logo
We all benefit from a creator's dream'

We all benefit from a creator's dream'

Express Tribune10-02-2025
SLOUGH, ENGLAND:
For a bookaholic (definition: one always has an emergency book on their person alongside the obligatory phone and wallet), nothing makes the heart twang with excitement more than a literature festival. I am talking, of course, about the 16th Karachi Literature Festival – and the very fact that it exists makes the bookaholic in me more homesick than ever, more so even than the combined pain of missing out on nihari and Bihari kabab rolls.
Is there anything for the humble expat?
Of course, the main joy in attending a literature festival or book fair of any description is grappling with the question, "How many books will not break the bank?" followed by the deliciously devilish thought, "Screw the bank, how many of these can I carry back to the car?" As an expat currently living in Slough – much too far away from the Beach Luxury Hotel – I was denied the raptures of walking away with a teetering pile of books. However, thanks to Oxford University Press taking the trouble to post mouth-watering reels and full-blown videos of panel discussions with industry experts, I could certainly be there vicariously. Whilst every single contributor spoke eloquently on the issues prevalent today – be it about art or about the world at large – this limited space does not permit paying adequate homage to their insights. Poring through the hours of raw footage posted by OUP, here are two cornerstone media women whose words stood out.
Mishal Husain
As an expat Pakistani woman, Mishal Husain is a force to be reckoned with – especially for someone wanting to prove to girls that a long-standing respectable career in the media is possible for anyone. Husain's face and voice will be familiar to any avid BBC news watcher for 28 years until late last year. The broadcast journalist, whose roots lie in Pakistan, spoke during the closing ceremony during her first stint at the festival, lauding the range of panel discussions from climate change to theatre in Sindhi, Balochi, Punjabi and Pashto, amongst many others. "The special spirit of Karachi has been brought under one roof – this has not happened by accident," Husain said warmly.
Speaking in depth about her parents' and grandparents' experiences during partition, Husain said, "I mention all this because of the many writers and creators of different kinds who are gathered here. In their dreams, there will be fictional characters and the search for the right word of expression. For the visual creator, they will try to capture the right image that captures their scene. Film and documentary makers will dream of the perfect visuals. For agents and designers, there will be layouts and captions – and that's where all of us come in and come together.
Paying homage to the depth and breadth of creators in the country, Husain poignantly noted, "We all benefit from the dreams of the creators. In the context of Pakistan, their work is no less of a part of the building of a nation than the building of a factory or a road."
Kamila Shamsie on writing
Any aspiring Pakistani novelist would do well to take on board Salt and Safron author Kamila Shamsie's advice on writing, which the writer eloquently expressed during a panel discussion running over an hour long. You would be surprised to know that there is much more to finishing a book than nailing the nitty gritty of your plot and the backstory of your characters.
"If the writing has to feel alive, a lot of it has to be a surprise to you, as a writer," she advised. "There has to be a sense of discovery there. You really need to log into your subconscious."
When it comes to getting under the skin of a place, Shamsie had more specific insights. "Writing about a place defines your relationship to that city," said the writer, who has previously gone on record to say that she is made up of the books that she has read as much as the cities she has lived in.
Elaborating on the special nuances she incorporates about a place in her writing, Shamsie added, "When you write about a place, you need to know, what is the weather in May as opposed to November? What plants are in bloom? What trees are growing there?"
Be not alarmed if you want to write fiction but cannot even keep a cactus alive. I don't know anything about plants," confessed Shamsie. "I'm terrible. But every one of my novels will tell you what is in bloom, what trees are around and whether they are in flower or not. When I'm writing about Karachi, I basically call my mother and ask her, 'In June, what's in flower?'"
The details that Shamsie stitches into her prose becomes evident when we see her writer's mind at work – and to be given the opportunity to get a sneak peek behind the scenes makes the pain being so far away from this precious festival bearable.
Other KLF highlights
The three-day Karachi Literature Festival was held from February 7-9 at the Beach Luxury Hotel, with this year's theme revolving around 'Narrative from the Soil'. Panel discussions shed light on critical issues facing the city and its place in the world, seeking ways to move forward. Rather than dwelling on disorder, violence, and calamities, the aim was to understand these challenges and find lasting solutions. The key to finding these lasting solutions? Bringing on board a diverse group of writers, thinkers and literature enthusiasts to share their stories and ideas, exploring major trends and critical issues.
Bearing all this in mind, the festival this year featured over 70 sessions, including 26 book launches with a mix of both Urdu and English, alongside 15 sessions showcasing theatre, story-time, and music for younger audiences. The broad range of sessions included talks on literature, education, public interest and culture, as well as performances, feature films, and a series of short independent film screenings.
In a country where public libraries are as scarce as blue diamonds, for the committed book lover, any place with a horde of books in one place is tantamount to a fashionista discovering there is a 90 per cent sale on Gucci handbags. Add to that the icing on the cake of a place for Pakistani writers to come together and take part in panel discussions (free for us to watch, in person or online), and there is no finer way to spend a weekend.
Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Analogue superhero in Pakistan
Analogue superhero in Pakistan

Express Tribune

time13 hours ago

  • Express Tribune

Analogue superhero in Pakistan

Maulana Bijlighar was quite the character – he got the name because the mosque he led was close to a Grid Station in former NWFP. But this evocative name was not the cause of his renown. A firebrand conservative, his speeches would often be passed around, sort of like the more recently deceased Khadim Hussain Rizvi's, except he didn't use the kind of base and colourful language Rizvi employed as extensively. Maulana Bijlighar was the equivalent of a right wing stand up comedian who was also a cleric, his sermons would have the whole audience roaring with laughter as he spinned yarns and told stories to make his point. Everything had a killer punchline. One of his best jokes was an off the cuff remark. He wanted to ban wrestling on TV. His objection wasn't really Islamic in nature, he was afraid if the women of Pakistan saw these sculpted and beautiful men in the prime of their lives, "tu phir in hattay kattay ko dekhney ke baad humarein auratein kya hum se khush rahengein?" Wrestling was big in the world back then — and even Maulana Bijlighar was referencing it to make a point, despite claiming not to own a TV. Top tier wrestling wasn't terrestrially transmitted, more often than not you watched it on VHS. And it was the VCR that was the conduit to Hulk Hogan. We didn't realise at the time because we were too enamoured by the physical prowess on display, but Hulk Hogan was a cartoon character aimed at children, one that adults loved too. Popeye had his spinach, and the wrestlers their steroids. Like Michael Jordan, he was the singular character that launched a sport from regional to national and international consciousness. The adults who loved wrestling of that era simply fell for the ease in which the good vs evil was framed – not realising the bad guys in wrestling were cartoons too, like the Iron Sheik. For a lot of us, the illusion of wrestling first unravelled when we understood the athleticism of WWF wrestling was real, but the battles were not. Matches were choreographed with results determined long in advance in a script outlining the beefs that we would be choosing sides in. Others amongst us only learned wrestling was fake the first time we got into a fight. You can't do a piledriver unless your opponent lets you. Also, some learned of the reality of wrestling when we saw PTV's Olympics coverage and discovered The Ultimate Warrior wasn't competing, and no Suplex moves were to be seen. Learning in Pakistan the nature of the spectacle of wrestling was a construct that must have the equivalent of Western kids finding out Santa did not, in fact, exist. But Hulkamania in Pakistan wasn't as widespread as it was in the US because access to wrestling was different then. His era was for the Pakistani boomer, Gen X and the earliest millennials who owned VCRs. Millennials "proper" came to wrestling when satellite and cable were common, and at that time it was the age of the Undertaker, Kane, The Rock, and others. Hulk is recognised even today by the youth – but more for his iconography. For Boomers and Gen Xers, he wasn't just known; he meant something to them. Justice Waqar Ahmad Seth, who was part of the panel that sentenced the former dictator General Pervez Musharraf to death for treason, feigned ignorance of the controversy his judgment had caused – the PTI government at the time made noises about wanting to disbar him as unfit for office. When asked about this he said he had no knowledge of the furor because he only ever watched wrestling on TV. There is no information on this, but I imagine he could have been a Hulkster. To today's kids, the best way of understanding who Hulk Hogan was to an entire generation of Pakistani's back then is that he was the analogue superhero before the development of CGI in a MCU that was the World Wrestling Federation. My cousins Ali and Ano would visit in the summers, and it would mean months of tag team wrestling matches with me and my brother – trying to catch the illusive magic of the screen. Seeing the feeds of my friends on Facebook, it looks like it was a common thread to many childhoods. Maybe because we were young, or that the world was different then, it was not incongruous to us when we saw Hulk Hogan coming to the ring with his theme music blaring Rick Derringer's Real American: "I am a real American, Fight for the rights of every man." These lyrics sounded to us what a real Pakistani was as well as kids. These were the same days when Rambo was helping the Afghan Mujahidin in the third installment of the film series, dedicated to "the gallant people of Afghanistan" in the credits. I think the fault lines, and real motivations of American policy are clearer to the young now – it wasn't that black and white while we were getting F-16's and partnered in the Cold War. It's interesting now that Hulk Hogan has passed on the heels of Ozzy Osbourne – another youth fixture – the heartfelt condolence has come from those who moved on from Wrestling, their memories of Hulk Hogan fixed in time, polished further by memory. Their remembrances capture the innocence of youth, a longing for that simplicity. But there is another group, one that may not have kept up with wrestling but did keep up with the news about it. Sentiments have always been subject to attack from new information, and adulation can crater with it. For Hulk Hogan, life happened after the ring. Or we noticed more of his life. Hulk Hogan's corny and agreeable persona started to unravel as his politics became known, as his family fell apart and the background to his sordid sex tape came to light, and ultimately, his racism revealed. It was as if Tom from Tom and Jerry had his own "me too" allegations. Hulk wasn't the lovable figure being cartoonish anymore, neither was he forgivable for being buffoonish. As his persona was revealed, he started to come across as very insincere, like a cynical actor who thought very little of his audience. In the backdrop of Gaza, and Hulk's MAGA politics, there is remembrance of one side of his fanbase in Pakistan who knew about his current life that is more muted and circumspect. It's as if he polluted the memories of their long-gone childhood in later years. And this is perhaps one of the markers of the current age, few separate the art from the artist. Fasi Zaka is a cultural commentator and an RJ.

Exhibit showcases new media art
Exhibit showcases new media art

Express Tribune

time15 hours ago

  • Express Tribune

Exhibit showcases new media art

The Pakistan National Council of the Arts (PNCA) is hosting Seeing, (Seen): Reframing the Moving Image in Pakistan, a groundbreaking exhibition bringing together artists from Pakistan and the UK to explore the transformative potential of the moving image as a medium of resistance, disruption and reimagination. Seeing, (Seen) engages with themes of memory, identity, and temporality, positioning the moving image as a fluid, uncontained force in contemporary visual culture. It contributes to the evolving discourse on new media and experimental art within Pakistan's unique cultural context. The exhibition features works by prominent Pakistani artists Abdul Hadi, Farida Batool, Kaiser Irfan, Mahnoor Ali Shah, M4HK, Rabeeha Adnan and Ujala Khan, alongside UK-based artist duo John Wood and Paul Harrison, with additional selections from the British Council Art Collection. A dynamic public programme will run throughout the exhibition, including artist talks, panel discussions, workshops, lectures and presentations focused on film, media, identity, and perception. Curated by Islamabad based curator and designer Sarah Rajper, the exhibition reframes film, video and new media as powerful tools for questioning how we see, sense and experience the world. The exhibition is the culmination of Rajper's participation in the prestigious Art Exchange: Moving Image curatorial fellowship - a year-long international programme, supported by the British Council and organised by LUX (UK) and Art South Asia Project. The fellowship included opportunities for mentorship, critical exchange and research visits to major UK institutions such as Tate Modern, Somerset House, Barbican Centre and the British Film Institute. The exhibition opens with a public reception on 30 July 2025, from 4.00pm to 8.00pm, featuring the Artist Panel Discussion from 6.00pm to 7.00pm, and will remain on view until 8 August 2025. Daily viewing hours are 10.00am to 4.00pm (closed Saturdays) at PNCA, Islamabad. Organised in partnership with the Lahore Digital Arts Festival and PNCA, this cross-cultural showcase offers audiences a chance to engage with boundary-pushing work at the intersection of art, technology and social commentary.

Between inheritance and invention
Between inheritance and invention

Express Tribune

timea day ago

  • Express Tribune

Between inheritance and invention

Literature often arrives before theory finds a name for it. Long before Pakistani writing in English was granted the dignity of critical attention, poets and novelists were already grappling with the dilemmas of belonging, the dislocations of Partition, and the uneven legacies of empire. What was once regarded with suspicion or condescension has become an essential register of Pakistan's modern literary imagination — a way to reflect on the unfinished stories that history leaves behind. In the New Century: An Anthology of Pakistani Literature in English stands as both an affirmation and an inquiry into that transformation. Edited by Muneeza Shamsie, this anthology follows her earlier collection, A Dragonfly in the Sun, which first attempted to chart the contours of Pakistani English literature. Where the earlier volume sought to establish the field's existence and seriousness, this sequel arrives in a changed landscape. Over the two decades it covers — from 1997 to 2017 — Pakistani Anglophone writing has achieved international prominence, developed new idioms, and begun to address audiences both within and beyond the country's borders. The anthology assembles the work of 86 writers, reflecting a remarkable breadth of forms. It comprises poetry, short stories, novel excerpts, memoirs, life writings, essays, and drama. This diversity is not merely a matter of genre. Still, of sensibility: it suggests that Pakistani English literature has evolved into a domain capacious enough to hold multiple, sometimes conflicting, conceptions of identity and cultural legitimacy. The first contributor in the volume is Taufiq Rafat, a poet often credited with pioneering an indigenous voice in English. His inclusion underscores the lineage of literary experiment that has shaped Pakistani writing since decades after independence. Rafat and his contemporaries were among the first to insist that English could be adapted to local rhythms, landscapes, and preoccupations without surrendering its expressive power. In his work, the language of the coloniser is refashioned to accommodate the cadences of Punjabi and Urdu sensibility, a process that has inspired generations of poets since. At the other end of the anthology is Sarvat Hasin, part of a younger generation whose writing signals the continuity of this project into the twenty-first century. Between these two writers lies an array of perspectives that together document how Pakistani English literature has expanded its thematic and stylistic range, becoming both more introspective and more outward-looking. The introduction situates this development in a historical and cultural context. Shamsie traces how, in the years after 1947, English was viewed with suspicion by nationalist critics, who saw it as the language of colonial administration and social privilege. Yet she also emphasises a different dimension: the charge that English writing belonged to a social elite, disconnected from vernacular traditions and ordinary lives. While this association with privilege has persisted, the anthology demonstrates how, over time, English has also become a medium for serious engagement with Pakistani histories and sensibilities. What once seemed alien could be reclaimed, transformed by literary imagination, and reshaped into a language capable of expressing indigenous experience with authenticity. The anthology reveals how this process has matured. The poetry section, which occupies a substantial part of the collection, includes figures such as Adrian A. Hussain, Waqas Khwaja, Moniza Alvi, Imtiaz Dharker, and Kaleem Omar. Their inclusion illustrates the range of poetic practice: from reflections on Partition and displacement to meditations on language, faith, and intimacy. Among them, poets like Kaleem Omar — and to some extent Waqas Khwaja — have engaged with the ghazal form, adapting its classical structures within English. Shamsie's introduction highlights such experiments as part of a broader effort to create a Pakistani idiom in the language of the former coloniser, demonstrating that English could be made responsive to traditional literary forms rather than simply replacing them. The prose selections cover both fiction and life writing. Novel excerpts and short stories by Kamila Shamsie, Mohsin Hamid, Mohammed Hanif, Uzma Aslam Khan, and Bapsi Sidhwa reflect the increasingly international profile of Pakistani writers. In the period the anthology spans, several of these authors received global recognition, their work shortlisted for major prizes and translated into multiple languages. Through their stories, Pakistani narratives entered wider conversations about migration, religious extremism, and postcolonial belonging. Their inclusion here testifies not only to their literary accomplishment but also to the central role they have played in reshaping how Pakistan is perceived abroad. Memoirs and essays contribute a different texture to the collection. Works by Sara Suleri Goodyear, Fatima Bhutto, and Fawzia Afzal-Khan address the interplay between family history and national trauma. These pieces highlight a central preoccupation of Pakistani writing in English: the effort to reconcile the private with the political, the remembered with the inherited. Memoir in this context is never a purely personal mode; it is an inquiry into how individual lives are marked by the violence and upheaval of collective experience. Drama and theatrical writing also appear in the anthology. Hanif Kureishi and Ayub Khan Din are included not because they write about Pakistan directly, but because their work reflects the diasporic dimensions of Pakistani identity. Their plays highlight how cultural authenticity is shaped not just by geography but by experience, negotiation, and the ambiguities of living between worlds. Diasporic identity constitutes another major theme. Writers whose lives span continents — Moniza Alvi, Imtiaz Dharker, and Hanif Kureishi — explore questions of partial belonging and the longing for a home that may never fully exist. These contributions affirm that Pakistani literature in English cannot be confined to the homeland. It is also a literature of migration, of second-generation inheritance, and lives unfolding in the spaces of airports and border crossings. In gathering these voices, the anthology underscores the necessity of recognising diaspora as an integral aspect of the Pakistani Anglophone tradition. Several thematic concerns emerge across the volume. Partition remains a defining subject, approached not simply as a historical rupture but as an enduring source of memory and grief. For many of the writers included here, Partition is less an event than a recurring trauma — a set of absences and unspoken losses that continue to shape the stories families tell about themselves. The 1971 war and the creation of Bangladesh, long neglected in Pakistani English literature, receive attention in selections by Sorayya Khan and Durdana Soomro, among others. These works confront the dangers of selective memory and the ethical challenge of acknowledging complicity as well as suffering. The anthology also foregrounds the War on Terror as a shaping context for contemporary writing. In both fiction and poetry, authors grapple with the moral and psychological consequences of a period marked by violence, fear, and surveillance. These are not simply topics imported from the headlines; they are lived realities that have left their mark on the language itself, giving rise to new metaphors of rupture and dislocation. One of the anthology's contributions is to show how literary form itself has been transformed by these pressures. The presence of the ghazal alongside free verse, the mingling of satire with elegy, and the juxtaposition of memoir with fiction suggest a tradition that has learned to resist the simplifications of cultural explanation. Rather than offering a single, unified image of Pakistani identity, the anthology presents a field of tensions: between nostalgia and critique, between local rootedness and transnational movement, between inheritance and invention. If A Dragonfly in the Sun was an effort to legitimise Pakistani English writing, In the New Century: An Anthology of Pakistani Literature in English feels like a record of its maturation. It no longer seeks to prove that Pakistani literature in English exists or deserves a place. Instead, it sets out to document the complexity of that existence and the questions it continues to raise. The anthology refuses to impose closure on a tradition still in formation. More than a collection of texts, the anthology becomes a map of sensibility — a way to trace how writers have responded to the dilemmas of language, belonging, and history. Its significance lies not only in the range of material it gathers, but in the perspective, it models. By treating Pakistani English literature as a living tradition — shaped by argument, experiment, and dissent — it invites readers to see it not as a supplement to Urdu and regional literatures, but as a vital dimension of contemporary Pakistani culture. At a time when cultural identities are often reduced to singular narratives, this volume emphasises the value of complexity. It affirms that literature is most vital when it admits contradiction, when it resists the consolations of nostalgia, and when it dares to question the very categories that define it. In the New Century ultimately stands as both an archive and a provocation — a testament to the enduring conviction that literature, even when contested, remains one of the most powerful ways a society can imagine itself anew. In the New Century: An Anthology of Pakistani Literature in English Compiled and Edited by Muneeza Shamsie Published by Oxford University Press Pakistan, 2025 Pages: 600 Price PKR 2495/- ISBN: 978-0-19-906091-7 The writer is a Pakistan-born and Austria-based poet in Urdu and English. He teaches South Asian literature and culture at Vienna All facts and information are the sole repsonsibility of the writer

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store