Literature.

Technically, Pinter's 'The Homecoming' should leave me seething with anger. The essence of the play is sexist in itself. The concept is one that has sadly endured the steady wearings of time. That women use their sexuality to manipulate men. That they cheat and lie and conspire against men and get away with it because they manage to flip their hair and smell pretty while cheating, lying and conspiring. 


However, as difficult as it is to admit this, none of this was on my mind while I was reading the play. Because Pinter's 'The Homecoming' is a masterpiece that explores relationships between family members in a way that few others have managed. 


'The Homecoming' is not a wordy piece. The characters are mostly men. Men who do not share emotion, who do not admit to ever being scared or feeling alone. Men who, ironically because of their struggle to communicate with each other and talk about anything that truly matters, reveal to the audience the tensions that abound in a household that at first glance seems to be completely normal. Pinter manages to explore themes such as male relationships, sexuality, violence and rape all without making his characters talk much. All by leaving them to their conventional stereotypes, a method I would normally disapprove of. There are no emotional diatribes, no brilliantly phrased speeches. The short  length of the play ensures that we don't ever find out much about our characters. Hence there is plenty of room for assumption. And the only two women in the play are portrayed as conniving and shameless, more than ready to turn to prostitution in order to make money. 


I read the play for my A level literature course. I wasn't quite sure how to react to it. The play goes against something I myself am extremely passionate about. That women should not be judged based on sexuality. That there can be little progress for the woman unless society stops judging her based on how sexually active or inactive she is. I should hate it.


But I don't. I can't deny that however blatantly sexist Pinter is he is STILL a damn good playwright. One who knows how to make his audience care about his characters. And I enjoyed the play. Even though nobody thought I would.


For me, defining 'good literature' is difficult.You can't really rate a play or book or an art film. However, after reading 'The Homecoming' I realize that really, all good literature is convincing. It makes you believe in it. And if it can't do that then the least it can do is to make you second guess yourself. Even if it's just for a second. 


Kudos Harold Pinter. You almost had me there for a second

Dreaming

'The Homecoming' changed my life. Before the play, I thought words were just vessels of meaning; after it, I saw them as weapons of defense. Before, I thought theatre was about the spoken; after, I understood the eloquence of the unspoken. The position of a chair, the length of a pause, the choice of a gesture, I realized, could convey volumes'
John Lahr


Sometimes I wish I could just sit backstage and breathe in words and silences for the rest of my life.

attempts to define

This is me and this is you and this is how it's been. I'm going to pause here and hope you imagine a blank because the truth is, I don't know how it's been exactly. I can't simply categorize it and then push it away indifferently. Seeing everything you do and analyzing it in terms of my classification. My narrow minded, depthless opinion of you. No. Not anymore.

So how has it been in terms of feelings? I'd quote Shakespeare. Something about Caesar and the stars. But I can't remember it right now. It was beautiful though and the first time I heard it (You walked in, silenced us all, looked straight at me and said it out loud) I couldn't understand it but I felt like crying.

People shouldn't be cynical about Shakespeare but that is another story.

But you and I, we're not another story. We go beyond any sort of classification, any secure category. We are the times you tell me about your day. We are the books we've both read and learnt from. We are the laugh we share after I have said something that somehow manages to be incredibly mature and naive at the same.

We'll laugh like that again someday.

But for now and for the record. I really miss you.

Irony

So

Can you actually read my mind? Not in a Killer-esque manner, my expectations aren't that high just yet. They probably never will be either. But what if I screamed a thought? Yelled it right out loud? That should wipe the smile off your satisfied face, should properly halt the conversation, you may even turn and never look back. There would be an awkward pause in the very least. Except there won't be. Because (some sentences should just start with reasoning) of course, the screaming will remain in my head.

Funny how I'm always telling other people to be more expressive.

It doesn't matter much. Minds aren't meant to be read anyway.

rat racing

It is six in the morning.

I have a History mock in five hours.

I need an A in said History mock because if I do not get an A then I will not get an A overall this year. And then I will shoot myself. Because I have, successfully, entered the rat race. And I want A's. They are pretty. They assure me I am intelligent because I possess the ability to write down useless facts about nothing much really and then analyze those facts and link them back to the question. Yes. As in, how many battles Napoleon fought because after all, WHO cares about why he fought them or how it is fate really that made him as great as he was. And really, what defines greatness?

Never the philosophy behind the things people do because that's not part of our history syllabus.

So HERE'S an idea. I'll move to New York and write for the stage. I will only deal with drama in the literal sense of the word. And then eventually come back and write plays here. Political plays. In urdu. I will be able to write in Urdu by then. And no degree will ever matter. What a plan.

Okay back to History.