

I had was n I close I real

perately needed to hold onto something, but dn’t do so without scraping my hands at the h, rocky walls lining the steep path. then, I narrowed my eyes to make sure I ’t hallucinating merely, there was a shadow d in my way.

as impossible, didn’t they say, everybody’s s are different, every journey is separate ndividual? uld be a foe, a threat, a menace. As if I d. Things couldn’t get any worse anyway.

ght myself at that thought, ‘Don’t you dare ngrateful!’ shadow loomed closer. I wondered dismally I was going to get past whoever it was even ecided to just carry on straight; the track too narrow for two. my head didn’t have much space for such derings; I still had to pull a huge effort for y small move.

s right behind it now, I paused, sucked a breath in through between my teeth. urned to face me. ely blinked my eyes, and he’d picked me up. the next step he took, we emerged from the ow alley into a wide, green field. elded my eyes as the sun blinded them moarily.

gone mad or I was dreaming, right? There no saner explanation for it. ed my eyes as he walked forward. And then lized how actually drained I was.

With my eye still closed, I rested my head against his chest and kept them closed. And I had thought I’d be able to make it on my own? ‘I believe in you,’ a voice whispered in my ear. And I realized I’d never actually believed in myself! I could hear water flowing somewhere nearby. He stopped after a while and put me gently down on the grass. I opened my eyes; we were sitting next to a stream. I drank deeply the water he got me, thirsting adamantly as I was. Then he took off my shoe, and cleaned my wound with the water. I couldn’t believe it wasn’t an extravagant dream! Yet the sun was too bright, too real. So was the being next to me. They say that humans originally consisted of four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces, but a certain Greek god feared their power and split them all in half. No matter what else might go wrong around now, life had come to life. I knew that I was safe enough to open the locks, to let my truest self step out and be completely and honestly who I was; I felt it in myself. Because the one who had locks that fit my keys and keys to fit my locks was here. Though the paths still won’t be easy, they’ll be easy enough for me. There still was a long way to go, I thought as I stood up again, but there was nothing to fear

WHO WAS NEVER

By Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

(21. A rebel, who bleeds green, and cricket. Writer, literature and Biryani lover DSLR, but still loves to do photography. Blogger, astronomer, movie and music of physical, fictional and metaphysical dimensions. Social critic, and a veteran more information, do not refer to history books. )

ANTO

WHO IS SAADAT HASAN MANTO?

THE MAN UNDERSTOOD

For some he was a lunatic. For others he was just an ordinary writer, who used to write 'sexually explicit' stories.

r. He hasn't got a c fanatic. Explorer n twitter user. For

For some he was the greatest short story writer of Urdu language. Then there are people who have never heard of him. Born on May 11, 1912, this genius (and a nobody) lived an interesting life. Filled with all the emotions, and concluding with tragedy. Like everything else, our society remains divided on Manto. Some people ignore Manto when they speak about Urdu literature, while some consider him the greatest short story writer of Urdu language. Sadly, a lot of this hatred is also rooted within our social psychology. We refuse to accept our faults, and our evils. We love living in denial. We see something wrong, we choose to ignore it.. As long as we're safe and away from it, it's completely okay. We speak for others, judge them, but we rarely look at ourselves. And when people like Manto show us the mirror, our dirty faces, we throw the mirror away and call it blasphemy. We call that person a liar, a sinner, moron and at times a criminal too. "If you cannot bear these stories then the society is unbearable. Who am I to remove the clothes of this society, which itself is naked. I don't even try to cover it, because it is not my job, that's the job of dressmakers" - Manto Manto's era was a very conservative one, and we can associate the term 'extreme' with it. A lot of people found the discussion of controversial topics 'indecent'. Everything existed within the society, but to talk about it openly, was incorrect. So, a lot of things were never talked about.

MANTO So, a lot of things were never talked about. What Manto did was to write about them. To create a picture of the society along with its evils, in which he often used extensive descriptions. To a lot of people, that was outrageous. Deep inside they knew what was going on, but in public they had to go against it.

Manto was different from a lot of writers of his time. He explored psychoanalysis with human behaviour. He looked at an individual from his own perspective, as well as others. But he never himself tried judging a character, on his own. Even if he did, he never called it the ultimate judgement. Rather, his own opinion.

On 24-01-2012 I bought Manto Ke Shahkar Afsanay (Masterpiece Short Stories by Manto). Apart from some random stuff I hadn't read much of Manto. I still remember reading his short story "Naya Qanoon" (New Law/ Constitution) in Class 9th. It was then completely removed from the later editions. The version I read, I came to know later on, was heavily censored. It was shortened, and a lot of stuff was removed deliberately. I won't go into the details. Once I finished the book, I couldn't help praising Manto. His brilliance, which was way ahead of his time.

A lot of his famous stories revolve around the partition of India. He used simple characters to explore the situation, the psychological condition of individuals, as well as the political backdrop of the event. A story titled "Toba Tek Singh" is considered his magnum opus by a lot of literature experts, and his fans too. It also revolves around the partition. Using satire, he presents a brilliant story, and concludes it rather amazingly.

It is very hard to imagine educational authorities ignoring Manto, so brutally. But then, we are all Pakistanis, and here in Pakistan, things work rather oddly. We have a vast history of ignoring our legends, disowning them and removing them from texts.

"Hindustan had become free. Pakistan had become independent soon after its inception but man was still slave in both these countries -- slave of prejudice â&#x20AC;Ś slave of religious fanaticism â&#x20AC;Ś slave of barbarity and inhumanity.â&#x20AC;? - Murali Ki Dhun (Ganjay Farishtay) Manto is famous for his short stories. But he also wrote plays, screenplays for some movies, and also essays.

Manto was arrogant. He was self-centered. He was addicted to alcohol, which also contributed to his downfall. But Manto was a genius too. And above all he was a human. Just like his characters, he was a flawed creature. He made some terrible decisions, so did the characters in his stories. I haven't read his entire works, I admit. But whatever I have read, touched my soul. His works speak to you, in a hoarse voice. His tone is very furious at times. You might hate his stories, his characters, but you can't help relating with them. Manto didn't pick kings and queens, or fairy tale characters for his stories, he picked the ones who are ignored, hated and avoided. He picked the "Saugandhi" of Hatak and also "Mamad bhai". Not only them, he also explored the battle between the right and the wrong in the mind of "Javed" from Darpok. Hypocrisy is rooted deep within our country. Our personal hatred has often been found damaging the heritage of this country. This is the same country which still ignores Dr. Abdus Salam.

“

To dream of a better Pakistan, is easy, but to change our mindset, that requires huge effort. It's often said that mind plays a negative role when we try doing something that is against our current thinking or nature. Manto passed away on January 18, 1955. But his words have lived on. It's not that easy to get rid of ideas, they keep on transforming into something stronger. Manto once said for himself "...and it is also possible, that Saadat Hasan dies, but Manto remains alive". No better way to end this article than quoting Manto himself. He wanted this to be his epitaph on his grave:

"In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful Here lies Saadat Hasan Manto and with him lie buried all the secrets and mysteries of the art of short-story writing.... Under tons of earth he lies, still wondering who among the two is greater shortstory writer: God or He.”

Hindustan had become free. Pakistan had become independent soon after its inception but man was still slave in both these countries- slave of prejudice… slave of religious fanaticism… slave of barbarity and inhumanity.

HELLO Alice

There is something wet and dry on her face.

Wet because she can feel it cool as they breathe on

“Don’t do that,” a voice chides softly, then sighs when she does it again. “It’ll hurt more if you do that. It’s caking up. You’ll need to wash it off.”

By Noor Rehman She moves her lips to ask, but it hurts to part them and she stops abruptly with a pained cry of surprise. Something- a hand- she realizes, clamps down on her mouth, though not as forcefully as she’d expected and another strokes her hair. The action is hesitant, slow and choppy even - as if the person doing it had never tried this before. The voice is back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. So stupid, I’m so stupid! I should’ve warned you. Should’ve known you’d try to speak. Hush now. Hush.” She did not want to hush. But if it would get them off of her. She forced herself to relax and she felt him? Her? It? Relax as well. “That’s it.” The relief at her compliance was obvious. “Now,” and the hesitance returned “could you. Could you open your eyes?” Eyes? A giddy voice inside her, one she couldn’t really place, asked. Why not? But as the seconds passed she realized it wouldn’t be that easy. Initially it felt as if she had forgotten how. Silly really. It was the first thing a human child did after all. The first sign of life after the initial wail, announcing its arrival. But then she realized it was something else. Something was actually hindering her already tired lids from

prying themselves apart. A dry, crackling something. And when she fought itit hurt. “Nngh!” It was pitiful really, that the low, guttural sound was all she could manage. But it was either that or try to speak again- and that was an experience she did not want to relive any time soon. “Oh no, no.” Disappointment, that was the emotion present in the voice now. That and something. She didn’t know what but it made the giddy part of her subconscious shriek and made her want to laugh a strange, almost frightened laugh. What? But the voice was talking again and she switched off her inner monologue to pay attention. After all, she was a good girl, and good girls listened when people spoke to them and curtsied while they thought. After all, it saved time. …what? “I was hoping you’d be able to see at least. I didn’t want to start without you being able to see.” Petulance, was that the word she was looking for? Or was it pitifull? Really, the state she was in right now, her sister would’ve wrung her hands in despair. Eyes flew open and tears gathered. It stung. It stung. But that didn’t matter.

Her hand flew out to catch a bright red vest. Her eyes hardened as they met startled red eyes and a nervous, twitching nose. “Where. Is. My. Sister.” A moment longer he was still. And then the man- White Rabbit, wasn’t it- he smiled.

For whatever reason, her eyes flew to the doorknob. She blinked.

And that’s when the world exploded.

Well, not really. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. Afterwards, she realized that that was actually a very accurate summary of the incident. Because when the doors burst open like that, they signaled a chain of events that- but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s get back shall we? “Hello Alice” he had said, and that had triggered something in her. Her eyes had been drawn automatically to the doorknob, and then several things happened at once. The door flew open and she kneed theRabbit in the stomach, keeping a firm grip on that pretty red vest, causing him to jerk forward. Something pale and red streamed in to the room and it took a moment for her to realize that they were people- pale and bloodless but draped in blood red clothes that at once stood in sharp contrast with their complexion and also suited it. Their faces were covered with thin, pale masks. She twisted the wheezing man around in a choke hold. Her heart was racing, her ears ringing and the giddy voice in her head was nearly hysterical now, so she was surprised to hear the calm, almost bored sound that came from her mouth. “Hold it Oysters.” And miraculously, they did. For a moment, she and the pale, sickly peo-

ple eyed each other. She counted twenty of them, but was there anymore outside? Why don’t you ask? The giddy voice questioned and she thought, why not indeed? “How many more?” Surprisingly, it was the Rabbit that answered with a wheezy little laugh. “It’s just you isn’t it boys? You got here so fast because you were on patrol. Am I right?” No response came from the pale figures and the Rabbit wheezed again. “I bet he doesn’t even know you’re here. It’s all right.” He held up his hands. “She’s… well, I’m taking her to see the Queen.” That worked- if only a little. There was a slight shudder in the sea of red and white and as the Rabbit kept talking she saw now that the masks they were wearing didn’t completely hide their. They hid the features yes, but a gesture or a spasm violent enough could be seen. But even those spasms were uniform and unanimous. The same “Oh,” of muted shock, the same jerk of the head. Except one. As she tuned the Rabbit ot, she glimpsed one of the crowd, in the far right corner, right next to the door. That one did not move. And if she didn’t know any better, his attention was not on the Rabbit as much as it was focused on her.

It irked her, but she refused to let him unnerve her. Smug idiot, the giddy voice in her head agreed, and she focused on the remainder of the Oysters. But as she stared resolutely away, she could have sworn she saw what looked suspiciously like a grin spread over the last ones face. Silly old Cat. She thought venomously, then she stopped. Wait, where did that come from? Her eyes widened as a flow of memories rushed to her mind. Trees. Too many of them, the roots tangled up together, making her trip. “Stop running you’re going to fall!” Liza? Her tired mind questioned, as she tried to grasp for her sister. Why must you make things so difficult AliWatch out! Alice Watch Out! The last one wasn’t in her mind she realized as she blinked and dove to the side instinctively, dragging the Rabbit along as something black wizzed over their heads. On the floor, she scrambled to get up and heard the Rabbit shriek.

revolver in his h shocked, she wou they looked. The bergasted at his and making a dec he had never exp self. It was simp seemed to agree and he looked at his head and lett oysters, out the faded away, the ot a moment then ba they took a step a same perfect form changed. Not all she was sure it w door. As if he had cernible nod. And warned her.

Slowly, as if on a Oysters following

Somewhere, a cl back leapt up and fluid motion hurle A second passed.

“They shot at me. They shot at me!”

A white mask fell

“Oh Shut up Rabbit.” A bored voice muttered and she jerked up to locate it. It was comparatively calmer now, but it had been the same voice that had shouted out the warning a few seconds prior. The Oysters were also confused it appeared, because they were alternating between locating the owner of the voice and staring at their comrade who was looking at the

And then the Oys she raised her ha at her face.

And yes, that cou talking about bef released the safet bringing down th

hand. If Oysters got surprised or uld have to bet that this was how poor thing looked completely flabactions, as if breaking from ranks cision on one’s own was something pected from anyone- let alone himply not done. And his compatriots with him as two grabbed his arms them for a moment before hanging ting them drag him past the staring door and away. As their footsteps ther oysters looked at each other for ack at her. Squaring their shoulders, and regrouped until there they were; mation as before. As if nothing had of them though. The laughing onewas him- stayed where he was, by the d met her eye, he gave a barely disd in that moment she knew who had

automatic, she got up, eyes on the g her every move.

lock chimed and her ally from the d over his comrades and in a single, ed something at her.. to the floor.

sters raised their revolvers as one as and to catch the loaded gun thrown

uld have been the explosion I was fore. Because from the moment she ty, something exploded inside of her, he white walls she’d built so careful-

ly. A locked door flying off its hinges, that’s what it was like. The giddy voice vanished and things got deadly quiet as the world around her slowed down. The Rabbit scuttled under the bed as their new ally landed gracefully where he’d been before. “Shall we?” a droll voice asked and she could almost hear his smile. Because really, what did he think she was going to say, no? They wouldn’t do it. But a part of her that sounded suspiciously like Liza wanted to give them a fighting chance. So she took a moment as she aimed. Long enough to give them warning. “Run.” To their credit, they did just that. They ran, at her. “Should have been specific darling,” the new friend murmured as he plunged forward to meet them. She caught a blur of pink and a bright smile on his face as he passed her and four men in mob outfits in that same sickening red ran in the door. Well, she mused as she took aim, she had warned them. ___________________________________________________________ “What’s the password?” He asked only half jokingly as they moved in almost perfect sync, eliminating the wave of loose pack men and Oysters. She almost lost her mask at that but used the attack of a particularly ugly Ace of spades as a delaying tactic. The pack men were better trained and had the added advantage of being able to think for themselves. It took a second to aim properly and that was long enough to bring the answer to her lips. After all, it had been all they had been calling her.

"Hello Alice," she said before she pulled Ace’s misery.

The wall splattered red behind him but h on that sickle moon grin that spread acros lips moved.

"Finally," he smiled, "Alice. Welcome back." particularly obstinate Oyster she heard the relief. “Still got it.” But there was still tens gidity in his lips.

She ducked to the side, almost by instinct her, driving his Katana through an Oyster. F had gone through his head. Why do they keep calling me that???

Oh dear, the giddy voice was back, but sh fired another round in to the figure coming

“I thought we’d lost you,” he admitted fro her, his face hidden as he straightened up been in. Involuntarily, she felt the need to hair. Dear Chess. He would never admit t not Cheshire. She couldn’t remember how but she and Cheshire were close. And som might stab her in the gut if the situation never attack her from behind or leave he help.

So it was with that faith in her heart that sh

“You wouldn’t be that lucky, partner.” And lips she realized that they had been the rig cause of the sigh of relief that left his lips ized as she blasted a Two of Diamonds were true. That’s what they were, they w that relationship established and the caus cern categorized, labeled and ascertained breathe in his presence, and just like that

the trigger to end the

her attention was fixed ss his face as Cheshire's

" and as she shot down a e stealth expert’s sigh of seness to his stance, ri-

t as he leapt at and past From the sounds of it, it

he forced it down as she g in the door.

om his position behind p from the crouch he’d o stroke his messy pink this in public she knew, w or why she knew this, mething told her that he n demanded it but he’d er without some sort of

he snorted and replied,

d as the words left her ght words to say. Not bes. But because, she realthrough the wall, they were partners. And with se for their mutual cond, she found it easier to they were back in sync.

In fact, she realized as they neared the door, better than before. “Hey,” he called softly, interrupting her musings. She flipped around to meet him and caught the tell tale maniacal glint in those dark eyes just in time to drop down before the glistening blade swung up to spike the approaching Three of Diamonds behind her. “I could have handled that.” He smiled again. “And I was supposed to stand by and let you dirty your pretty little hands? Hatter would kill me. Besides,” he jerked his head distastefully towards the bed that she’d forgotten, “he may be a double crossing, spineless little buck toothed freak, but he’s our double crossing spineless little buck toothed freak. He’s one of our own, and Hatter wouldn’t much like either of us leaving him behind. Though, having you back might soften the blow.” His smile was the same thin sickle moon grin as before, but she could detect a bit of warmth there, carefully hidden, but apparently, she knew where to look to locate the chinks in his armor. She rolled her eyes at that thought and as she made to get their companion, she caught his smile stretching a little wider, all the way to his eyes. She did not try to match it. Truly, she considered as she blasted the last stirring Oyster, she doubted anyone could. “Shall we get our sniveling friend and leave?” Hidden from him though, her lips did curl a little as she grabbed the shivering bundle of the fur and silk that was their Rabbit and dragged him, squealing and muttering apologies, out from under the bed. Suddenly, the day seemed better and she felt a wave of optimism pass through her as he helped her steady their friend and drag him out the door. She could get through this. She felt it in her heart now, sure of it. Dear dear Chess.

Strokes from Within

â&#x20AC;&#x153;I graduated as an architect but my u artist for a game designing company.

working at Caramel Tech Studios, a m

in Defence, Lahore. I work there as a g

Naiha R

ultimate goal is to work as a concept For that very reason, I am currently

mobile game developing company, located

game tester and as an artist.â&#x20AC;?

Raza

"The scor ested

re never interd me, only the game."

THE

HANDMAID’S

TALE

‘Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.’

me so much was how easily I could depict the world Atwood has painted for us.

Just look at the Middle East. How many rights have women got so far? Or even take me for an example. I am an 18 year old girl living in Karachi who has never stepped out of my house here alone, without a chaperone. Do you know how suffocating that can get sometimes? The only reason I mention this is because, the circumstances are different from the book, and this most definitely doesn’t apply to everyone, but this remains a fact: Were I a boy, no one would have What was once the United States of any qualms about me going out alone. America is now the Republic of Gilead, a Why this kolaveri di, eh? religion-based totalitarian regime, where the women have no rights. They This book show’s us Offred’s struggle, can’t read, write, or work; their identity and her eventually succumbing to their depends on the men who control them. kind of thinking, being only a means of The setting is in the late 80s/early 90s, reproduction. Think of it, if suddenly and Offred is a Handmaid, whose sole one day you are fired and have your purpose is to reproduce, as fertility con- bank account and several other things tinues to decline in that age. Along with revoked, just because of being a woman, all this, Offred reminisces about the past, something that’s not in your control, her time with her husband, her daugh- how would you feel? How would you feel knowing the only reason you live is ter, her freedom… because of your fertility? Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether I’d like this book or not. Dystopian books aren’t This book touches on many questions, really my thing, but it was so highly rec- and the ending is ambiguous. It’s up to ommended that I couldn’t resist. And I’m you, and the important part is, there glad I read this. It’s changed my views should always be hope. on a lot of things. The scariest thing about this book is how relevant it still is The writing style takes a while to get in recent times. This book is like a femi- used to, but it’s all worth it. Recomnist’s worst nightmare, and what chilled mended to you all.

(Don’t let the bastards grind you down.)

g n li

b a n

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