Published in the streets of Dhaka

I’m not too big on poetry. I certainly don’t have the knowledge to appreciate Ghalib and Rumi. But sometimes I come across a poem that really makes me want to major in Literature instead of Sociology and Politics next year.


Here’s one I read yesterday


Here I will stay, plumb in the centre
Of monsoon-mad Bengal, watching
Jackfruit leaves drift earthward
In the early morning breeze
Like a famous predecessor used to
And take note too
Of flashing knives, whirling sticks, burning bombs,
And accompanying gutturals and fricatives of hate,
And evil that requires no axis
To turn on, being everywhere
And should all these find their way
Into my scribbles and into print
I’ll cut a joyous caper right here
On the tropic of Cancer, proud to be
Published in the streets of Dhaka

Kaiser Haq

I love this poem. I’m not sure why. Maybe because you can read it all in one breath, maybe because the phrase ‘monsoon-mad’ makes so much sense to someone living in South Asia (and the irony that comes with that, the fact that we have taken the English language and made it our own) maybe the dramatic ending or the rich picture it paints. Or perhaps because the poet takes the good and the bad, the beautiful and the disturbing and casts them all in the same light of love. Whatever it is, I am writing this one on my bedroom wall.

Review

I really enjoyed 'The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao'. Check it out if you like postmodern fiction.

On a side note, Suketu Mehta's Maximum City is a brilliant read. All journalists should write like him.

Here's a review:

"In Mehta's able hands, Bombay is transformed from a mere flap of earth on India's western coast to a living, breathing character, a shimmering prism refracting the light and lives of its inhabitants. With a journalist's precision and a novelist's descriptive flair, Mehta details the city's gangsters, policemen, go-go dancers, and Bollywood stars. Part travelog, part cultural history, this vibrant portrait is greater than the sum of its parts."— Library Journal

Sociosyllabusnotfinishing :/

I don't feel prepared for mocks. Should I? I mean, they're mocks. How is anyone supposed to take a set of exams seriously if you just go ahead and call them 'mocks'

Who was that genius anyway?

Khair. It's really hot today. Stuff that has happened lately includes me 'broadening my horizons' music-wise (Well, trying to. Whatever. Sorry love, another story for another day.) discovering a brilliant book on the French Revolution (written by a guy called H L Peacock. I kid you not) Skipping bits and pieces of school.

And the Karachi Literature Festival which could have been better but really wasn't bad. Good writers, a few compelling speakers, genuinely interesting talks. I loved sitting there and looking at the people. The educated elite who of course had to be there, the (sadly) smaller groups of students who came in a for a talk or two, the men who looked like they had come straight from work in order to listen to what Muhammad Hanif had to say.

And I met Sadia Shepard which I was quite excited about.

I still don't get why Mohsin Hamid is such a big deal though.

I bought no less than twelve books from Sunday bazaar last week. Add that to five books sitting on my bedside table and you know I haven't been reading at all. My copy of The Great Gatsby is laughing at me as I type.