Amusement From Insipid Places

When I was younger I would ask people the following question: If you could be immortal and all you had to do was chop off the head of the person you most love, would you do it?

Most people would look aghast look and scream: No!

I, however, would laugh at them and tell them that I would happily take off my beloved’s head in exchange for immortality. My reasoning would be that my beloved would love me so much that she’d want me to live forever and give myself to every generation after hers.

I stopped asking this question when I grew older. I realized that no one would love me that much.

I’m kidding. That’s not why.

I stopped asking this question because as each day I grew closer to death, I was less inclined to desire immortality.

This can only mean that while I fear death, I fear life more.

*

When I say to the world that men and women are the same, I do not understand why everyone points to their private parts.

*

Around the time that Muhammad was singing the praises of Allah, there was Muzahim al-Uqaili, singing lamentations to Allah. He wrote about love. Says the poet: Read More »

She Will Come

Please note that an audio recording of the poem is available below

She will come
Oh, yes! She will come.
If I have to sprain an ankle,
She will come, she will come.
She makes like she won’t,
but that is just dumb.
Before the cock crows thrice,
She will come, she will come. Read More »

The Revenge, Finding the Pirate

The previous installment of 13-year-old Chloe Bradshaw’s dark take can be found here.

“I seek information,” Luke told the vampire before him.“I wish to know the whereabouts of a pirate.”

“And what pirate is that?”

“Jace has seen him.”

Morwena’s face turned to me. “What does he look like?” She asked.

I closed my eyes and re-lived the scene of my father’s murder, something which I had done many a time. I described him as well as I could. I grimaced when I remembered the sword plunging into my father’s belly.

I opened my eyes and, surprisingly, saw sympathy in the face of the vampire. I was confused, I had no idea that vampires were capable of feeling this way.

“I am sorry.” She whispered. I nodded, uncomfortable because her dark eyes were gazing solemnly at me.

“Did he have a gem in the hilt of his sword?” She asked.

“No.”

“Alright then.” She paused and her eyes travelled the room, as though searching for something. “Did he have a large necklace?” She finally said.

I was about to say ‘no’ again when I remembered a large gold necklace and a great ruby talisman on it.

“I thought as much.” Morwena uttered when I described it. Read More »

Common Comic Star

We hope you enjoy the latest Art feature from poet (and epic legend) Sim Stafford.

From more Arts coverage, please check out Jonathan Mok’s piece on the recent accomplishments of the Hong Kong Sinfonietta.

- The Editor

As hours flop,
And hours top,
And wiggle
side to side,
I laugh my self,
Guffaw my way,
Chuckle stuff
I have tried:

I feel it best
that I confess:
I have been
Called a quitter.
Just today,
I thought and lay
About a mound
of titters. Read More »

Interview With Author Hugh Miles

This is an interview with Hugh Miles, author of Playing Cards In Cairo. We wish to thank everyone who made this interview possible.

hugh miles

Jonathan Mok: What inspired you to write the book?

Hugh Miles: While writing my previous book, “Al Jazeera – How Arab TV News Has Challenged the World,” I had to travel all over the Gulf and North Africa. I soon realised it would make more sense to be based somewhere in the region than to commute back and forth from London every few weeks. I wanted somewhere central and accessible both to Europe and all the countries in the region. I love big cities so Cairo seemed like the obvious choice.

Cairo does not suit everyone – it’s crowded and terribly polluted – but I found it fascinating. It is the cultural heart and soul of the Arab world, where Arab trends start and I just wanted to soak it all up. The fact that you can live so well in Egypt compared to the cost of living of London certainly contributed to that decision!

I started working freelance for Western newspapers and magazines, covering everything from terrorism to the arts. I was on the point of leaving and then unexpectedly I met an Egyptian girl and fell in love.

Dating an Arab Muslim girl is not easy and I soon realised that I would have to find a clever way to spend time with her if we were not going to fall foul of conservative Egyptian society. So I began to play cards with her and her friends.

The stories I heard around the card table taught me much about the lives of young women in the Egyptian megalopolis and I felt privileged to glimpse what is normally the hidden half of Arab society.

I wanted to write about the cards sessions in a newspaper, but I knew it would not be possible as strictly speaking what I heard was not news. That’s when I decided to write a book.

Jonathan: Does the continuation of that traditional practices such as wearing veils, symbolize the failure of secularisation that the Egyptian government has tried to implement since Nasser? Read More »

Playing Cards in Cairo: A Review

This is a review of Playing Cards in Cairo by Hugh Miles. Abacus. 2008.

Hugh Miles, the son of a British diplomat, has a freewheeling approach to life that, by proxy, helps readers gain a better understanding of Egyptian society. This society is observed through the experiences of his female friends and Roda, an Egyptian woman who becomes his wife.

The book tells stories of Miles’ card-playing mates: Yosra, Nadia, Reem and, by extension, their relatives. The book also documents the blossoming of Miles’ relationship with Roda. Tough subjects, from family abuse to drug addiction, are tackled in this fascinating account.

The book reveals the failure of successive Egyptian governments since Nasser: the idea of secularization seems laughable in a place where millions of females suffer from family violence; the pledge for equality is a farce when one considers the levels of corruption within the state; discrimination against people of different class-backgrounds thrives in a society meant to be egalitarian.

The book also confronts the hypocrisy of stringent interpretation of Islamic law. For example, if pre-martial sex is not accepted, why is a contract marriage, urfi, permitted under Sunni Islam? (P.92-93)

Miles’ narrative is more heartfelt than some, because he is discussing his friends here. The contemporary problems of Egyptian society, lack of job opportunities for young people, lack of freedom of speech, the struggles of Muslims who want to leave their faith, feels more immediate.

Unfortunately, Miles does not really discuss the roots of many of Egypt’s problems. For example, he argues that “Cairo is a class-ridden society where people are expected to know their place…” (p.198) However, a curious outsider such as myself does not see him discussing why he thinks this is the case.

Miles is nevertheless right to question whether democratization will follow economic progress. The transformation of economy, in his eyes, “only [strengthens a] more authoritarian [Egyptian government]” (p.263) He has a point, based on other examples in the region.

Miles’ writing is not didactic. Through merely recounting the difficulties faced by his female friends, he retains enough objectivity to give readers their own chance to think about the status of Egyptian women.

“Today, Egyptian women are better educated than ever before, buy they are sill expected to do the child rearing and domestic chores…Though they can sometimes…choose a husband…family pressures are strong and their lives are blighted by discrimination, deprivation and violence.” (p.276)

Miles’ reserved tone is what really makes his writing resonate.

Two Thoughts in the Prado Museum, Madrid

I. Guards, sentries, guides, they stalk the halls like silent wraiths clad in their dead blue blazers and knee length skirts. To speak to them is to encounter monotony made woman: instructions enunciated with the indifference usually associated with divorcees.

The majority of them are aged, infirm, with bloated ankles, using the numerous rocking chairs provided to them out of the kindness of the administration. The presence of these women, if they can really be called this, in this palace of art, is anomalous. Their presence does not give affirmation to the things they so jealously guard.

They represent change, age, wrinkles, flaws, sweat, and disfiguration – imperfection. Some are, undoubtedly, beautiful – with fine Castillian features, small angular noses one would pay to trace with his tongue, the pert neck of a swan, curly hair springing with life. Still, their staid standoffish conservatism weighs against the dance, the mirth, the laughter, the flowers, the cherubs, the saints, lechery, hedonism, and lust on display in so many paintings.

In a place where so much is given over to celebrating the glorious sacrifice of Christ, the desensitized omniscience, the ossified haughtiness, the indolent emptiness of these women is a slap in the face. In comparison to the affirmation around them, their lifelessness gives the impression that beauty doesn’t exist today; that it is only a purview of bygone times.

I would like a museum to be dedicated to nurturing every kind of beauty; a place where the mix of divine and human perfection is not just on display upon walls – but found in a more perfect, timeless, eternal form among the living. Why does immortality only belong to the dead? Read More »

The Revenge: The Fellow Undead

The previous installment of Chloe Bradshaw’s tale can be found here.

That morning, I asked Luke what our plan was.

“I know people who will give us a ship for free,” he answered mysteriously as we headed towards Land’s End.

“And I have money for food,” Jay announced.

“You two go on and buy some food for the journey whilst I get us that ship, I won’t be long meet me back at the port, ” Luke told us when we reached Land’s End.

Jay and I walked into a shop and bought some salted beef, salted pork, limes, biscuits, and rum, all of that came to about eighteen guineas. After that we headed back towards the port, where Luke told us to meet him.

We saw Luke standing proud at the docks, pointing to a ship behind him. I was amazed at how he got it, considering that he didn’t pay for it.

“I told you I could get you a ship for free!” He shouted with joy.

“How did you manage it?” I asked.

“Old friends,” he winked.

“At least we have enough food this time,” I joked. I looked at the ship, it was small, but the wood was beautifully carved and the masts looked strong and sturdy. We all took a small dinghy over to the ship.

On board, I gazed into the sky at the clouds that passed by, without a care in the world. Jay stood next to me, watching the clouds like I.

“Shall we get a move on?” Luke asked, shattering the silence.

We hoisted the anchor. The ship soon set sail. I had a good feeling about going out of port this time, with a ship manageable enough for three people, and with no other crew members to worry about.

“Do we have any extra weapons?” I asked.

“No,” Jay told me, I looked over at Luke who shook his head.

“Fine, we shall stop at the next port to stock up on weaponry. Where is the closest port?”

“It’s where we will be going, Falmouth.” Luke told me.

“Right then, next stop Falmouth.”

The sea was not as bad that day, however it was still pretty rough. Come to think of it, the sea was never still round there and it still isn’t to this day. Read More »

Yoni is the Wrong Damn Word: Marginalization and Exoticism

Why, oh, why does it have to be Yoni Ki Baat? Why? I’m South Asian, right? I’m solid South Asian. So why does it make my blood boil that South Asians are doing an adaptation of the Vagina Monologues called Yoni Ki Baat?

Well, I don’t have a damn yoni, for one thing. The first time I read the word yoni, it was in a Nancy Friday book of sexual fantasies and some white chick was describing her power centre being plunged or whatever and calling it a yoni.

I do not call my c*** yoni. I’m Pakistani. We don’t do Sanskrit in Pakistan, not on purpose, anyway (I take no responsibility for accidental Sanskrit). Pakistani vernacular has many words for vagina and none of them is yoni. So running into a performance of Yoni Ki Baat by South Asians in Seattle really just fries my onions all wrong.

However, I can deal. I know that in the US South Asian communities are dominated by Indianness and this is simply a reflection of the sub-continental hegemonic power structures. I don’t like it, but I’m a lazy person and that’s not a fight I’m going to pick on a 6-month quickie in Seattle.

A little bit of investigation, however, brings me the news that, no, in fact, even in Indian contexts, using yoni for vagina is extremely problematic. It’s a Sanskrit word. Sanskrit is the base for north Indian languages, including, most prominently, Hindi. Using it successfully projects, once again, north India as true India and Dravidian south India as other. As incidental. As internal or private. As “ethnic.” As not-really-there.

Well done, feminism. Read More »

The Revenge: The Bane of Immortality

The previous installment of Chloe Bradshaw’s pirate saga can be found here.

While I thought about my brother and contemplated my undead state, Luke sat nearby, eyes closed.

“I am ready to leave.” I told him when the thinking got to be too much.

“Alright.”

I followed his lead as we both walked to the edge of the rock and jumped in. I was expecting the water to be cold, even after Luke said it wouldn’t be. I didn’t even feel wet. The current moved me up and down. The birds stayed away from us and wouldn’t come near.

“Animals are nervous around us, for we are not entirely human now,” Luke explained.

Swimming felt effortless, like I wasn’t even moving my arms and legs. Land seemed to be bearing closer, faster then possible. I felt the wind in my hair, but not the cold.

We reached Land’s End and its port. When we we climbed onto the wooden dock, I looked down at my clothes. They were bone dry. I glanced at Luke and noticed that he too had come up dry.

We started walking. Silence filled the air like a plague. The hills were breathtaking, heather covered most of them, making the hills look purple. I saw horses grazing in the nearby fields, as well as sheep. People were wrapped up warm and the leaves blew in the wind, the only sign that it was cold. As before, we came upon Sennen at record speed.

I was so content just walking through the cobbled streets of my home town. The sensation of being back really was wonderful. It felt like I had been gone for a life time. I saw Luke looking around and I had the feeling that he had not been here before.

“No,” he said when I asked him. “I never saw the point, I favoured going to places far away from home, and Sennen is too close to home.”

I felt great sympathy for Luke. It must have been grim, spending so many years alone. And I was also grateful that I would not spend years alone without anyone to talk to. Read More »