goldstar
We are much more than a bookclub.. We are a diverse and enthusiastic small group, which has a no pressure motto, no tension, no deadlines – just inspiration. We often read different books and usually people will refer reads to each other. Along with analyzing books, authors and styles, the group discusses concepts and content of art and literature, current affairs and most meets end with exciting anecdotes and personal stories. We also wish to review films, music and art, therefore it would be unfair to name this group a ‘bookclub’. Gold star was founded in June 2009 in an attempt to encourage intellectual discussion and meaningful interactions, in a city like Karachi.
NEWS & REVIEWS:
August 9th, 10
GS 10
Host: Raania
Members present: Fizza Kazmi, Umbereen B. Mirza, Danish Zuberi, Salma Rizvi & Mansoor.
For the tenth time
After everyone left, I began picking up some dishes and switching off lights, and it was then that it occurred to me that we really did not talk about books or authors this time. Except for ‘The cook’s tour’ and ‘My journey to Lhasa’, the discussion was taken over completely by the country and its state of affairs.
What is wonderful is that we have managed to keep this activity going for more than a year now, and this was our tenth meeting. On the 4th of July in 9, with Ivan in my belly, I sent out this message on facebook.
Raania Azam Khan Durrani 04 July 2009 at 10:13 am
Hi all,
So I am thinking why not initiate a casual book club of sorts, there is a lack of intellectually stimulating talk in any case these days. I don’t know how much everyone reads, but am positive we all read enough to get together once a month and discuss our read..what do you think? Those of you interested write back – others start reading please.
Hugs,
R
And then another note followed…
Read, write, reflect and review – RWRR
by Raania Azam Khan Durrani on Saturday, 04 July 2009 at 18:27pm
hi all.
So the idea of a reading group or book club seems to appeal to some of us….
We can start with 3-4 people and grow to maybe 10-12, such that it is convenient for the host and better for the group dynamic…We could meet once a month – predetermined dates and times would help. What is a good time and day for people?
R
…many responded but a few committed and we came up with this…
GOLD STAR
Meeting for the tenth time we realized how lucky we are to have found like minded people, who are able to discuss a variety of subjects with substance and humour. The group dynamic remains powerful and eclectic, owing to the strong personalities and diverse interests of its members. During the year many people have wanted to join, and after a meet or so, have opted out or have not been able to make it. GOLD STAR is very happy with its core group and welcomes new members, but only if they are truly involved.
At GS10, we began our meeting with a box of chocolates. Fizza, who is known for the boxes she brings to GS, outdid herself this time. Fizza also laid out a number of books, which I could hardly believe she had read; of course they were the books she liked best out of the ones she read!! UBM decided that the April GS would be held in Lhasa, Tibet. Earlier in the summer UBM and I had discussed traveling to Lhasa. Enthusiastically we are also reading Alexandra David-Neel’s book, ‘My journey to Lhasa’, first published in 1924. FK and SR, were most concerned about the hot water availability in Lhasa, FK thinks we should attempt GS Rawalpindi first.
The conversation moved to Yoga, our common interest and practice. From this to that as GS does, we ended up commenting on how we feel about now, about life now in Pakistan. About the flood, riots, killing, insecurity and terror. After losing two staff members in the recent Karachi riots, FK was most distressed, and told us that we could, she included, never understand the life in certain parts of this huge city. These men were skilled craftsmen who came from Orangi, an area in Karachi now known for its ethnic divide and related violence. SR while we had stepped out on the terrace, told me about how working in the Civil Hospital, presented massive emotional and professional challenges. She said that each day when she returns home, she thanks God for the life she has. Karachi unfortunately has become a very sad town. As UBM said the three fishermen who made up Karachi, probably had no idea this is what it would become. The Parsi community, who actually own Karachi in a sense, are now quietly coexisting, peaceful within themselves – while everyone else fights and kills for power.
For the very first time I am experiencing a loss of nationalism. Though I have still put up the flag for Independence day, I have no love or emotion attached to it, I believe we are not independent. I think I am doing it because when Ivan was born I decided to celebrate everything I possibly could, since then we have celebrated nearly all major festivals and holidays, but I must rethink. The entire group feels this loss, those who were diehard patriots feel this way, and my brother feels this way… I actually believe it is time for me to put aside my ego and admit that I might be much happier living elsewhere.
On August 2, 10 I wrote on my blog:
It was a hot afternoon in Spring, the sun was at it brightest and the dust of Moen Jo Daro, like ancient powdery remains flew into our eyes and covered our skin. At the ancient site a vast emptiness and silence was felt, despite the wind and endless sky – it seemed hard to breath. The remains of this organized and sophisticated city reflect the genius of its people and their inventions and systems. In awe of the bricks, paths, constructs and concepts, I walked thinking just one thing. What had these exceptional people done to deserve the violent end they suffered? There is a continued debate about whether the city drowned, was buried underground or attacked by another people, what is known is that the city and its people had a very abrupt and violent end. To me almost like a curse, such that till this day this half buried heritage site smells of its memory of death.
This week, I remembered some of that strange feeling that I had at Moen Jo Daro several years ago. A similar emptiness and silence in the air, the smell of loss and despair. What are we headed for? Endless violence in the city centers coupled with demolition of culture and history, corruption a norm, terror and blood at every corner of the newspaper.. loss of life, no life..people dying. Wednesday the air crash, followed by the greatest floods affecting millions and tonight once again Karachi burns – and the whole country smells of its memory of death.
I hate to sound hopeless, but it is how I truly feel at this time.
———-
The floods in Pakistan are ever rising, and are considered worse than our earthquake in 5 or even the South Asian Tsunami in 4. There is too much misery and it is almost difficult to keep the spirits up high. We are in Karachi, where there is no flood, but we have enough of our own issues, involving politics, power, blood and the corrupt moron that ‘bookish-democracy’ loving people chose. Choosing theory over reality, this is what we deserve, suffering, hunger and murder. It is almost unbelievable that a man we talked about at GS that night, who had saved his family a year ago by shooting armed intruders, was shot the next morning on Aug 10, 10.
It was Gold Star’s birthday on the 16th and Ivan’s first birthday on the 31st of July, and that truly was a joyous day in our home. On the morning of the 31st, I wrote this as a gift for my son,
At this hour a year ago you were swimming in my expanded belly. With room only for you and nothing else my body responded to your movements; shifts, kicks, nudges and agreements produced soft waves on the exterior my stretched skin. At this hour I was eager to see your face and you were eager to join the world. And now a year later I know that there is no other who I have unconditional love for. When I see you I see a part of myself.
On that day we wished that you bring love, peace and intelligence to this world. Today, on your birthday, I wish for the same. May your eyes see the beauty and wisdom in faces of strangers. May you sing the songs you love, and speak the words that you truly wish to express. May your hands work honestly and hard – doing only what your heart and mind desires. May you earn well, but only enough to live your dreams and not lose grace and taste. May you read, understand and appreciate all beliefs, and may you never feel superior to any other because of your own beliefs and virtues. May righteousness mean goodness to you, and not differentiation and obligation. Ivan, may you never, never ever represent the unfortunate norms of this hateful world. May the love and compassion in your heart be your driving force. I wish that to those empty minds that look upon you with evil, God provides inspiration and positivity. I pray for you to forever know that you are loved, and that you must love. I pray that you travel to faraway lands to appreciate cultures and people, and to explore oceans and mountains – but not be suffocated by the plastics of globalization. May your mind and heart always say no to methods of war; weapons and hate. May you protest against what you disagree with, but peacefully and with supreme intelligence. May you read what inspires you and achieve the greatest levels of education. May you understand that education is not rigour and system, and know that a true education is self-motivated and comes from ones own soul. May you fall in love with all that which moves you and gives you energy. May you always have the liberty to choose. May God bless you with the luxury of freedom and individuality, may you always work to attain this.
Ivan, may your heart forever be as pure as it is today.
31.7.2010
———————
I received an email yesterday, from a friend John in Norway, who quotes Bob Dylan in response to a similar discussion, “It takes a strong man to carry the whole world upon his shoulder, but it takes an even stronger man to put the burden down”.
This note or write up is not really a review of GS 10, it tried to be. It is possibly a collection of all the thoughts that were on my mind that night, and are still knocking on the walls of my brain. I therefore refuse to go back and edit this write up or attempt to remember the GS minutes. I think this is what GS provides best, a space to reflect.
GS 9 /Host: Danish Zuberi
Members present: Khusro, Umbereen, Fizza, Raania & Danish
‘I am not the name I assume.. to me, I am not known’
Bulleh Shah (1680 – 1757)
On the 19th of May at 9 pm, Goldstar met for the 9th time. It was the eve of Facebook’s untimely demise; parked outside the South City hospital UBM and I were lost, and unable to locate the Zuberi residence because of this major disconnection. It is only then that I realized how easily we fall in love with systems, alternatives and of course how we give ourselves over completely, making ourselves slaves to the social network, or better still society.
DZ’s house in my mental image was very different than in reality. I had first pictured it when listening to the story of the ‘demanding visitors’ and the ‘old man in the living room’. All of this mystery and assumption took a completely new turn when I realized that there was indeed a ‘demanding visitor’ present in the neighbourhood, and though not old or wise, he was over shadowing most of the discussion in the living room. Shall I say more?
The hostess outdid herself, she pampered, baked, served. We all must agree that at Goldstar all of us foodies just love that! The cozy ‘reading room’ as I have decided to call it, aptly housed many books. A square coffee table, cozy seating, art work, writing table, coffee and goodies – almost everything most of us would need for survival – except of course facebook. Goldstar was born on a muggy monsoon afternoon on facebook, though so connected as people; we were still disconnected, as our platform had been ‘proxied’.
And why? There were so many questions. For nearly an hour and a half we sat asking questions, confessing and sharing. GS9 taught us a lot about each other, not about what we read or how we write, but who we are and what we often struggle with. Provoked by the ‘Stranger to history’, FK asked questions about identity. Personal reflections on religion, sanity, personality, nation, contribution and choice were shared. Examples and family stories supported the discussion, making most of us come out with questions we all had, but never got a chance or had a heart to discuss.
The conversation moved towards writing, and non-fiction writing by Pakistani authors. More so, why it might be so strange to tell all of ones truths in a book, that would be read by most of who you already know? What are security, insecurity and artistic license? And I continue asking that question to myself, is artistic license greater than a close ones desire to be clandestine? Is artistic expression not a greater cause than individual insecurities? Why are we so afraid and so secretive?
Fear, in this country is most related to politics, power and weapons. How could a young woman be so unafraid to point out the police and the government as her father’s assassins, in public, at a book launch and in the presence of those blamed? Is there nothing to lose, or no more fear? Does her story, which, some say only she was born to narrate, answer all the questions correctly? Is the research well conducted? If her primary tool is her emotion and memory, how can this story be objective? Is it just a story of a daughter’s memory, or is it being counted as political history? Is the ‘visual design’ of the book and the author true to the content and intent?
At near midnight FK received a call to come back home, as the city was once again falling apart. Riots and clashes amongst major political parties have caused much damage and death lately. Such is Guairá’s story.
UBM had tragically lost a loved one, and her loss was felt by all. Sharing a story of her cousin Humaira, she told us of the last time they had met at a family gathering. Humaira giggled when a relative read poetry, and UBM’s last words to her were, ‘ will you ever grow up?’ UBM’s writing in the current issue of TFT explains her thoughts and experience, and it was most insightful to read it.
The same gentleman, who Humaira had giggled at, had crossed my path a month prior. He asked if I would sing a nazm of Faiz Saheb’s, as he recited it. I had agreed as I love the nazm, and so from there I revisited old memories of singing poetry, and ended up reading Faiz Ahmed Faiz, under the cherry blossoms in South Korea.
KM this time, shared a story of cricket. Netherland is a novel by Joseph O’Neil, about a Dutch man who lives in New York during 9/11 and begins playing cricket at the Staten Island Cricket club. KM said he enjoyed reading about the sport that he loved, and the connections between the sport, immigrants and of course 9/11 that changed the world for us. We also spoke about the abundance of post 9/11 literature and art. I found the following link interesting:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/may/25/news.usa
It was past midnight when the conversation ended. The government had announced that all schools in the city would be closed due to the riots. FK was home safe, but apparently struggling with a reptilian presence. We said goodbye and UBM and I floated out onto the fatally unpredictable Karachi night, worried more about who might just try to follow us home, and less about any rioting. I got home and opened up the laptop, trying to see if facebook would magically work. I had so many questions, I was almost angry. That night instead of writing the review, I had a chat with a friend who confessed that he had judged me for being Muslim, when we first met. Later that night, I wrote a very childlike, almost angry and unfamiliar reflection, I posted it on my blog the next morning.
http://raania.wordpress.com/2010/05/20/love-peace-joy-and-freedom/
When reaching out and trying to get a book group together, I had hoped to find curiousity, honesty and some perspective. Goldstar is so much more than a book group. Cheers to our ‘wall’ and ‘posts’ that are back to life! I blame PTA for the delay in writing this review.
Raania.
GOLDSTAR 7: March 4th 2010
Host: Umbereen Beyg-Mirza
Fizza returned on the third of March, from her travels to faraway lands, ready to celebrate the Chinese new-year. No, time had not stopped and the tiger had been celebrated weeks ago. Nevertheless there was always the need and time in this part of the world to celebrate goodness, whether the newly discovered Valentines Day or the year of the tiger.
Earlier in the evening when she and I were alone in the study, we stumbled upon old memories of taste. Those recipes were documented in our senses; puddings, berries, cream and custard; the sweetest deserts of childhood. We walked out to the herb garden, where Quddus the scarecrow stands, scaring no one. The evening breeze prompted Fizza, and she complimented it saying this is why we were lucky to live in Karachi. We had both knew that it was the fine details of life that were in fact the most essential; Quddus, the Karachi breeze, the herbs and of course the activity we were there for.
Umbereen; the perfect hostess, organized the table and composed it with bowls and platters of more memory making tastes. Danish and Salma arrived soon, after which the five of us, for the next few hours, spoke of love, family, work, culture, curiousity, loss, music, religion and books.
Why did we all not have a dusty old chest of treasures in our box rooms? Where did those without inheritance find the ability, taste and matter for Urdu literature? Why were the few books in print so ugly? What happened? And why was there militancy between the writers of the two languages, and the have reads and the haven’t reads? Umbereen proposed that we read our way through some essential Urdu literature as a group, perhaps be read to. Fizza agreed to read to us the next time.
The luxury of being read to was on my mind. The conversation drifted to the story times of childhood, grandmothers and great grandmothers tales. Of Shahzadis and cats, of jewels and grandeur, of love found and lost. Where did the cat that was the Shahzada disappear to? Was it just the anticipation, which was keeping him there and so in love?
New books, new writers, new stories or…old stories? Yes mangos, bees, the grandmothers garden and achaar recipes were becoming the repetitive content of many sub-continent writers works. We condemn and criticize the clichés, the names, the relationships and the exotic descriptions – not realizing that it is the stories of puddings, custard, shahzadis, jewels and blue saris that keep us going too. Though not always the content of the art we make, our histories and mysteries determine the way we hear, see, taste, smell and feel.
Ma Jian, Fehmida Riaz, Amy tan, Elizabeth Gilbert, Mishima, Gregory David Roberts, Edgeworth, Coelho, Mehta, Ghalib, Iqbal or Faiz – they all represent their own mysteries and histories.
My story is different from his story, but story times are the best times.
(Raania A. K Durrani)
GOLDSTAR 6 ~ 28th January 2010
Host: Fizza Kazmi
It seemed like we had all had a very busy, hectic and long work day. The kind of day, that one can imagine having in a city of several millions. Hospitals, universities, airports, markets and refugee camps; we had been everywhere.
Each morning many of us wake to the sound of traffic, others to the squeal of an excited baby and even to the smell of the neighbour’s full fat breakfast. Throughout the day we move from place to place transporting ourselves in the noise and congestion of the city, by bus, taxi, rickshaw, car, donkey, cycle and on foot. Karachi a city of perhaps seventeen million has two major train stations, Cantt. and City, but, a nearly non-existent inter-city network. I sometimes think that a train to a city is like a clothesline to a rooftop, essential, aesthetic, convenient and very very poetic.
Tonight at GS 6 we spoke a lot about the country, this city, joy, strength and trains. A meaningful train journey by Theroux, a Chinese ‘mega-train station’, and a very sad train ride across a new border – were discussed. We spoke of how misery requires joy and peace requires war; UBM’s book of joy and SR Art of War, were interesting and apt additions to GS6. The much anticipated memoir and the butterfly’s diary were overworked, irrelevant and exhausting to the readers.
Henry and Cleopatra lead to poetry, and then came the most wonderful and most incredible ‘show and tell’ by FK. Exotic birds and unreal fruit, saints and guardians, history and art; all living in the masterpiece she shared. A meticulously embroidered large rendition, of the tree of life, honoring cultures, traditions, colours and craftsmanship; a feast for the mind and eyes. I am moved by its depth and detail, and touched by its contribution to history and documentation. We all look forward to UBM’s write up.
GS6 today was perfect and very satisfying. The flowers made my day and the fruit was beautifully sliced and served. The polka dots were happy. The books and stories were many. The attendance was just right and meeting the twins was a very big bonus.
In the evening after a long and tiring day spent searching for food, money, love and peace, we return. We return home, to the excited squeal of an infant, the sound of speeding cars and the smells and sounds of over-bearing nieghbours. We live a city without trains, and hardly any trees, birds, saints or mystics – but we are joyous and we continue to wake every morning to search and celebrate life.
GOLDSTAR 5: Year-end Celebration 22 December,2009
GS 4
November 19th 2009
‘Amidst hell, it is not hell’ ~ Calvino
We spoke of Paris and of Venice, not realizing that we are sitting on Bogra road of Bath Island. Bath Island, a drive through which brings to me memories of Karachi which I do not have, but wish I had. Tonight I came home and looked for old images of Karachi, to unlearn and rediscover what I know now of it.
A novel, a short story, a note, a moment, and a memory… what is good writing? What is good reading? We read a ‘note’ of great effect and a response to it by someone we have not met or know, who gave our discussion definition. Memories he spoke of, memories which are baggage but without which we are lonely.
I respond to him, hoping he can hear me, that it was his reflection to the ‘note’ and not the note itself that moved me more. It is the afterglow that is far more fascinating than the sunset itself. I speak of unlearning as an artist, and removing oneself from ones familiar visual/sensory memory to realize the truth of the form.
Out of a golden case, was brought out an exotic red box, rectangular in shape and of a depth enough to hold a coffee table book. What is inside? Asked Fizza. Food, clothes, reading, jewels…what was inside? It was an invitation to a wedding, with much clutter inside. The box was nice, most of us would like to own the box and fill it with so much else.
Others had consumed the chocolates in the box, earlier. But there were many treats for us. The food on Mehreen’s coffee table was as delightful; almost as delightful as Sophie’s mid-discussion entrances – and Amin’s calming presence.
What is culture? What is cultural baggage? What is religion? What is madness? What is true? What is myth? What is belief and what is ignorance? What is terrorism? What is daily chaos? What is fear? What is it to live in this part of the world, in a time such as this?
Childhood memories of Muharram, lead to the discussion about empowerment, contracts of marriage, popular belief and contemporary painting. (R.M Naeem’s recent works at Koel Gallery). Earlier we also discussed Urdu reading, the comfort of reading a certain language – and of course translation. Translations of the book for all times, were discussed. The Quran and its varying translations, and the persona of the translator and its outcomes.
The evening continued with short meaningful descriptions of beauty; of walking down a road in London, of shooting stars, of handsome army men in black suits, of wishful thinking, of the romantic image of a doctors life ( as seen on TV ) , of a desired superstar ( whose wife has no muscle tone ), of good coffee and basements of eclectic books, of the winter crabbing season in Karachi and stories of romance complemented by great recipes.
The evening was brought to an end with the satisfaction of the fantastic group dynamic, which GS has, and the need to cherish that. We walked down the stairs of Mary view apartments, speaking of therapy and the power of good discussion.
Culture is what we design and practice with joy, belief is what we derive from logic and spirituality, terrorism is a children’s school lined with sand bags and snipers, madness is continuing to send our children to these schools – because the learning must not stop, academic, intellectual or social. Fear is watching a celestial storm and worrying about who is lurking in the dark, ignorance is conforming, and to live in these times in this place is food for great thought.
So inspired, so interested, so curious…we all are. I sit in the car and say to Umbereen, ‘Amidst hell, it is not hell’ (Calvino).
Raania A.K Durrani
GS 3
October 20th 2009
Hosted by Fizza Kazmi
A night of revelation, divinity and crossing over; not a séance, but rather a sequel to the time we met earlier.
It is past midnight and Ivan is deep in his sleep, perhaps dreaming of things I will never know of. What I know now is that I am eager to document tonight. Salma joined us tonight-and she is why Fizza believes she deserves a GOLD STAR- and so this afternoon I decided to give us all a GOLD STAR and name our nameless group. Talking about names, Danish Zuberi is a lady, a lady often referred to as a gentleman. Yet her name must be used (in a clandestine fashion) to attract male energy to GS (much needed). The only time a man (my man) attended a meeting was because he lived at the venue.
Speaking of men, Danish learned that an old man in white was sighted sitting in the lounge of her family home; amongst many other non-human residents who the domestic staff had been attending to unknowingly. She discovered this after a detailed investigation inspired by the ‘furniture moving’ stories of last time. After a detailed discussion on pilgrimage and divine belief, the books were brought out.
Mehreen shared the story of a friend, drawing a parallel between it and the book she just read after two and a half years. Please see GS wall for extracts from Jodi Picoult. Our newest guest was baptized as she has read ‘Empires of the Indus’. Fizza Kazmi ( not the movie’s namesake ) brought out her recently acquired book of short stories, she spoke in detail of one, the closing line of which drastically altered her opinion of the character; he looked left, he looked right and then he crossed over. She also shared the heavy Henry, and we all chanted, ‘ divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived..’
The move to the food was made and amidst grapes, cheese, crackers, cake…and much more..the talk of theatre and film began. It has been decided that GS will soon meet for a movie night, venue undecided, and film undecided. The conversation yet again became a bit occult. Before it could get out of hand Fizza moved us back to the original site and brought out a rather ‘ interactive ‘ book of images and letters shared between two artists. This three part set seemed visually most exciting and is a must have.
And….once again the tales began. The lady in the doorway, the head outside the kitchen window, the ‘Oh Boy!’ laundry story and so on. But of special interest to animal lovers, the black feline was also discussed, prior to which, substantial time was devoted to reptiles of all shapes and sizes. These stories were prompted by my ambitious reading (and I am not at all ZEN) of the Dalai Lama’s ‘How to practice’, and how my earlier DL reads have made me tolerant of insects.
Before the night became morning, and Ivan’s dreamtime became potty time, we parted. Hoping the next GOLD STAR meeting will be longer and a bit less occult, and if it must be ‘scary story time’ then it should be a pajama party. Until another man is sighted, and another gold star is earned. Goodnight.
Special thanks to Ali & Sehr Kazmi for welcoming us in their beautiful home.
Raania A. K Durrani
GS 5
La receta de sangría de la estrella del oro:
(Recipe for the Goldstar sangria)
Sugar drunk on rum,
Kinoo, apple, lemon and anaar;
extracts and flesh, almost venom,
salt for sense ; grapes for innocence,
cinnamon to endear, ‘stir it up’ says Bob in my ear,
when the night is dark and the rum is old,
the wine tonight must be cold,
ginger and ice; catalyze,
making many stars of gold.
(Raania A. K Durrani 23.12.2009)
GOLDSTAR 6 ~ 28th January 2010
Host: Fizza Kazmi
It seemed like we had all had a very busy, hectic and long work day. The kind of day, that one can imagine having in a city of several millions. Hospitals, universities, airports, markets and refugee camps; we had been everywhere.
Each morning many of us wake to the sound of traffic, others to the squeal of an excited baby and even to the smell of the neighbour’s full fat breakfast. Throughout the day we move from place to place transporting ourselves in the noise and congestion of the city, by bus, taxi, rickshaw, car, donkey, cycle and on foot. Karachi a city of perhaps seventeen million has two major train stations, Cantt. and City, but, a nearly non-existent inter-city network. I sometimes think that a train to a city is like a clothesline to a rooftop, essential, aesthetic, convenient and very very poetic.
Tonight at GS 6 we spoke a lot about the country, this city, joy, strength and trains. A meaningful train journey by Theroux, a Chinese ‘mega-train station’, and a very sad train ride across a new border – were discussed. We spoke of how misery requires joy and peace requires war; UBM’s book of joy and SR Art of War, were interesting and apt additions to GS6. The much anticipated memoir and the butterfly’s diary were overworked, irrelevant and exhausting to the readers.
Henry and Cleopatra lead to poetry, and then came the most wonderful and most incredible ‘show and tell’ by FK. Exotic birds and unreal fruit, saints and guardians, history and art; all living in the masterpiece she shared. A meticulously embroidered large rendition, of the tree of life, honoring cultures, traditions, colours and craftsmanship; a feast for the mind and eyes. I am moved by its depth and detail, and touched by its contribution to history and documentation. We all look forward to UBM’s write up.
GS6 today was perfect and very satisfying. The flowers made my day and the fruit was beautifully sliced and served. The polka dots were happy. The books and stories were many. The attendance was just right and meeting the twins was a very big bonus.
In the evening after a long and tiring day spent searching for food, money, love and peace, we return. We return home, to the excited squeal of an infant, the sound of speeding cars and the smells and sounds of over-bearing nieghbours. We live a city without trains, and hardly any trees, birds, saints or mystics – but we are joyous and we continue to wake every morning to search and celebrate life.
(Raania A. K Durrani 28.1.2010)
GOLDSTAR 7: March 4th 2010
Host: Umbereen Beyg-Mirza
Fizza returned on the third of March, from her travels to faraway lands, ready to celebrate the Chinese new-year. No, time had not stopped and the tiger had been celebrated weeks ago. Nevertheless there was always the need and time in this part of the world to celebrate goodness, whether the newly discovered Valentines Day or the year of the tiger.
Earlier in the evening when she and I were alone in the study, we stumbled upon old memories of taste. Those recipes were documented in our senses; puddings, berries, cream and custard; the sweetest deserts of childhood. We walked out to the herb garden, where Quddus the scarecrow stands, scaring no one. The evening breeze prompted Fizza, and she complimented it saying this is why we were lucky to live in Karachi. We had both knew that it was the fine details of life that were in fact the most essential; Quddus, the Karachi breeze, the herbs and of course the activity we were there for.
Umbereen; the perfect hostess, organized the table and composed it with bowls and platters of more memory making tastes. Danish and Salma arrived soon, after which the five of us, for the next few hours, spoke of love, family, work, culture, curiousity, loss, music, religion and books.
Why did we all not have a dusty old chest of treasures in our box rooms? Where did those without inheritance find the ability, taste and matter for Urdu literature? Why were the few books in print so ugly? What happened? And why was there militancy between the writers of the two languages, and the have reads and the haven’t reads? Umbereen proposed that we read our way through some essential Urdu literature as a group, perhaps be read to. Fizza agreed to read to us the next time.
The luxury of being read to was on my mind. The conversation drifted to the story times of childhood, grandmothers and great grandmothers tales. Of Shahzadis and cats, of jewels and grandeur, of love found and lost. Where did the cat that was the Shahzada disappear to? Was it just the anticipation, which was keeping him there and so in love?
New books, new writers, new stories or…old stories? Yes mangos, bees, the grandmothers garden and achaar recipes were becoming the repetitive content of many sub-continent writers works. We condemn and criticize the clichés, the names, the relationships and the exotic descriptions – not realizing that it is the stories of puddings, custard, shahzadis, jewels and blue saris that keep us going too. Though not always the content of the art we make, our histories and mysteries determine the way we hear, see, taste, smell and feel.
Ma Jian, Fehmida Riaz, Amy tan, Elizabeth Gilbert, Mishima, Gregory David Roberts, Edgeworth, Coelho, Mehta, Ghalib, Iqbal or Faiz – they all represent their own mysteries and histories.
My story is different from his story, but story times are the best times.
(Raania A. K Durrani 4.3.2010)
