March 09, 2008

This collection is both fascinating and unique for two reasons. Firstly, it has been compiled by an Indian woman, one seeking regional amity and trying to build connections through the link language our countries truly share, English. Second, this is an original grouping, not one filled with the old familiar faces we have grown used to in the petite world of contemporary English writing by Pakistani women — an excellent example is the fact that the Shamsie featured here is Muneeza, not Kamila. Interestingly, not all of these stories were originally written in English — quite a few are translations. Jalil has made her reasons clear in her apt introduction. What she is seeking is not ‘name or fame’, but diversity and pluralism. In other words, a wide scope rather than simply a glossy one. As if to emphasise this, the stories are arranged alphabetically, by the last name of the author, and so, dear reader, I shall follow Ms Jalil’s excellent example.

Kiran Bashir Ahmad’s ‘Plans in Pink’ is an interesting yarn. Though the language is, in parts, shaky, the style, switching between personalities and viewpoints, is one tried, tested and proven to be successful. Her premise is original, and the narrative flows well. The ending is especially powerful, a chatty and unconventional style making it both engaging and entertaining. Descriptive and lucid, Ahmad’s originality and flow make this a delightful read and an excellent starter.

Next is a remarkable fable replete in subtle comedy, cleverness and sheer understanding for the collective human consciousness, and the antics of its external leaders. Nikhat Hasan’s ‘The Tongue’ tells the tale of an imaginary kingdom where all citizens have their tongues cut off at birth, to increase efficiency and rid the nation of the curse of idle chatter. Above and beyond all this is, inevitably, the ruling family, the members of which can be distinguished by their nine-yard-long tongues. And yet, Hasan invites us to observe, together with the scion of the family, the essential triumph of humanity. For one little girl has grown a tongue. The fad spreads. The human will triumphs over authority in this brilliant tale; a subtle lesson perhaps for both current and future governments. This fantastic piece is my personal favourite in the collection.

The next story is also translated from Urdu — Zahida Hina’s ‘She Who Went Looking for Butterflies’. The heart-wrenching tale pulls us into the world of a young mother waiting in a prison cell to be hanged. Farewells are said, sympathetic wardens and fellow prisoners mourn together, and above it all, her thoughts whirl, scattered but strangely forceful. It is one of the most intriguing stories in the collection, and the sense of mystery is heightened by the fact that the protagonist’s crime is not revealed. Hina gets to the core of the issue, and does it exceptionally well. Right after this comes another impressive, yet completely dissimilar piece titled ‘Leaves’ by Khaleda Hussain. Hussain’s story is an interesting look at reminisces, sparked off by a chance meeting of two grandparents who used to be neighbours in their childhood, as they arrive to collect their grandchildren from the same school. Well-written and captivating, this is one of the more interesting stories in the collection.

Sabyn Javeri-Jillani’s piece shares its name with the collection itself. A fascinating look through the eyes of a young female Pakistani now living in England, as she makes her annual trip to the desi part of town, this story is extremely well-written. The clash between East and West, Paki and British, and Brit-Paki or Paki-Brit, is clearly emphasised. Like a true master Javeri-Jillani knows just when to make this an undertone or an overtone. It is, however, a recurring theme, and one that heightens the originality of the story — while the basis might be old fare, she introduces new twists, with masterful descriptions and soul-searching passages interspersed throughout. ‘Neither Night Nor Day’ is an excellent yarn, funny, clever, and very engaging.
 

Nikhat Hasan’s ‘The Tongue’ tells the tale of an imaginary kingdom where all citizens have their tongues cut off at birth, to increase efficiency and rid the nation of the curse of idle chatter. Above and beyond all this is, inevitably, the ruling family, members of which can be distinguished by their nine-yard-long tongues.
 

Next up is Soniah Kamal’s ‘The Breast’. Kamal is a very talented writer, one who reaches the heights of creativity in this allegory. Her protagonist faces the wrath of the cruel tribunal that rules her land, and they literally want their pound of flesh. Or seven, as she explains — her breast is to be cut off, for the ultimate crime of suckling another’s child after her own, a girl, was taken away to be buried. Smart, captivating and well-written, this short parable is certainly one of the best stories in this grouping, and the twist at the end just makes it more gripping. Following this is Sorayya Khan’s ‘Five Queen’s Road’, set in Partition it is centred on a young, female Muslim protagonist who watches the horrific results of out-of-control racial prejudice close up, in her own posh locale. While the story flows well, Khan could work on her style and further character development would increase the appeal of her work.

Maniza Naqvi’s contribution, ‘A Brief Acquaintance’, is a breath of fresh air amidst the fumes of Pakistani society pervading this collection. She proves her creativity and intelligence with an international voice, well-wrought characters and an engaging narrative. This story is excellent — clever, powerful and sardonic, Naqvi’s style is very endearing, even more than her inspired character, Ron. Now we come to Nayyara Rahman’s ‘The Job Application’. This anecdote about a lower middle-class single female parent trying to get a job is quite interesting. Funny and clever, Rahman’s style entices one, and yet she lacks a certain pizzazz. With better descriptions and deeper character development, Rahman could be a stellar writer. Next up is Sehba Sarwar’s ‘A Sandstone Past’. This is a story of parallels, but it is narrated by a child and is, in essence, just a good old mystery and horror tale. Her plot is a nice rehash of traditionalism, mixed in with a modern touch and characterisations that ring very true, especially to Karachiites. However, it is a tad too simplistic, in my humble opinion, and the addition of some real depth would be a good idea.

The next story is by well-known writer Bina Shah. Entitled ‘The Wedding of Sundri’, this moving story takes a look at the realities of the lives of most citizens of our country — the village-dwellers. Exploring the issue of karo-kari, Shah’s yarn is, while not unique, fascinating. She takes into account numerous perspectives, giving one an all-round understanding, with an interesting touch, yet her style lacks effect. Powerful language and fragmented sentences could aid her in reaching the heights she has the potential to. As it is, her story is, while bitingly relevant and realistic, not capable of having as great an effect on the reader as one would like. The penultimate story, ‘The Goonga’, is by critically-acclaimed writer Qaisra Shahraz. She is a skilled writer, providing readers with an exciting plot and intriguing characters whilst also raising awareness about life for the handicapped away from the air-conditioned arenas of political correctness. The story arouses compassion, anger and, above all, a sense that one can, in some part, relate to the characters — feel their struggle, understand what makes them tick. Shahraz’s impressive contribution is one of my favourites in this compilation.

And so we come to the last story — ‘That Heathen Air’, by Muneeza Shamsie. The gifted Shamsie takes us in a trip back to the past — a journey to the era of nawabs, princesses and heirs sent off for an English education. Her plot, while simple, is well-played to bring to the fore the things that really matter.

The narrative is excellent — entertaining, descriptive, and a perfect blend of wit and drama. With a stimulating gradual progression and a potent ending, this story is fantastic. Shamsie’s creativity and power to bring to life scintillating characters reconfirm the ideals of a long-time fan like myself and leave one in no doubt of her skill.

All things said and done, I am strongly inclined to agree with Ms Jalil’s summing-up of this collection — ‘Are these stories of interest only to women simply because they are written by women? I think not.’ This is any enjoyable and varied mix, yet one with a very strong connecting link between disparate parts of the chain — the sheer experience of being Pakistani, man or woman, child or adult, writing in English or in Urdu.
 

Neither night nor day
Edited By Rakhshanda Jalil
HarperCollins, India
Available with Paramount Books, Karachi
ISBN 81-7223-691-5
191pp. Rs450