Review City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert

I read ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ by Elizabeth Gilbert some good eight years back, and was touched by its honesty, and originality. Her latest offering ‘The City of Girls’ however, disappointed me in more ways than one and I couldn’t really connect to the story and characters or be hugely moved at any given point in the narrative. 

The good parts first; the author’s writing aptitude and flair is highly impressive, I particularly enjoyed the dry-humoured narrative style with the protagonist relating her entire life story to another character Angela. The story starts off in the summer of 1940s when Vivian Morris is sent off to New York by her parents. The meticulous and vibrant description of the New York Theatre scene in that era is much entertaining. Lily Playhouse, a revue theatre, is bustling with many varied and interesting characters, all etched out in painstaking detail. A wide-eyed Vivian whole-heartedly throws herself into the colourful and adventurous life offered here. In the process she has fun, learns, discovers and most importantly makes mistakes! The second half of the book when Vivian comes back to New York has a slightly different and subdued tone to it with the inclusion of the USA in the second World War and its effects on the lives of everyone. This is where our main girl comes into her own and finds her calling and place in the world. 

A good plot but at the heart of this book lies the (very colourful) sexual life of the protagonist; it’s beginning, adventures, and many ups and downs! Personally, the abundant and in-depth description of such scenes became nauseating for me. At the cost of sounding prudish, this book confirms that after all the evolution of humanity and technology, intellectual parameters are stagnant or rather deteriorating universally. It is quite clear what sells on media from publishing to Movies (case in point trending of 365 days on Netflix). 

There are many admirable themes that the author brings up in the story such as the unnecessary pressure to conform to societal norms, women being capable of staying happy on their own and enjoying the sisterhood amongst women. But the book is too black and white; to prove that a single woman can be very happy with a family of friends why does one have to show every marriage as painful and every family as dysfunctional? Are we saying only those who are leading a bohemian and/or somewhat promiscuous life have the potential to be fun, warm and genuine people? 

My Star rating 2.5/5 

Kindness; A Dying Art?

We are living in strange times; an era that can arguably be called more materialistic and superficial than ever.  The demands of these times are humongous; the high achievement prerequisites set by society, the standards of beauty raised a million notches higher, the social media personas to be maintained, the projection of happiness versus inner peace, and the race to do it all, see it all and be it all! Amongst all this hullabaloo there are some intrinsic values and ideals that are not only being ignored but dying a slow painful death; kindness being one such casualty!

We have collectively raised the bar for our 'normal' and anyone who fails to live up to this standard is rejected by the all of us a a society. Bullying, stereotyping, and shaming are rampant, making individuals more and more isolated. Precarious, unwritten rules dictate that monetary prestige, approved relationship status, and other such benchmarks define the ‘right’, the ‘normal’, the ‘ideal’ set of people for us to interact, bond and be affiliated with within the society. 

Whatever happened to honesty, warmth, and compassion; apparently these are non-entities in a world where the exterior defines the person. 
What of those classified as ‘social misfits’? Those who say the wrong things at at the wrong places as per our standards.  Or who look and dress in a way we do not find appropriate or good enough. Having fun at the expense of another person’s ego, pride and dignity is so normalised that we all point fingers at others, blissfully ignorant of our own such behaviours.  

Perhaps its high time we stop tand help the ones left behind, to make a conscious effort not to laugh at another person’s weakness, to try to come out of our comfort zone and see those who need help. Let’s give a helping hand to the invisible ones, see them, feel them and communicate. A smile, a hug, a minute to just listen, small gestures that are invaluable to someone fighting a silent inner battle. Could we pause in this mad race to be in the ‘inner’ circles and start to make our own small circles of compassion and benevolence that ripple around to create many new loops. Let’s revive kindness big time!

Book Review: “Jannat kay Pattay” by Nemrah Ahmed

After a very long time this month, I picked up an Urdu novel to read, when ‘Jannat kay Pattay’ by Nemrah Ahmed was gifted to me by a friend. 

Set in two very beautiful cities; namely Islamabad and Istanbul, this is a novel about a Law student, Haya, who goes to Sabanci University Istanbul through an exchange program. Her excitement is doubled by her underlying motivation to meet her estranged aunt and cousin-cum-husband; Jahan Sikander. Theirs was a childhood marriage arranged by elders and life took such unpredictable turns that the families were barely in touch and the nuptials seemingly forgotten.  

Nemrah Ahmed writes in remarkable, at times almost painstaking, detail and there are many side characters and sub plots that are a part of this story. The author comes across as knowledgeable and observant and shares her rich reserves of information with the reader with an uninhibited abandon. However, it seems that has she tried to give this novel just about everything.  So much so it seemed to me that it could have been two or maybe three different novels,  all rolled up in one here! From detailed description of Istanbul and Cappadocia to the amazing world of spies and triple agents, and from the dark world of Russian mafia and human trafficking to the very sensitive issue of Palestine and Israel conflict, she has touched upon too many topics in a single book. 

While much all of this has been woven somehow into the main storyline, more than once I felt there was an information and topic overload. A slightly more focused approach and editing out of some side tracks could have helped make the narrative crisper and gripping. 

Going back to the story, Haya’s spiritual journey forms the back-bone of the book and puts forward many beautiful life lessons from the Quran. Though many may debate why the Hijab or covering of a woman’s face and/or hair is always the main issue when her connection with Allah is discussed, the fact of the matter is that this is perhaps the single most difficult step a woman can take when she moves ahead on her path of spirituality. To sacrifice one’s vanity is a huge deal and the writer has highlighted many relevant issues  in detail quoting the Quran and Hadith accordingly. Though it added to the length of an already very long narrative I felt some basic topics that were discussed were so vital and needed to be said. Simple things such as women judging other women for their hijab choices, the so-called segregation at our social gatherings, and being covered not being equal to being shabby! All of these may sound very pedestrian but are very real problems. 

On the flip side, the innumerable twists and turns in the plot become exhausting at times for the reader. For instance, the entire episode of the kidnapping by the some mafia gang and the ensuing torture details were a bit too much to digest. Creative liberty pushed to the limits one would say. Specially as the protagonist is saved in the nick of time miraculously and no one ever finds out about this entire episode in her family or university!

Urdu novels in monthly digest are a category of fiction that allows immense diversification in a single story. This book was also originally published as a 15 or more part series in a monthly digest.  However, as the new breed of Urdu writers are moving on to the next level, leaving behind the run-of-the-mill family sagas, there might just be benefit in categorising stories into genres such such as romance, thriller, mystery so on so forth. This could allow the content to be more refined and excel the writing to world-class narratives

For example, if the author would have minimised the information surplus and plot twists in this book, it could have focused more on the emotional detail of the main characters. What Haya feels about Jahan and vice versa is not really explored thoroughly in the initial part of the story. Personally, I felt emotionally isolated from the main protagonist as to what she really felt at certain points in time with respect to her spouse. It is only at the tail end when all the puzzles are solved and all mysteries unraveled that the writer expands on the real feelings of the couple. After all this is a love story at its core and should have had the reader more invested in the main characters.  

Another issue I found disturbing in this book was Haya’s relationship with her family. She does not share any of her life-altering issues with them. Including an attempted sexual assault, blackmailing, and a kidnapping. Though the philosophy that ‘all of our problems should not always be shared with others’ is shared multiple times in the novel, the above mentioned issues definitely do not fall into that category and particularly not with immediate family and parents. Keeping her target audience in view, Nemrah could have guided girls to trust their families first and foremost. Daughters are not just dehumanised icons of dignity and family honour. They are living breathing souls. 

Overall this book is an (over) ambitious tale combining halal romance, Turkish tourism, Intelligence agencies, family politics and much more. A good one-time read that entertains and reminds you to rethink and review your relationship with the Al-Mighty, the latter being the best thing about this book!

My Critical Rating: 7.5/10 (A fair one-time read for me)

Pro-Tip: If you are planning a trip to Turkey, buy and read this book, better still take it along as your travel read!

The Virus Within

It was expected yet deep down secretly perhaps we were all hoping, that by some stroke of luck ,we would be saved from this global pandemic. Alas! the news finally broke and it hit me much more severely than I expected. So rewind to a regular Wednesday evening in our household where we were busy with our shared rituals; the husband cleaning up the dinner table and me supervising the kids brushing and bedtime routine. Mundane chores we both dread but brace ourselves to finish off as it marks the end of the day’s rigor and  promises some great ‘me time” ahead (read an hour on our respective smartphones) before we can embrace the bliss of slumber.

It was a little before 8 pm I think when the husband called me to the TV room, where News Channels had gone ballistic, breaking news of the latest national level development; two patients of the Coronavirus were now identified in Pakistan one each in Karachi and Islamabad. My initial reaction was of course worry and then detailed discussion with the better half about our next steps. We decided not to send the kids to school the next day and see how the situation unfolded. The husband declared he was going out to get some emergency supply of face masks and hand sanitizers.

Meanwhile, the kids were loving the fact that I had forgotten about their bedtime and were happily chatting in the bedroom. I intelligently did not disclose to them the no-school plan for the next day and scolded them for still being up. For a change they complied and soon both were snoring lost in their blissful dream worlds made up of unicorns, Frozen sequels and pet dogs.

Before starting my Isha prayers, I turned the cell phone ringer off,  but the persistent vibrations on it kept distracting me throughout. By the time I was done praying, the phone had gone almost bust with numerous missed calls and endless messages from family, friends, neighbors and mom groups. As I started going through them one after the other, fear and stress began gnawing and clawing their way steadily into my mind.

I was still on the phone around half past ten when  the husband returned with many large bottles of hand sanitizers but no masks. All nearby shops apparently said they had run out of face masks.  The mask disappearance from shops that evening is an entire narrative in itself and should be taken up as a national level case study to research how and when we became such a pathetic society. A worldwide pandemic is on the verge of hitting our country and we quickly hide the face mask stocks to sell it for higher rates later. How fascinating is this thought process and frankly enough to explain the entire deterioration of our national and social fabric.

Moving back to my household situation, I was the only one up past midnight my mind working overtime. Before going to bed, the husband had advised me to stay put at home with the kids the next day. He also advised to take stock of basic grocery and other necessities at home as there maybe uncertain times ahead. I tried going to bed too but it seemed like a hard little ball of stress was let loose in my head bouncing constantly from one end to the other not letting my mind rest or relax.  For the past one month we all have been hearing, seeing and reading enough on this virus. Yet a certain panic had started to kick in now that it was so close to home. How will I manage to protect my kids? How much can I control them and their surroundings? What about the house help, I have no idea what they are exposed to at home and on the way to work? Should I just ask them not to come anymore? (Ha, easier said than done, this last one).

Still scrolling through different messages, I glanced at the clock and realized it was 2:00 am and I was still wide awake. The more I read about the disease, its spread and precautions the more I got worked up. Strange as I have always prided myself on being very calm in the toughest of situations (except of course when turbulence hits my aircraft which is quite legit ) !

3: 15 am I am still on the phone, more reading on latest worldwide developments about the COVID-19. As more cases surface in different parts of the globe, hotels are being quarantined, cities isolated and borders being sealed. So this is how the world is going to end? Why couldn’t I be born some 100 years earlier and not witness these terrible times. What about our future plans. Specially travel as I hadn’t even seen half of the places on my bucket list and already it seems like there won’t be any more globe-trotting in the near future.

Another message beeped but this time it wasn’t  related to the Coronavirus. It was a graphic and heart wrenching video of the brutal violence in Dehli against the local Muslims. Horrific imagery and scenes filled the phone screen. Was this Allah’s wrath? Is doom here already. And why not, there is enough happening to incite the anger of God. With these troubled thoughts I somehow managed to slip into a disturbed sleep.

Next morning I woke up with a throbbing head. First things first of course; grab the phone and check the fifty new messages. Most were the same messages as last night just going around in a circular pattern; updates, safety precautions and many supplications to be recited to protect oneself and family. I quickly read through most of these and forwarded the seemingly important ones to selected contacts.  

By 9 am the house help arrived and I finally got out of the bed to open the door for her. She inquired why the kids were home that day and I in turn asked her if she knew about the Coronavirus and it being in Karachi now. Apparently, she didn’t know much and I briefed her explaining how cleanliness has to be taken very seriously now. “Oh acha”, suddenly she declared as if she had found the clue to some longtime mystery, “Baji,  that’s why my brother has not recovered from his flu for so long. He has had fever and bad cough and no medicine is working on him” she continued oblivious to my stunned silence and (I assume) deathly pale face. “Acha”,  a meek voice arose somewhere from the bottom of my dry throat sounding strange to even to myself. Before  I could process this information and formulate a plan accordingly,  she energetically moved on to grab the cleaning supplies and start her daily cleaning regime.

“Should I ask her to leave and clean myself?” I questioned myself.  However the lounge and kids room looked like a very rowdy group of teenagers had partied there till wee hours of the night. With non-existent exercise happening in my  life very clearly the brain signaled that I wasn’t capable of tidying up this mess on my own. “I will send her early after just the basic cleaning” lame self-consolation came into play combined with some selective blocking out.

Leaving her to her tasks and making sure the kids were safely tucked away in the other room I moved onto the kitchen. Once the dishes were done I grabbed a few wet wipes and started rubbing the kitchen counters and cabinets vigorously. However, I thought these maybe quite benign in these times and I  should get some strong anti-bacterial surface cleaners now.  There was nothing to cook in the house but I was unsure if I should get meat or poultry as many safety messages advised against it. Will we have to turn vegetarian now? A voice inside me shamed for not inculcating good eating habits in my off springs and introducing them to a well-balanced diet of all food groups.  Almost on cue the phone rang at that moment  breaking my chain of thoughts. My sister’s name was flashing on the screen and I picked up immediately sharing with her my dilemma asking her what to do. She calmed me down and told me get the usual groceries for now. “Just be careful in washing and use vinegar as well” she advised.  Feeling slightly more composed I got down to making a grocery list and handed it to the driver with the money.

The cleaning girl seemed to be going about her work slower than usual or maybe it was my imagination. Anyways she was done with most of the work by lunchtime and I hurriedly asked her to wrap up for the day and leave. Once she left I pumped generous amounts of hand sanitizer on tissue wads and started to rub the door handles and knobs, trying to wipe clean any and all surfaces that maybe contaminated.

As I took a break and checked my phone again a new message listing preemptive measures advised sipping of warm water as prevention against germs.  I immediately headed to the kitchen to make  a steaming pot of lemon and honey tea . I called the kids busy playing in their room, “Come out girls, wash your hands and have some tea with me”. They weren’t too excited at washing hands again for the tenth time since morning but nevertheless came around after some cajoling. I poured the warm concoction out for them, “Sip it slowly but have it while its warm, this is very effective in killing any germs we have in our system, the experts say we should constantly sip hot or warm water the entire day as a safety precaution” ,  I rattled off what I had learned from the recent message gulping down my own cup piping hot rather than warm beverage.

“Mama what’s happening, is there danger?” one of them quizzed me sensing my anxiety and worry as daughter can so naturally. “Well, yes, no…we are just being careful love” I replied “Yes the Coronavirus has now come to our city and we must take all precautions to keep our family safe this includes washing hands often, not going to crowded places, as well as praying  for our family to stay safe and sound Inshallah” I started explaining to them the situation in what I hoped was a balanced way.  

“Right , Mama we must share all of this with our home staff as well, the driver uncle goes out to get things all the time so they are at more of a risk,” one of the twins said thoughtfully

“Also Mama you don’t get worried, don’t you always tell us once we have said Ayat-ul-Kursi and Protection Duas then it’s all up to Allah” the other one added. 

“Mama shouldn’t we give this warm water to the maid and driver as well then if it’s so effective?”

“Also share the important Duas with them, for their children as well?”

More suggestions and thoughts came forth from my kid, all outward directed and totally selfless in sharp contrast to my own thought process. Sometimes our children show us the right way because their minds, thoughts and actions are so clean and unpolluted. Unlike us adults, who with time become so selfish and self-centered that we lose sight of why we are the most privileged of Allah’s creation.

These innocent thoughts cleared the heaviness and gloom that I had been carrying with me  since last night. What was I thinking? Yes this may very well be the wrath of Allah but we don’t need to blame the profanity others for it rather each one of us must analyze our own personal connection with Allah SWT, mend our ways and seek forgiveness.

Yes, there is  a deadly COVID-19 virus out there but so are many other disease and disasters and as a Muslim our belief is to take precautions and leave the rest up to Allah.

As for the pensive mood prevalent around the globe, yes the prospect of being home and city bound is so depressing because Alhamdolilah  our lives are generally so fulfilling and enjoyable. We have weekend plans, and vacation plans ready ahead of time. The only thing we are not prepared for is leaving the gloss and charm of this world.

And most importantly this is the time to realize our blessings and that with great privilege comes great responsibility. With no shortage of soap, water, disinfectants, and food, our greatest worry is how to keep ourselves entertained if confined to our houses God forbid. There are many who are  not even in the position of taking the correct preventive measures for their families and children.  This is the time to rise to the challenge, reach out and help and protect all those who need us; whether it’s relaying information or other material means. We must remember that no act of kindness, or good deed is too small and no challenge so big that the humanity cannot prevail over it.

Could women please take a leaf out of KRQ’s script?

While Khalil-ur-Rehman Qamar has never been my favorite writer, I cannot help but appreciate his craft and talent. Despite the huge hype surrounding them, I was unable to get hooked onto either Pyaray Afzal or Sadqay Tumhare, two of his past block busters on TV. However, this time around I am very much on the ‘Meray Pass Tum Ho’ watcher’s bandwagon; religiously following and commenting on the very addictive play. What’s more I insist that our female playwrights should take a leaf out of his book (script rather) and his depiction of a hurt and dejected man’s emotions onscreen. 

So this drama that has arguably become the biggest television hit since Humsafar, tells the story of Daanish who has been left high and dry by his beautiful wife for a rich and suave billionaire. As Daanish was humiliated and ditched by Mahvish the nation cried with him. Young and old, men and women alike hated the cold-hearted mother who left a small and super cute sleeping child to walk away with her boyfriend. As much as I was enjoying the amazing production, what made me pick up my pen, rather laptop, was not the stellar cast or the amazing direction that makes it such a pleasure to watch. It is rather this playwright’s brilliant and bold portrayal of the plight of a heart-broken man.

Let’s take it from the beginning, when Daanish finds out he has been deceived and his wife is having an affair behind his back he is shattered and even goes into denial for sometime. He pleads and begs her to stay back but just as Mehvish is about to step out of his house and his life, he gets back at her and how with a most humiliating and cringe-worthy one-liner.  As life moves on the writer shows a post-divorce Daanish slowly and steadily taking charge of his life and bringing about some changes to it. Whether its quitting his job or selling his house, he is up and about and not dwelling on the fact that the neighbors very well know he is lying and actually has been dumped by his spouse. Credit also must be given to the writer’s portrayal of the protagonist as a sensitive man whose heartbeat starts to race when he spots Mehvish with Shahwar at a restaurant. But his sadness and pain do not affect his self-esteem. He is sure his recent investments will be profitable for him because he feels God will favor him after the tragedy he has been through in his marriage. He communicates the same to his son as well. He feels God will love and favor him now that he has been through such a big tragedy.

In sharp contrast to this are the uncountable female characters in our plays who are dejected, tortured and betrayed by their on-screen spouses. These characters either make a spectacle out of themselves by turning into a weeping mess or resign to their supposed bad luck by going into self pity and bechargi. I don’t remember any female character in our plays who feels God will not let any other calamity reach her after a tragedy such as this. If anything we are normally shown that after a marital tragedy of any sort more pain and  misfortunes are awaiting the affectee. If the argument is given that such is the reality than by the same measure men who have been dumped don’t immediately go on to become millionaires in real life too.

I remember a distantly similar situation in a play featuring Savera Nadeem and Faisal Quraishi. The wife faces a tough life alone in her susral as the husband is forced to go abroad to earn for the betterment of the family. He finds a love interest and secretly marries her there as well for some visa gains. In all this misery the wife gets close to his best friend back home and rather than cheating decides to take a divorce and remarry. Only she is ditched by the friend and left alone to lead a miserable life humiliated by her own family, in-laws and husband. The husband never ‘forgives’ her she pays for years with every ounce of her dignity and energy for the minor mistake which was quite justified. My question is why do women show other women suffering no matter who’s mistake it is? Why don’t women gang up on men who are in the wrong just the same way the entire world seems to be reprimanding Mahvish in MPTH. Yes, its reel life not real but that’s the whole point. Here is a chance to convey our stance and send out a message to the society.

Humayon Saeed’s character is hurt to the core but he is not unsure about his position in any way. He knows he has been wronged and does not doubt himself even for a minute. Whereas, in a recent play after the female protagonist comes out of an abusive marriage and remarries a nice guy, he obviously dies within months! Why? Cant good things happen to women? Why do they have to be sufferers even if they are in the right?

Dramas and movies give the creative liberty and power to writers that can help uplift people and send across constructive messages to the society. Why can we not show women a more dignified and positive way to deal with failures and struggles in life be it a broken relationship, an unjust susral or any other misfortune.

As the story of MPTH is now almost ending and Mahvish has seen her downfall we see virtually the entire society, including her 5 years old son and the her boyfriend’s butler, condemning her and at times saying to her face that what she got is what she deserved. KRQ uses the power of his pen to convey that a woman who betrays will be punished by karma and denounced by the society at large.

I wish female playwrights would also put across similar messages that those men who betray or mistreat their wives are not only seen in a negative light by their peers but more importantly stand wrong in the sight of the Creator.

Sadly, when a woman is betrayed or ditched by her husband she is still condemned in real and reel life. Because she must not have been good enough or done enough for him so he was forced to stray. Whereas to the point of being infuriating no one in this script even distantly suggests that maybe Danish gave his wife some reasons to leave too. He was too possessive and clingy or too complacent about his career. Why couldn’t he weave his stock market magic while being with her?

In my head if I role reverse the situation, fellow men will be telling Daanish if only he had lost some weight and dressed better, he would not have been ditched for a far trimmer and suave Shahwar!

Maid Tales; Decoding our domestic staff

This morning, on my way back from dropping kids to school, I sat back in the car, staring out of the window aimlessly, taking in the early morning view of the cityscape. Mornings have a strange way of filling you up with hope; the cars zipping by busily, some dog walkers on the stroll, beautiful flowers heralding spring outside houses. Yet the one thing that struck me the most this morning was the large number of domestic workers I saw starting their day.

This work force was out and about in hordes rushing around the posh locality. Duppattas wrapped tightly around them, clutching their small and worn out bags or wallets, they strode on purposefully. Each one headed to their respective employer’s house, with a long and hard day of toil awaiting them.  Locally, termed as Massi or Kaam Wali, or most most recently upgraded to the term maids, these domestic workers lead quite a sad existence. They cook, clean, wash, sweep and serve and yet they are almost an invisible part of the society. It’s quite interesting and I wonder often how these beautiful mansions with perfectly manicured lawns would function even for a day if not for this amazing work force?

However, unfortunately, the way we treat them leaves much to be desired. Minimal wages, long hours and mostly harsh treatment by the employers are just the surface issues. The biggest problem remains their unequal status as a human being, where we believe that just because they are born economically lesser than us they are lesser humans and deserve no respect and rights! They can cook for us but not eat with us, they can take care of our kids but not share the same sofa or chairs with us.

Their constant woes of poverty and demands for small loans or monetary help, provides fodder for our coffee morning conversation. Without us realizing for a moment that this probably is what their life is; problems and more problems.  We think we outsmart them by not granting them the miniscule loan they asked for in lieu of their niece’s wedding in the village. Maybe its true in cases, they were probably lying and we very shrewdly saw through the lie. However, what’s really heart wrenching is that the much discussed and rejected loan was the amount equivalent to the bill we pick up at the local café for a coffee morning without batting an eye lid. Maybe the money wasn’t actually going towards the cause stated, but one can say with much conviction that surely it must be a cause worthier than the Bullet Proof Coffees and Avacado Salads ordered for our gossip sessions.