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Neon Lahore

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Tired of waiting.

Burlington House, London.

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Cat near the sea at sundown.

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Still reading and falling in love with Neil MacGregor’s “A history of the world in 100 objects”. This is, so far, my favourite bit in the book - the seal found in Harappa.

This obviously has something do with the fact that this is my own history - the Indus Valley civilization’s remains found here are even situated with reference to Lahore 😊 (Harappa is 150 miles from here). This one entry alone touches on British colonialism (the archaeological discovery was made by them in the 1850s) and the consequences of Pakistan’s Partition with India (such as how archeology has developed as a discipline in India). Absolute fascination guaranteed here!

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This is what some of Lahore looks like by rain. Turner Road. The Mall. Colonial architecture, silently flanked by trees that predate it.

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It rained the other evening The bougainvillea survived The dead leaves fell to the ground The flaming flowers thrived

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                                            The Lahore Book Fair.

I hadn’t been to the Lahore Book Fair for 2 years, mostly because of exams and other cities. I comforted myself with the reflection that it didn’t matter because there’s nothing at the Fair nowadays that I can’t get from my usual bookstores anyway. Plus, I still remember when they used to hold this at the Alhamra Arts Council when I was a child and that labyrinthine building gave it a glamour in my memories that is very hard for the new Expo centre to compete with.

This year, I was in town with no exam in sight so I decided to go with my mother on the very last day (telling myself that it was superfluous anyway since all the good books would probably already be sold out). BUT, I found a treasure hoard I hadn’t imagined. In the shape of the stall owned by this outfit called Multiline Books (they’re on the Mall Road near Regal Chowk so check them out if you get the chance). They had books on art and literature and if I were richer, the haul would be larger. But alas, the money I had only got me 2 books from there, but what books they were! The discount for the Fair was 10% but I cajoled the nice old man who owns it to give me 33% and if that isn’t success I don’t know what is. The beauties that got to go home with me were:

1. The politics of literature in Nazi Germany; and

2. The book cover in the Weimar Republic.

I also finally found the unabridged version of “The Count of Monte Cristo” (I read “The Three Musketeers” and “The man in the Iron Mask” when I was 16 but couldn't find this) and “The collected works of D. H. Lawrence’ at the Readings stall. I don't know why but the best books are almost always in the bottom shelf, which resulted in me  sitting cross-legged on the floor while I went through the titles and almost got run over by tall people.

It was a day well-spent and I look forward to reading and posting reviews of all the books I bought.

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Paint the town red.

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My planning diary for this year contains poems - which collide throughout the pages with records of my mundane appointments and meeting. This is my favourite because: a). It's T. S. Eliot b). It's one of his cat poems - which I've loved ever since I read "Macavity the mystery cat" at the age of 10. Also, this is obviously dedicated to my cat, Bobo, who was named after a psychological experiment because I had exams and also because she's crosseyed and stupid 💝 🙆😻

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I bought the collected stories by D. H. Lawrence at the Lahore book fair a few weeks ago. But, I forgot to check beforehand that "The lost girl", my namesake, is not a novella but a novel. So,it not being in this book is resulting in a bit of an existential crisis right now. One hopes to find it one of these days though.

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That is human nature, that people come after you, willingly enough, provided only that you no longer love or want them.

A.S. Byatt, Possession

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"The Men who Knew"

My old/ original blog hasn’t seen any action for almost 4 years now. Today I decided to salvage something from it that made me giggle. I wrote this on the 21st of August’ 2012:

As women, we all know of that type of Man, the one that interrupts us to say, "Ji aap ko nahi patta" . If we're lucky it's someone we only have to put with at a social function where, hanging onto our husband's arm glittering in the new polki set we just couldn't resist at Damas, we have accidentally opened our mouth in front of one of his colleagues. Now we may have gotten our business degree from LUMS, graduating with honours while this very same colleague was so far behind us, we hadn't even bothered to remember him until he button-holed the hubby at the party, BUT, since he has entered the business world (dominated for the most part by men) he can't help thinking he knows better. However, since it is a social occasion and you did forget to strap a blade to your garter belt beneath that gorgeous Satyapaul sari, you can only smile and allow the buffoon to hold forth and mansplain the recent listing of the company he works for on the stock exchange (which he, uncoincidentally, acts like he owns).

We all have to learn the baghal-mein-churri-muun-mein-ram-ram approach to gender relationships. That, at least, is what our mothers would like you to believe. But then again, where's the fun in that? And, if you want to know a secret, sometimes these same mothers, adorable creatures that they are, are the ones who secretly applaud when we speak up.

Case in point: Last year I got sick. So sick, I couldn't muster the energy to talk, even to the doctor who was trying to diagnose me. So my mum went ahead and told him what he needed to know. Turns out I have gastroenteritis. Also turns out that it is one of the top bemaris doing the rounds in Lahore, waiting to stick to unsuspecting people like me. The other ailment competing for top place during this time was dengue. Yes. THE dengue, the one that caused us to stink of Mospel all last summer. Anyway, so my mum has the audacity to ask Mr. Doctor what the symptoms of dengue are (the new immigrant disease was still confounding these respected gentlemen/women). Doctor sahib at once goes pompous: "Ji yeh aap doctors tak rehne dain. Aap jaan ke kia karein gi?"

Now even sick me is not the kind to shut up at something like this, so: "She IS a doctor" I state, the annoyance showing clearly.

Doctor sahib at once dissolves into explanations and "acha, where did you graduate from"s. Long and short, he (graduating from K.E. in 1980) didn't know of the disease till 2010, when it reared its ugly head. Mum, smirking, tells me, as we leave the clinic, that she (graduating from F.J. in 1985) remembered reading about it in community medicine.

So: HAH!

Also: SPEAK UP PLEASE. IT IS A LOT OF FUN.

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I took this picture in 2010 in Singapore while I was running to catch the bus. A girl was sitting on the bench waiting for the same bus and this picture was taken at the exact moment she snapped her book shut to get up. What's important about this photo is that it shows a culture where people borrow books from the library and read them on the go, in those little spots of time stolen from busy working days. Where I live, this is a sight for sore eyes.

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Confession: I only got around to buying and reading this book because the author, Ziauddin Sardar was scheduled to speak at The Last Word, a bookstore in Lahore. As you can see in the pictures, the gaping cover shows the tail-end of his signature, because how can I ever see an author without getting him to sign a copy of his book? 

(That was a rhetorical question, because I can’t resist signed books - this is the only variety of fandom I indulge in. Truly.)

Sardar Sahb himself was pretty droll. And he did not look like I expected - which is a pretty silly thing to say BUT years ago, I got Basharat Peer to sign his article on Mecca in the NewYorker, and his image was the one stuck in my head when it came to the topic of Mecca as a city. And yes, I got a copy of the NewYorker signed! Whatever.

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My grandmother’s old linen

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Album art for Patari’s Aslis (aka Originals) album featuring the original badasses, the Mughal kings! 😂

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What's keeping me up at night lately.