Sonya Rehman’s Archive

To possess, and to be possessed

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: June 27, 2009

By Sonya Rehman

As of late, one of my dear friends was having ‘man trouble’ (such sweet pain a pair of pants can cause a good, wholesome woman).
We talked endlessly. Myself and her. Dissecting and scrutinizing every word he’d ever uttered to her over the past month – the country could well be taken over by those blubbering Johnnies from the mountains, but when it comes to issues with the opposite sex, nothing matters more than the affairs of the heart! Nothing.
But I reiterate; only for good, wholesome women. Those kittens who know how to ‘play the game’ don’t count. They never do.

For a week, my cell phone was my babe in arms. My little Chiquita. I’d spend hours on it with my soul sister, staying in constant touch – via sms, and sporadic, albeit extended conversations.
But one day, something happened. I sort of snapped. Like an angry, red elastic band stretched too wide, in the foolish hopes to tie up a thick, glossy mane. I snapped.

So, why did I snap? Her ‘obsession’ with him, was slowly yet surely doing me in. So much so that I wanted to stick my head into an oven. Sylvia Plath style.
I absolutely erupted, and one day, I let my dearest, doe-eyed friend have it. Good and proper.
“You may hate me for saying this”, I told her sputtering, “But I’m going to be honest and harsh with you rather than pussy-foot around this entire issue. Let go now and get a grip on yourself.”
What followed was dead silence. And then she hung up on me. For a long while, I simply stared at my babe in ar-oops, I meant, cell phone.
What I actually was doing, was confronting my very own, personal demons. An ugly bugly personal demon of unflinching obsession, and possession.

And so I thought and I thought. I mulled over what had just transpired until I felt a sudden pang of regret.
Grabbing my cell phone, I typed out to her: “I hurt when you hurt. Especially when it’s about a mere pair of pants. You’re a good woman. You didn’t drag me down, but in all honesty, what you’re going through is reminding me of what I went through at one point in my life. And what every woman goes through when her heart aches incessantly. Why are women like us so black and white?”

She responded back almost immediately telling me how much she loved me, and how vital it was to remain black and white. And how it was only the good, wholesome, men – who compartmentalize their lives in the blacks and whites, just as us – who were really worth it at the end of the day.
I could almost picture my friend sighing internally, in quiet relief, as she typed out her message to me. In a way, I think she finally started ‘letting go’ that day. And, so did I.

But my friend, I knew inherently, only let go of the obsession in connection with the person. Her obsession with life, and giving love many chances would run free, consistently.
Deep down, she or I for that matter couldn’t, and perhaps, didn’t want to ever change.

But it still made me ruminate. How does one curb passion and obsession? Or should it be curbed? And I don’t just mean ardor regarding an individual, but also towards life, towards one’s work, dreams, goals…

To possess and be possessed is quite like stepping into a patch of quick-sand. It’s like sinking deep, toe-first into a honey pot, letting the gooey swirls of sugary syrup cloak you completely.
Can one live their life with the conscious subtraction of passion? But would not that be like leading a half-life? A dour life, patchy and humdrum? But then again, how much passion is enough? Should it be balanced out? Defined? And can it be? Should it be left limitless, and frantically feral?

At the base of a passionless disposition lies an immense fear of disappointment. And that very base remains strengthened, and lined in place, with one’s ego.
After all, if you love any one thing, or anyone, and you face an off-hand dismissal, what truly makes one crumble? Is it not the bruised ego and wounded pride, which speaks, then?

I only understand now, that painfully honest people, who live their lives without any fancy guises, without elaborate facades tend to nurse fantastic hopes, fantastic, boundless passions which glitter like miniature pearls in the caskets of their hearts, forever.

And at the end of the day, that is their saving grace…their salvation.

*The title of the article was changed to ‘Magnificent Possession’ once published in TFT. But I’ve kept the original title here, because I liked it better.

 The Friday Times

What’s wrong with this picture?

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: June 8, 2009

By Sonya Rehman
There’s a billboard on the bridge in Cantonment (Lahore) which features a pink little baby snoozing away on a slice of bread.
The caption reads: “Gifted with softness”. If you haven’t guessed already, the advertisement is for a local bread manufacturer – or…for those who fancy newly born babies (on toast) with a side order of fries and coleslaw.
Advertising in Pakistan can be categorized into three categories; 1.) Ripped off ideas (or blatantly copied) ads from foreign ones, 2.) Good ads with original concepts, and 3.) Boring, insipid ads that would make shooting yourself in the left foot seem like a riot.
The advertising industry in Pakistan is one that has its share of blemishes, but that being stated, it stands as one that is constantly growing – provided Art Directors discontinue slapping babies on toast! Seriously, what were those cannibals thinking?
For the fashion industry, advertising in the local market has now become a true necessity for almost every small-scale (and big-wig) designer, make-up artist, fashion event managers/companies, and so on. If you’re not splashed all over the local press, then it’s ‘ship out and have a fabulous hike dah-ling’ for most involved in the fashion scene.
Therefore, given the necessity of the (now) communal lock between fashion and advertising, a question arises: is fashion in Pakistan being advertised properly? Some would subscribe to the notion that it isn’t – that too much emphasis is placed on the styling, the hair, the make-up, the accessories, the back-drop, the colour scheme of the ad, the font size/text and so on and so forth.
Too messy, some would state, so much so that it takes the viewer’s attention away from the clothes and onto other things featured in the elaborate layout. But let’s not make any generalizations because there are a lot of ads out there which really manage to bring out the designer’s clothes, which can leave viewer’s gobsmacked.
Fashion, at times, warrants using the ‘shock and awe’ strategy. Hey, it’s fashion not thermal underwear. Therefore fashion the world-over has and always will remain unapologetic for its plethora of idiosyncrasies.
Remember the print ads and billboards which featured model Aamminah Haq all wrapped up and cozy in solely ties – courtesy designer Ammar Belal’s men’s line? At first glance one would be prompted to say ‘Mama Mia’, but at second glance, one would think; ‘How weird, why wrap a female model up in men’s ties when the ad can feature male models donning suits and the ties?’
But see, here’s the thing; the aforementioned ad is one fine example of the ‘shock and awe’ strategy.
And hey you know what? It works. It manages to convey the designer’s attitude vis-à-vis his clothes, and in addition it gives interested buyers a message that the clothes convey a certain lifestyle and personality type. One that is fun, spunky and risqué – and has nothing to do with wrapping women up with ties (don’t get any ideas).
On the OTHER hand, some fashion print ads can be particularly asinine. Such as models floating underwater holding purses or swishing about their designer garb whilst looking like terrified goldfish. Ads like that don’t make head or tail. I mean, what’s the designer or the creative dude behind the ad trying to put across? It’s not like any woman out there (while flipping through a fashion glossy) would exclaim (as she comes across the ad) in excitement wishing that she too could swish about dramatically 10 feet deep in a tank of water!
And just as blatant copying/plagiarism exists in advertising – no matter which product is being advertised – some local fashion shoots and print ads are too, ripped off from international glossies such as Vogue, Cosmopolitan, Harper’s Bazaar, Vanity Fair, etc. At times, there really seems to be a serious dearth of both creativity and originality in both the local fashion and advertising industries.
On a totally different tangent (yet remaining within the fashion/advertising issue at hand), it is also said that certain local publications approach certain well-established designers for interviews and only let them go into print with the bargain of getting an ad in return from the designers. Therefore the question here arises is: how much support do our local designers really get from the local print media in terms of publicity?
“A lot of the content that you see in these fashion publications is planned according to the likes of the designers/make-up artists who regularly buy advertising space in a magazine”, Anum Pasha a twenty-something fashion journalist states, “This can be anything from a cover story to a one-paragraph mini feature. Very few fashion magazines will have an unbiased approach towards fashion. As it is in the fashion industry itself that backbiting, and the ‘I-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-my-back’ phenomenon are common elements, a lot of fashion journalists are bombarded with pleas, favours, threats, and so on. Thus, coverage carries a huge element of bias in Pakistan.”
That’s a pretty interesting spin on the entire subject wouldn’t you agree? So while some publications may ‘blackmail’ designers to buy advertising space in their rag-mags with promises of promotion, designers too wind up wining and dining editors of these very publications to get coverage, publicity, support and yes – a sugary dollop of favouritism.
I’ve seen it happen – up close and personal. Therefore, at the end of the day it really all is a two-way street. Fashion and advertising is not as black and white as you may think it is – it can be shady, vibrant and dubious all at once.
In the words of reputed ad-man, Leo Burnett: “I am one who believes that one of the greatest dangers of advertising is not that of misleading people, but that of boring them to death”, and, “Fun without sell gets nowhere but sell without fun tends to become obnoxious.” So very true, especially when advertisers and designers consider over the top ad themes as ‘mod-run’ and ‘new-age’ by placing babies on toast and models in water tanks!

By Sonya Rehman

There’s a billboard on the bridge in Cantonment (Lahore) which features a pink little baby snoozing away on a slice of bread.

The caption reads: “Gifted with softness”. If you haven’t guessed already, the advertisement is for a local bread manufacturer – or…for those who fancy newly born babies (on toast) with a side order of fries and coleslaw.

Advertising in Pakistan can be categorized into three categories; 1.) Ripped off ideas (or blatantly copied) ads from foreign ones, 2.) Good ads with original concepts, and 3.) Boring, insipid ads that would make shooting yourself in the left foot seem like a riot.

The advertising industry in Pakistan is one that has its share of blemishes, but that being stated, it stands as one that is constantly growing – provided Art Directors discontinue slapping babies on toast! Seriously, what were those cannibals thinking?

For the fashion industry, advertising in the local market has now become a true necessity for almost every small-scale (and big-wig) designer, make-up artist, fashion event managers/companies, and so on. If you’re not splashed all over the local press, then it’s ‘ship out and have a fabulous hike dah-ling’ for most involved in the fashion scene.

Therefore, given the necessity of the (now) communal lock between fashion and advertising, a question arises: is fashion in Pakistan being advertised properly? Some would subscribe to the notion that it isn’t – that too much emphasis is placed on the styling, the hair, the make-up, the accessories, the back-drop, the colour scheme of the ad, the font size/text and so on and so forth.

Too messy, some would state, so much so that it takes the viewer’s attention away from the clothes and onto other things featured in the elaborate layout. But let’s not make any generalizations because there are a lot of ads out there which really manage to bring out the designer’s clothes, which can leave viewer’s gobsmacked.

Fashion, at times, warrants using the ‘shock and awe’ strategy. Hey, it’s fashion not thermal underwear. Therefore fashion the world-over has and always will remain unapologetic for its plethora of idiosyncrasies.

Remember the print ads and billboards which featured model Aamminah Haq all wrapped up and cozy in solely ties – courtesy designer Ammar Belal’s men’s line? At first glance one would be prompted to say ‘Mama Mia’, but at second glance, one would think; ‘How weird, why wrap a female model up in men’s ties when the ad can feature male models donning suits and the ties?’

But see, here’s the thing; the aforementioned ad is one fine example of the ‘shock and awe’ strategy.

And hey you know what? It works. It manages to convey the designer’s attitude vis-à-vis his clothes, and in addition it gives interested buyers a message that the clothes convey a certain lifestyle and personality type. One that is fun, spunky and risqué – and has nothing to do with wrapping women up with ties (don’t get any ideas).

On the OTHER hand, some fashion print ads can be particularly asinine. Such as models floating underwater holding purses or swishing about their designer garb whilst looking like terrified goldfish. Ads like that don’t make head or tail. I mean, what’s the designer or the creative dude behind the ad trying to put across? It’s not like any woman out there (while flipping through a fashion glossy) would exclaim (as she comes across the ad) in excitement wishing that she too could swish about dramatically 10 feet deep in a tank of water!

And just as blatant copying/plagiarism exists in advertising – no matter which product is being advertised – some local fashion shoots and print ads are too, ripped off from international glossies such as Vogue, Cosmopolitan, Harper’s Bazaar, Vanity Fair, etc. At times, there really seems to be a serious dearth of both creativity and originality in both the local fashion and advertising industries.

On a totally different tangent (yet remaining within the fashion/advertising issue at hand), it is also said that certain local publications approach certain well-established designers for interviews and only let them go into print with the bargain of getting an ad in return from the designers. Therefore the question here arises is: how much support do our local designers really get from the local print media in terms of publicity?

“A lot of the content that you see in these fashion publications is planned according to the likes of the designers/make-up artists who regularly buy advertising space in a magazine”, Anum Pasha a twenty-something fashion journalist states, “This can be anything from a cover story to a one-paragraph mini feature. Very few fashion magazines will have an unbiased approach towards fashion. As it is in the fashion industry itself that backbiting, and the ‘I-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-my-back’ phenomenon are common elements, a lot of fashion journalists are bombarded with pleas, favours, threats, and so on. Thus, coverage carries a huge element of bias in Pakistan.”

That’s a pretty interesting spin on the entire subject wouldn’t you agree? So while some publications may ‘blackmail’ designers to buy advertising space in their rag-mags with promises of promotion, designers too wind up wining and dining editors of these very publications to get coverage, publicity, support and yes – a sugary dollop of favouritism.

I’ve seen it happen – up close and personal. Therefore, at the end of the day it really all is a two-way street. Fashion and advertising is not as black and white as you may think it is – it can be shady, vibrant and dubious all at once.

In the words of reputed ad-man, Leo Burnett: “I am one who believes that one of the greatest dangers of advertising is not that of misleading people, but that of boring them to death”, and, “Fun without sell gets nowhere but sell without fun tends to become obnoxious.” So very true, especially when advertisers and designers consider over the top ad themes as ‘mod-run’ and ‘new-age’ by placing babies on toast and models in water tanks!

Synergyzer Magazine

Passion for Pakistan

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: May 29, 2009

 

By Sonya Rehman
Just a few weeks ago I had the pleasure of meeting Ethan Casey, an American journalist who was recently in Pakistan gathering material for his second book, the sequel to ‘Alive and well in Pakistan’ (published by Vanguard).
The heat wave in Lahore had not yet hit, but it was almost there – hanging by the periphery waiting to unleash its toasted, crispy spell on the inhabitants of the city. 
And the morning that I had met Ethan (at the Lahore Gymkhana) with his friend, Pete Sabo (who had accompanied him on the trip), the weather was rather pleasant and thankfully, not uncomfortably warm.
Sitting outside on the veranda which overlooked Gymkhana’s plush green lawn and the tennis courts (towards our left), Ethan began tracing his journey as a journalist, and the path that led him to Pakistan – a path which would keep bringing him back to the country over the next many years. 
Ethan’s story is an appealing one. Nursing an irresistible urge of wanderlust in his early 20s, Ethan set out for Nepal as a student in 1986. 
Growing up in a small town in America where everyone was white, “Life was nice but kinda boring”, Ethan stated with a grin, “My parents were a little unusual; my father in particular, encouraged me to be curious about the world. He set the example by leaving Texas and going to other parts of America. So that prepared the way for me to leave America…”
“At the time”, Ethan continued, “Asia was really far away from America, there was no internet and I had no particular reason to go – I just felt that I was young and that I really needed to be far away from home. So I did and spent six months in Nepal and had lots of adventures. And that established my interest in Asia. Years later I went to live in Bangkok because I wanted to make a career as a journalist, because I realized that you can’t just write a literary masterpiece and expect to make a living – so journalism was a way to get paid to write…and also get paid to see the world.” 
Working as a freelance journalist and a foreign correspondent in Bangkok for a few newspapers, Ethan eventually found himself taking an avid interest in the Kashmir situation in the mid-90s.  
Around that time, “The Kashmir uprising was heating up, and so I started reading up on it and thought; ‘well I want to go there and see it for myself’. In 1993, during the siege of the Hazratbal shrine, militants had taken hostages and were inside the shrine. The Indian army had surrounded it and the siege lasted for several months. It was a big thing at the time…something that had caught the world’s attention for a little while; and just after that I decided to go to Srinagar, Kashmir.”
Ethan traveled to Kashmir several times over two years (in 1994 and 1995) and began nurturing a deep interest in the Kashmir issue since it defined the relationship between the countries of both Pakistan and India. Infact some of his experiences in Kashmir are recorded in a few chapters in ‘Alive and well in Pakistan’. 
“Kashmir led me to my interest in Pakistan”, Ethan said amidst the shrill cries of the peacocks that strutted about in their cage (situated on the lawn). “And so I visited Pakistan in March in 1995 because I felt it was important for me to travel into Kashmir through the Pakistani side and talk to Pakistani and Kashmiri politicians and the people. So that’s what I did, and that piqued my interest in Pakistan itself. I met people, heard stories by the Pakistanis (which I was able to cover as a journalist), and I just kept going and coming back to Pakistan…”
Making long, extensive trips to Pakistan back in 1995, Ethan decided to travel to Karachi, which was at the time, bullet-ridden (literally) by sectarian violence. And then in 1999, “During the Kargil situation, I visited in the LOC for the first time in an army jeep with a Major”, Ethan recounted, “1999 was an interesting time to be here in Pakistan as Nawaz Sharif’s government was getting more and more isolated till the coup happened in October”. 
“This book…” Ethan stated, pointing at a copy of his book (which he’d brought for me), “Covers a decade worth of my experiences in Pakistan from 1994 to 2004 on a personalized level…in the sense that it isn’t specifically about politics. It’s almost the only book about Pakistan which isn’t about politics”, chuckled Ethan. 
A month or so ago, I’d happened to have met a Malaysian who told me that he found Pakistan to be something of an incredible enigma. Even though he was floored by the country, its people and its culture, he was still realistic and understood its drawbacks. Yet, he, just as Ethan, found himself consistently pulled back to Pakistan. 
I told Ethan this. To which he said: “A few years ago, I was sitting in Najam Sethi’s office talking about politics – every time I come to Pakistan I look him up since he’s been in the thick of Pakistani politics. So I asked him if he thought Benazir would ever come back into power, and he chuckled and said; ‘Well, stranger things have happened!’ and at the time there seemed to be no chance of her coming back, bit she did. Let me address this a bit more”, Ethan said whilst he reclined back into his chair, “Western people are always predicting doom for Pakistan – but I’ve been watching and visiting this country for 15 years, and it hasn’t yet broken up. Now it is a country with very severe problems – it’s not what people outside think it is…So for me, as an American, who tries to communicate to Americans about Pakistan – it’s an uphill battle. Pakistan is a durable nation. People here have achieved something – several generations have pioneered a nation which didn’t exist before…you’ve had to start from scratch, you’ve had a lot of disadvantages and a lot of things which have gone against you. At times Pakistanis have been their own worst enemies but they’re also remarkable and deserving of respect. Pakistan is a country which deserves respect just as much as any other nation does.” 
Just then, a waiter arrived, a smart man in his 30s with a bit of a belly. Placing an order for toast and porridge (for himself and Pete), Ethan told me about his experience at the Beaconhouse National University (BNU) here in Lahore where he taught International Journalism in 2003. 
“At the time in my late 30s, as a journalist, traveling and working largely alone for a decade, is a lonely life. You also develop these working practices of what it means to be a working reporter, and to teach was a great point in my life and career. The compulsion to teach others forced me to articulate it for myself. I had a blank slate to teach, whatever I wanted under the rubric of International Journalism. I learnt as much as I taught at BNU.” 
In addition to penning his sequel book, Ethan also runs a blog which is basically an extension of his book, ‘Alive and well in Pakistan’. 
“I think books are great but in today’s world blogs are also where a lot of people do their reading.” 
“Most Americans think I’m crazy to be in Pakistan”, Ethan laughs. Then how does he justify himself when they ask him why he’s coming to Pakistan? 
“I don’t need to justify myself”, he laughs again, “I’d tell them Pakistan is safe and interesting. It has become personally very important to me. As a personal commitment it’s become important for me to keep coming back – even if Pakistan were to be in (God forbid) a really awful situation, much worse than now, I would still feel a compulsion to come back.”
As he completed his sentence, the waiter brought two plates of eggs and toast. Apparently, there had been a misunderstanding. The waiter had thought Ethan said ‘poached’ when infact he’d asked for ‘porridge’. 
An insignificant misunderstanding which made all of us smile and laugh a little (including the waiter); Ethan and Pete gracefully settled for the toast which was brought with butter and jam. 
Interestingly, over the course of the interview, I discovered that Ethan speaks at churches, civic organizations, rotary clubs and universities about Pakistan. “It’s important to take this human dimension of Pakistan and show it to Americans.”
So what’s the response been like (since some Americans do carry a certain level of anger and resentment towards Pakistan)?
“Americans have been on a steep learning curve since 9/11”, Ethan replied, “And it represents the beginning of the end of American innocence…”
At the end of the interview, I had realized something, as I made my way back to my car. And this was that perhaps we as Pakistanis take our country for granted. 
To the foreign eye, Pakistan stands as an enigma, a pomegranate ripe with seeds of the ‘unexpected’ – which could explode at any given minute.
Maybe this is what leads foreigners, like Ethan to our land. And maybe, just maybe, this is what makes them fall in love with a country whose inhabitants have always taken for granted.  
By Sonya Rehman
Just a few weeks ago I had the pleasure of meeting Ethan Casey, an American journalist who was recently in Pakistan gathering material for his second book, the sequel to ‘Alive and well in Pakistan’ (published by Vanguard).
The heat wave in Lahore had not yet hit, but it was almost there – hanging by the periphery waiting to unleash its toasted, crispy spell on the inhabitants of the city. 
And the morning that I had met Ethan (at the Lahore Gymkhana) with his friend, Pete Sabo (who had accompanied him on the trip), the weather was rather pleasant and thankfully, not uncomfortably warm.
Sitting outside on the veranda which overlooked Gymkhana’s plush green lawn and the tennis courts (towards our left), Ethan began tracing his journey as a journalist, and the path that led him to Pakistan – a path which would keep bringing him back to the country over the next many years. 
Ethan’s story is an appealing one. Nursing an irresistible urge of wanderlust in his early 20s, Ethan set out for Nepal as a student in 1986. 
Growing up in a small town in America where everyone was white, “Life was nice but kinda boring”, Ethan stated with a grin, “My parents were a little unusual; my father in particular, encouraged me to be curious about the world. He set the example by leaving Texas and going to other parts of America. So that prepared the way for me to leave America…”
“At the time”, Ethan continued, “Asia was really far away from America, there was no internet and I had no particular reason to go – I just felt that I was young and that I really needed to be far away from home. So I did and spent six months in Nepal and had lots of adventures. And that established my interest in Asia. Years later I went to live in Bangkok because I wanted to make a career as a journalist, because I realized that you can’t just write a literary masterpiece and expect to make a living – so journalism was a way to get paid to write…and also get paid to see the world.” 
Working as a freelance journalist and a foreign correspondent in Bangkok for a few newspapers, Ethan eventually found himself taking an avid interest in the Kashmir situation in the mid-90s.  
Around that time, “The Kashmir uprising was heating up, and so I started reading up on it and thought; ‘well I want to go there and see it for myself’. In 1993, during the siege of the Hazratbal shrine, militants had taken hostages and were inside the shrine. The Indian army had surrounded it and the siege lasted for several months. It was a big thing at the time…something that had caught the world’s attention for a little while; and just after that I decided to go to Srinagar, Kashmir.”
Ethan traveled to Kashmir several times over two years (in 1994 and 1995) and began nurturing a deep interest in the Kashmir issue since it defined the relationship between the countries of both Pakistan and India. Infact some of his experiences in Kashmir are recorded in a few chapters in ‘Alive and well in Pakistan’. 
“Kashmir led me to my interest in Pakistan”, Ethan said amidst the shrill cries of the peacocks that strutted about in their cage (situated on the lawn). “And so I visited Pakistan in March in 1995 because I felt it was important for me to travel into Kashmir through the Pakistani side and talk to Pakistani and Kashmiri politicians and the people. So that’s what I did, and that piqued my interest in Pakistan itself. I met people, heard stories by the Pakistanis (which I was able to cover as a journalist), and I just kept going and coming back to Pakistan…”
Making long, extensive trips to Pakistan back in 1995, Ethan decided to travel to Karachi, which was at the time, bullet-ridden (literally) by sectarian violence. And then in 1999, “During the Kargil situation, I visited in the LOC for the first time in an army jeep with a Major”, Ethan recounted, “1999 was an interesting time to be here in Pakistan as Nawaz Sharif’s government was getting more and more isolated till the coup happened in October”. 
“This book…” Ethan stated, pointing at a copy of his book (which he’d brought for me), “Covers a decade worth of my experiences in Pakistan from 1994 to 2004 on a personalized level…in the sense that it isn’t specifically about politics. It’s almost the only book about Pakistan which isn’t about politics”, chuckled Ethan. 
A month or so ago, I’d happened to have met a Malaysian who told me that he found Pakistan to be something of an incredible enigma. Even though he was floored by the country, its people and its culture, he was still realistic and understood its drawbacks. Yet, he, just as Ethan, found himself consistently pulled back to Pakistan. 
Ethan (L) and Pete (R)
Above: Ethan (L) and Pete (R) at Gymkhana

I told Ethan this. To which he said: “A few years ago, I was sitting in Najam Sethi’s office talking about politics – every time I come to Pakistan I look him up since he’s been in the thick of Pakistani politics. So I asked him if he thought Benazir would ever come back into power, and he chuckled and said; ‘Well, stranger things have happened!’ and at the time there seemed to be no chance of her coming back, bit she did. Let me address this a bit more”, Ethan said whilst he reclined back into his chair, “Western people are always predicting doom for Pakistan – but I’ve been watching and visiting this country for 15 years, and it hasn’t yet broken up. Now it is a country with very severe problems – it’s not what people outside think it is…So for me, as an American, who tries to communicate to Americans about Pakistan – it’s an uphill battle. Pakistan is a durable nation. People here have achieved something – several generations have pioneered a nation which didn’t exist before…you’ve had to start from scratch, you’ve had a lot of disadvantages and a lot of things which have gone against you. At times Pakistanis have been their own worst enemies but they’re also remarkable and deserving of respect. Pakistan is a country which deserves respect just as much as any other nation does.” 
Just then, a waiter arrived, a smart man in his 30s with a bit of a belly. Placing an order for toast and porridge (for himself and Pete), Ethan told me about his experience at the Beaconhouse National University (BNU) here in Lahore where he taught International Journalism in 2003. 
“At the time in my late 30s, as a journalist, traveling and working largely alone for a decade, is a lonely life. You also develop these working practices of what it means to be a working reporter, and to teach was a great point in my life and career. The compulsion to teach others forced me to articulate it for myself. I had a blank slate to teach, whatever I wanted under the rubric of International Journalism. I learnt as much as I taught at BNU.” 
In addition to penning his sequel book, Ethan also runs a blog which is basically an extension of his book, ‘Alive and well in Pakistan’. 
“I think books are great but in today’s world blogs are also where a lot of people do their reading.” 
“Most Americans think I’m crazy to be in Pakistan”, Ethan laughs. Then how does he justify himself when they ask him why he’s coming to Pakistan? 
“I don’t need to justify myself”, he laughs again, “I’d tell them Pakistan is safe and interesting. It has become personally very important to me. As a personal commitment it’s become important for me to keep coming back – even if Pakistan were to be in (God forbid) a really awful situation, much worse than now, I would still feel a compulsion to come back.”
As he completed his sentence, the waiter brought two plates of eggs and toast. Apparently, there had been a misunderstanding. The waiter had thought Ethan said ‘poached’ when infact he’d asked for ‘porridge’. 
An insignificant misunderstanding which made all of us smile and laugh a little (including the waiter); Ethan and Pete gracefully settled for the toast which was brought with butter and jam. 
Interestingly, over the course of the interview, I discovered that Ethan speaks at churches, civic organizations, rotary clubs and universities about Pakistan. “It’s important to take this human dimension of Pakistan and show it to Americans.”
So what’s the response been like (since some Americans do carry a certain level of anger and resentment towards Pakistan)?
“Americans have been on a steep learning curve since 9/11”, Ethan replied, “And it represents the beginning of the end of American innocence…”
At the end of the interview, I had realized something, as I made my way back to my car. And this was that perhaps we as Pakistanis take our country for granted. 
To the foreign eye, Pakistan stands as an enigma, a pomegranate ripe with seeds of the ‘unexpected’ – which could explode at any given minute.
Maybe this is what leads foreigners, like Ethan to our land. And maybe, just maybe, this is what makes them fall in love with a country whose inhabitants have always taken for granted.  
The Friday Times

A Tale of Two Cities

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: May 17, 2009

 

 

A Tale of Two Cities
By Sonya Rehman and Khaver Siddiqi 
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”. Charles Dickens’ literary masterpiece, ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ begins with these words. Though the novel has a theme of self-sacrifice and resurrection, the starting line of the novel can be applied here in Pakistan, to the two of its largest and most prominent cities; Karachi and Lahore. 
Indeed both cities have seen the best of times and the worst of times, as far as the music industry is concerned, but how do these cities relate to one another? How does their music combine and form the modern music scene as we know it?   
The music that originates from the Punjab is as intricate as its historic architecture. Lahore, the Garden of the Mughals, has seen a myriad of melodies, genres, and vocals alongside a variety of musical instruments (both new and old) over the past few decades. This has given rise to the city’s diverse sound of music and rapidly evolving culture.
From the earthy qawwals of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the Punjabi ditties of Abrar-ul-Haq, the pop sensations; Atif Aslam and Ali Zafar, the underground Lahori grunge/rock revolution (of a handful of bands) in the early 90s and to the revolutionaries of yesteryear – Noor Jehan, Farida Khanum, Ustad Amanat Ali Khan and many more. In addition, the dhol maestro, Pappu Saien, and the master of the ek tara, Saien Zahoor (both of whom have shared their glory performing for people at shrines to concerts), to the fresh crop of commercialized Lahori pop acts (of both the past and today), to the jaded, angst-ridden rockers/bands such as Shahzad Hameed, Call, and eP…music from Lahore has been assorted at best. 
Infact the Lahori music scene has churned out so many musicians over the years that it would be almost impossible to list each band/musician down. Nonetheless, each has contributed to the country’s music scene on a macro level – making it what it is today; pulsating with promise. 
Even though things have been on the downslide – given the worldwide economic recession and the security situation within the country – our local musicians have still managed to stay in the game by taking out albums (some of which are completely self-funded), and playing at concerts and gigs throughout the country. 
Therefore, given the innumerable genres, the music from the Punjab cannot really be ‘defined’ as such, rather, just ‘felt’, and taken in. And perhaps this is what sets the city of Lahore’s music apart from Karachi’s music scene. Where Karachi carries its very own, signature sound, melodies from Lahore come wrapped in unrequited love, Sufi-istic devotion, and nostalgia – which oft reminds one of warm diyas, and fresh jasmine. 
On the other hand, Karachi as a city can best be described as a potpourri of people, traditions, lifestyles and history. This stepping stone of Mohammad Bin Qasim, a picturesque city of light and lightlessness, has its own distinct sound which permeates through the air and settles amongst its populace. 
Music has been a vital part of this city, whether it is the sound of the drums at Abdullah Shah Ghazi’s Mazar or the tone of socialism in Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s poetry, the music (and its words) very much echo the mood of the city. It is somber and realist, laced with satire and melancholy. Karachi music has no definite history to speak of, such as Lahore has. This is because compared to Lahore; Karachi is a modern city with a modern sound. It is the sound of realism, sometimes the harshness of reality and sometimes an echo of its soul. 
The music from the city by the sea is gritty, real and often makes many political statements. ‘Social Circus’ by Ali Azmat is an album that, in recent times, speaks this city’s language. Take this album and drive along the streets of Karachi and you’ll find yourself traveling the city with an accompanying soundtrack. From the raging guitars of the intro track accompanied by the blaring W-11 and all, to the calming rushes of the waves at the coast, this album really does speak the language of this city. 
But its not just Azmat’s album that beckons the sights and sounds of Karachi, bands like Strings and Junoon evoke a particular Karachi sound. In terms of heritage, giants like Allan Fakir and Abida Parveen evoke a rich texture unto the language of the entire province. Going further deep into heritage we come to the mazars of Karachi, most particularly the Abdullah Shah Ghazi, the monument that is perhaps the epitome of this land, long before our time and the British Raj. One will often find people from all walks of life loitering about the mazar; some simply paying their respects through prayer whereas others through their stories of song. And it is those stories of song that truly paint an unseen picture of the city by the sea. No matter where you are in the world, if you hear tracks by these artistes or the songs of these faithful, one would be compelled to think of Karachi. 
Comparisons between Lahore and Karachi are ultimately inevitable. Though we are one nation and one people, we speak many languages and we have a collective history of many generations. Though the two cities are so vastly different, so vastly apart, they are indeed just branches of the one same tree. 
In Pakistan, we have at our disposal, a thoroughly rich and diverse cultural heritage, which has blossomed over the decades, if not centuries. From almost every facet of what ‘art’ encompasses – such as; music, fashion, poetry, architecture and so on. 
That being stated, there is a hidden but devastating war taking place. Unlike our neighbors that celebrate, support and cherish their culture, our culture is slowly being eroded by ourselves. Our children are more familiar with Miley Cyrus’ songs and Aamir Khan’s 15 minute memory that they are ambiguous and lost to the rich culture that is their own.  
And what is the result of that? 
The result is we are now on the brink of losing our identity. Our art and culture must be held on to with an unflinching zeal. It must constantly be nurtured, nourished and cultivated without letting and allowing ‘borrowed culture’ from overseas sully it. For in these trying times, art seems to be our only release, making everything, at the end of the day seem all the more worthwhile. By Sonya Rehman and Khaver Siddiqi 

By Sonya Rehman and Khaver Siddiqi

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”. Charles Dickens’ literary masterpiece, ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ begins with these words. Though the novel has a theme of self-sacrifice and resurrection, the starting line of the novel can be applied here in Pakistan, to the two of its largest and most prominent cities; Karachi and Lahore. 

Indeed both cities have seen the best of times and the worst of times, as far as the music industry is concerned, but how do these cities relate to one another? How does their music combine and form the modern music scene as we know it?   

The music that originates from the Punjab is as intricate as its historic architecture. Lahore, the Garden of the Mughals, has seen a myriad of melodies, genres, and vocals alongside a variety of musical instruments (both new and old) over the past few decades. This has given rise to the city’s diverse sound of music and rapidly evolving culture.

From the earthy qawwals of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the Punjabi ditties of Abrar-ul-Haq, the pop sensations; Atif Aslam and Ali Zafar, the underground Lahori grunge/rock revolution (of a handful of bands) in the early 90s and to the revolutionaries of yesteryear – Noor Jehan, Farida Khanum, Ustad Amanat Ali Khan and many more. In addition, the dhol maestro, Pappu Saien, and the master of the ek tara, Saien Zahoor (both of whom have shared their glory performing for people at shrines to concerts), to the fresh crop of commercialized Lahori pop acts (of both the past and today), to the jaded, angst-ridden rockers/bands such as Shahzad Hameed, Call, and eP…music from Lahore has been assorted at best. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Above: Farida Khanum)

Infact the Lahori music scene has churned out so many musicians over the years that it would be almost impossible to list each band/musician down. Nonetheless, each has contributed to the country’s music scene on a macro level – making it what it is today; pulsating with promise. 

Even though things have been on the downslide – given the worldwide economic recession and the security situation within the country – our local musicians have still managed to stay in the game by taking out albums (some of which are completely self-funded), and playing at concerts and gigs throughout the country. 

Therefore, given the innumerable genres, the music from the Punjab cannot really be ‘defined’ as such, rather, just ‘felt’, and taken in. And perhaps this is what sets the city of Lahore’s music apart from Karachi’s music scene. Where Karachi carries its very own, signature sound, melodies from Lahore come wrapped in unrequited love, Sufi-istic devotion, and nostalgia – which oft reminds one of luminous diyas, and fresh jasmine. 

On the other hand, Karachi as a city can best be described as a potpourri of people, traditions, lifestyles and history. This stepping stone of Mohammad Bin Qasim, a picturesque city of light and lightlessness, has its own distinct sound which permeates through the air and settles amongst its populace. 

Music has been a vital part of this city, whether it is the sound of the drums at Abdullah Shah Ghazi’s Mazar or the tone of socialism in Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s poetry, the music (and its words) very much echo the mood of the city. It is somber and realist, laced with satire and melancholy. Karachi music has no definite history to speak of, such as Lahore has. This is because compared to Lahore; Karachi is a modern city with a modern sound. It is the sound of realism, sometimes the harshness of reality and sometimes an echo of its soul. 

(Above: Abida Parveen)

The music from the city by the sea is gritty, real and often makes many political statements. ‘Social Circus’ by Ali Azmat is an album that, in recent times, speaks this city’s language. Take this album and drive along the streets of Karachi and you’ll find yourself traveling the city with an accompanying soundtrack. From the raging guitars of the intro track accompanied by the blaring W-11 and all, to the calming rushes of the waves at the coast, this album really does speak the language of this city. 

But its not just Azmat’s album that beckons the sights and sounds of Karachi, bands like Strings and Junoon evoke a particular Karachi sound. In terms of heritage, giants like Allan Fakir and Abida Parveen evoke a rich texture unto the language of the entire province. Going further deep into heritage we come to the mazars of Karachi, most particularly the Abdullah Shah Ghazi, the monument that is perhaps the epitome of this land, long before our time and the British Raj. One will often find people from all walks of life loitering about the mazar; some simply paying their respects through prayer whereas others through their stories of song. And it is those stories of song that truly paint an unseen picture of the city by the sea. No matter where you are in the world, if you hear tracks by these artistes or the songs of these faithful, one would be compelled to think of Karachi. 

Comparisons between Lahore and Karachi are ultimately inevitable. Though we are one nation and one people, we speak many languages and we have a collective history of many generations. Though the two cities are so vastly different, so vastly apart, they are indeed just branches of the one same tree. 

In Pakistan, we have at our disposal, a thoroughly rich and diverse cultural heritage, which has blossomed over the decades, if not centuries. From almost every facet of what ‘art’ encompasses – such as; music, fashion, poetry, architecture and so on. 

That being stated, there is a hidden but devastating war taking place. Unlike our neighbors that celebrate, support and cherish their culture, our culture is slowly being eroded by ourselves. Our children are more familiar with Miley Cyrus’ songs and Aamir Khan’s 15 minute memory that they are ambiguous and lost to the rich culture that is their own.  

And what is the result of that? 

The result is we are now on the brink of losing our identity. Our art and culture must be held on to with an unflinching zeal. It must constantly be nurtured, nourished and cultivated without letting and allowing ‘borrowed culture’ from overseas sully it. For in these trying times, art seems to be our only release, making everything, at the end of the day seem all the more worthwhile. 

Images, Dawn

The caged bird sings…

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: May 1, 2009

 

BSonya Rehman 
A Lawyer, a Journalist, a PR Manager and a Politician – four young Pakistanis feature in director Nasir Khan’s topical documentary, ‘Made in Pakistan’, produced and released under the banner of ‘Talking Filmain’ (a production house in Lahore), this year. 
Shot over a span of a few months, ‘Made in Pakistan’ features Waleed (a lawyer), Rabia (a journalist running her very own publication), Mohsin (a politician following in his father’s footsteps) and Tara (a PR and event manager). 
While Waleed is shown discussing the lawyer’s movement and the impact that it has had on himself and the Pakistani lawyer community in general, Rabia is featured both as a young mother and wife, dealing with the day to day challenges of managing her monthly publication along with her team. 
Mohsin on the other hand is revealed as a budding politician – going about his days speaking with people at the grassroots, while Tara is shown handling a mammoth event (sponsored by a multinational) for one of Pakistan’s most well-known designers.
Unlike other productions made with the intention of ‘challenging stereotypes’ and carrying with it a rather defensive tone, ‘Made in Pakistan’ steers clear of making any such statement. 
Infact, I was slightly surprised when I happened to come across a few reviews in the local press about Nasir’s documentary aiming at challenging the world’s boxed-in view of Muslims and Pakistanis in general. 
I reiterate, ‘Made in Pakistan’ lacks an edgy, self-protective tone. And thankfully so. 
All that this one-hour, unscripted documentary does is  present its audiences with a slice of life of four middle-class, young Pakistanis in light of Musharaff’s November 3rd imposition of a state of emergency (in 2007), followed by the country’s law and order situation going to pot and ruin after the imposition. 
‘Made in Pakistan’ doesn’t make a ‘statement’, nor does it want you, the viewer, to assume anything too quickly. 
It leaves one ruminating from start to finish, and its theme – open to interpretation – allows you to understand the grey areas (present in Pakistan’s socio-political condition) which are in stark contrast against the basic blacks and the whites. 
The treatment of Nasir’s ‘Made in Pakistan’ reminds one a little of Michael Moore and Morgan Spurlock’s documentaries in its overall treatment. 
But unlike Moore and Spurlock who attempt at making tongue-in-cheek remarks and peppering their scripts/scenes with caustic humour (especially Spurlock, which at times makes him seem as if he’s trying a little too hard to ape Moore), ‘Made in Pakistan’ in its treatment is real and unhurried. Basic, yet factual. 
It depicts Pakistan standing too close for comfort, on the periphery of the gulch of total demolition – yet, hanging on tight by a sliver of hope. 
And Rabia, one of the young Pakistani’s featured in the documentary echoes this very notion. With her face somber and pensive, she states: “We are a very hopeful nation. We are very optimistic”. 
Watching Rabia say that broke my heart a little. This is because she was right. No matter how fiercely the odds have worked against Pakistan in the recent few years, our people – from each echelon of life – remain positively frustrated and jilted yes, but at the same time, still hopeful. Still resilient. Still persevering. 
And that is what is heart-breaking. The realization of it all cuts deep. 
The security situation within the country stands as a charade – so much so that countless lives have perished at the hands of it. How much can a nation of people take? How much longer before it becomes too late? How much longer before we are awoken from our deep slumber?  
‘Made in Pakistan’ manages to stir up all these questions within its viewers quite effortlessly. 
Currently, Nasir is trying to swing a cinema release for his documentary. Also, in the eminent future, the director hopes to release ‘Made in Pakistan’ on local television in addition to taking it out on DVD as well. 
One hopes that the documentary gets as much media mileage as it can get because it stands as an earnest undertaking which is a poignant treat to watch. 
That being stated, this is one documentary which also needs to be featured at film festivals overseas because this is one Pakistani documentary that western audiences must view by all means – to grasp what life truly is for the young generation in Pakistan.  
And that is; that amidst the carnage, hope – the caged bird – sings. That nothing in Pakistan is taken for granted, and that life goes on…it always has to.

By Sonya Rehman 

A Lawyer, a Journalist, a PR Manager and a Politician – four young Pakistanis feature in director Nasir Khan’s topical documentary, ‘Made in Pakistan’, produced and released under the banner of ‘Talking Filmain’ (a production house in Lahore), this year. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shot over a span of a few months, ‘Made in Pakistan’ features Waleed (a lawyer), Rabia (a journalist running her very own publication), Mohsin (a politician following in his father’s footsteps) and Tara (a PR and event manager). 

While Waleed is shown discussing the lawyer’s movement and the impact that it has had on himself and the Pakistani lawyer community in general, Rabia is featured both as a young mother and wife, dealing with the day to day challenges of managing her monthly publication along with her team. 

Mohsin on the other hand is revealed as a budding politician – going about his days speaking with people at the grassroots, while Tara is shown handling a mammoth event (sponsored by a multinational) for one of Pakistan’s most well-known designers.

Unlike other productions made with the intention of ‘challenging stereotypes’ and carrying with it a rather defensive tone, ‘Made in Pakistan’ steers clear of making any such statement. 

adil-rizwan-and-nasir-5

 

Above: Adil, Rizwan and Nasir of ‘Talking Filmain’

Infact, I was slightly surprised when I happened to come across a few reviews in the local press about Nasir’s documentary aiming at challenging the world’s boxed-in view of Muslims and Pakistanis in general. 

I reiterate, ‘Made in Pakistan’ lacks an edgy, self-protective tone. And thankfully so. 

All that this one-hour, unscripted documentary does is  present its audiences with a slice of life of four middle-class, young Pakistanis in light of Musharaff’s November 3rd imposition of a state of emergency (in 2007), followed by the country’s law and order situation going to pot and ruin after the imposition. 

‘Made in Pakistan’ doesn’t make a ‘statement’, nor does it want you, the viewer, to assume anything too quickly. 

It leaves one ruminating from start to finish, and its theme – open to interpretation – allows you to understand the grey areas (present in Pakistan’s socio-political condition) which are in stark contrast against the basic blacks and the whites. 

The treatment of Nasir’s ‘Made in Pakistan’ reminds one a little of Michael Moore and Morgan Spurlock’s documentaries in its overall treatment. 

But unlike Moore and Spurlock who attempt at making tongue-in-cheek remarks and peppering their scripts/scenes with caustic humour (especially Spurlock, which at times makes him seem as if he’s trying a little too hard to ape Moore), ‘Made in Pakistan’ in its treatment is real and unhurried. Basic, yet factual. 

It depicts Pakistan standing too close for comfort, on the periphery of the gulch of total demolition – yet, hanging on tight by a sliver of hope. 

And Rabia, one of the young Pakistani’s featured in the documentary echoes this very notion. With her face somber and pensive, she states: “We are a very hopeful nation. We are very optimistic”. 

Watching Rabia say that broke my heart a little. This is because she was right. No matter how fiercely the odds have worked against Pakistan in the recent few years, our people – from each echelon of life – remain positively frustrated and jilted yes, but at the same time, still hopeful. Still resilient. Still persevering. 

And that is what is heart-breaking. The realization of it all cuts deep. 

The security situation within the country stands as a charade – so much so that countless lives have perished at the hands of it. How much can a nation of people take? How much longer before it becomes too late? How much longer before we are awoken from our deep slumber?  

‘Made in Pakistan’ manages to stir up all these questions within its viewers quite effortlessly. 

Currently, Nasir is trying to swing a cinema release for his documentary. Also, in the eminent future, the director hopes to release ‘Made in Pakistan’ on local television in addition to taking it out on DVD as well. 

One hopes that the documentary gets as much media mileage as it can get because it stands as an earnest undertaking which is a poignant treat to watch. 

That being stated, this is one documentary which also needs to be featured at film festivals overseas because this is one Pakistani documentary that western audiences must view by all means – to grasp what life truly is for the young generation in Pakistan.  

And that is; that amidst the carnage, hope – the caged bird – sings. That nothing in Pakistan is taken for granted, and that life goes on…it always has to.

The Friday Times

Introducing ‘13′

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: April 12, 2009

By Sonya Rehman

While some critics would subscribe to the notion that the local music scene’s growth curve has tipped its way into an abyss of ambivalence, the fact of the matter is that currently, a majority aren’t really aware – nor bothered – about the breaking and entering of music acts, both old and fledgling.

These days, unfortunately or fortunately, what really matters is how aggressively a musician/band is promoted. This is because no one really has the time anymore to flitter away the hours channel surfing local music channels. 

Because, quite honestly, instead of the tube, people are far more tuned into the World Wide Web. 

That’s how musicians (and bands) like Zeb and Haniya, Sahil, Arooj Aftab (and countless others) got ‘discovered’ and hit the media jackpot as they were promoted by a host of newspaper agencies, radio stations and television channels. 

And with ‘13’, the story is somewhat similar. Not that these fellas have hit the media jackpot just yet, but they’re (hopefully) bound to. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Above: Ian, Wahaj and Faraz

Comprising of Faraz Ahmed (a musician who has played with the likes of Mekaal Hasan, ‘The Trip’, and ‘Noori’), Ian Eldred (the golden boy of Shah Sharabeel’s musical productions – one of his finest roles which he played in ‘Moulin Rogue’), and Wahaj (who has musically dabbled in alternative acts such as ‘Azaish’, ‘New York Reflections’ and ‘Myle’). 

“The band ‘13’ was formed in 2006 with myself and Hassan Taimur”, Faraz states, “We’d been playing with a lot of underground bands in Pakistan such as ‘The Trip’, ‘Noori’ and Mekaal Hasan’s project ‘Bare Chords’, among the lot. In 2005 Hassan and I were asked to play with an American Opera singer called Heather Schmid who was touring Pakistan and raising funds for the earthquake victims at the time.” 

Soon after, Hassan left Pakistan to pursue higher studies abroad, resulting in the introduction of Ian and Wahaj to ‘13’. 

Interestingly, via 13’s internet promotion, I’d learnt that the band also included a young female drummer called Mehreen Baxm. 

“She’s Pakistan’s first professional girl drummer who is also involved in composing, lyric-writing, designing and promotions for our band”, Faraz states, “But currently she’s on indefinite hiatus due to a demanding program at a university in Georgia, United States.” 

So considering the band’s played at public and private gigs, do they plan on releasing an album (since that stands as Step Number 2 for any new band entering into the local music scene)?

“With there being only one major record label in the country”, Faraz answers, “The window of opportunity has constricted which means less variegation within the music industry. Foreign labels are a hard deal because without an agent most bands get lost in some corner of the information highway.”

Fair enough. But a music video, then? “Yes we plan to make a video for our debut song and we’re currently looking for sponsors, even though the rubrics most of these potential sponsors we approach are addling at best – for example we had two different people within one corporation tell us that our music was not commercial and grunge enough but yet was also too commercial in nature to be considered marketable rock/pop”.

Faraz then goes on to state something which has been echoed by our local musicians, young and old, over the years; “You see it’s a very discernible and disturbing phenomenon, if you want to be a sure fire hit today and have the backing of a host of sponsors then unfortunately you will have to sell your ideals and principles by letting go of the music that you truly want to play and share with other people. Eventually you must become a cardboard cut-out that can be stereotyped and easily packaged by people ‘showing you the money’. It is terribly deleterious and can only mean the slow and attritional emaciation of diversity and heterogeneity.”

Part of the rock scene in Melbourne, Australia (in the 90s), Faraz, on his arrival back in Pakistan joined the Lahori underground scene in 2001 (and played with a few bands as mentioned earlier). 

“Music had gall back then – from the late 90s to 2003”, he says, “Music was more then just an end to a means, it was collective consciousness, everyone was part of something, something that was just invigorating, facultative and binding. It wasn’t just a bunch of snooty-nosed kids playing guitars and indulging in all sorts of bourgeois nonsense”.

But of the music scene as it stands currently? Faraz remains optimistic. While the political and economic vista of the country may appear to be in shambles, Pakistani musicians – like each of us – have developed a to-hell-with-it attitude…carrying on with what they know best, yet dealing with it pragmatically on a day to day basis. 

So whether or not the returns don’t flow in as soon and/or as much as they should, and whether or not record deals are struck (or lost) the local music scene is and always will be, in constant metamorphosis. 

The Saturday Post & Sunday, Daily Times

Every voice counts

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: April 3, 2009

By Sonya Rehman

From ‘Blogger’, ‘WordPress’, ‘Flickr’, ‘Youtube’, discussion forums and a host of other websites, Citizen Journalism (also known as public journalism) has truly shot through the roof over the past few years!

Even CNN’s ‘iReport’ website caters to anyone and everyone – irrespective of class, creed, and religion – to participate in reporting current events in addition to giving their take on a particular subject matter. 

I would even go so far in stating that ‘Facebook’ too acts as quite a podium for its users to vent out via their Facebook statuses and penning short, snappy opinion pieces on Facebook’s ‘Notes’ section which allows its users to publish text, images and videos! Recently during the Long March, I found myself most intrigued while reading the status updates and notes of many friends and acquaintances on my list. Infact, almost every news tidbit ‘just in’ would immediately be broadcasted on Facebook by someone I knew, which would then be followed up by a host of fiery, and utterly fascinating comments by their friends. 

The ‘chain reaction’ (if you may) of Citizen Journalism is swift and super-charged, wired and raw. It’s almost like a row of countless dominoes which keep going on and on and on, once propelled. 

With Citizen Journalism the dialogue never ends, and the views always depict different facets to a story. 

In 2008 a much-welcomed addition to citizen journalism portals is a website known as ‘Demotix’. Founded by Turi Munthe and Jonathan Tepper, Demotix was initiated “with two principles at its heart”, Turi states (in an email in response to mine), “The freedom of speech and the freedom to know. Its objective is nothing if not ambitious – to rescue journalism by connecting independent journalists with the traditional media.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Interestingly, Turi believes that field-reporting is fast-fading in this day and age. “There are no more journalists”, he states matter-of-factly, “The internet and big businesses have killed them off. The huge uptake in use of the internet along with the business ownership structure of media groups, are the main reason for its decline. Quality international journalism is in dire trouble, but Demotix believes it cannot be lost. Only four US newspapers now maintain a foreign desk – the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Wall Street Journal, and the LA Times. That is four newspapers with reporters dedicated to covering the rest of the world in a country of over 300 million people. In the last few weeks alone, The San Francisco Chronicle has been threatened with closure, the Philadelphia Enquirer has gone down, and there are rumours the New York Times may not be able to refinance its $1billion debt in May. That’s just the US. In the UK, even the Financial Times recently sacked 40 staff members!”

But unlike blogs which primarily focus on text, Demotix only features images and video clips. However, what steps does the portal take to ensure each submission’s credibility? Because with the internet one can never tell – almost anything online can be plagiarized. “This is a problem which is not just faced by Citizen Journalism agencies. In the past few years several major news agencies – including Reuters, AP and Getty – have faced accusations that they distributed faked, altered or misleading photography”, Turi states, “Verifiability is something that Demotix takes extremely seriously – without the trust of our contributors and clients we could not survive. Before we license an image, we speak personally to the photographer and carry out as many checks as are necessary to satisfy ourselves completely that the work is an accurate and truthful depiction of events as they happened. We also believe that nothing moderates itself better than a community. As the discussion over our images from the Gaza conflict showed, there will always be people ready and willing to analyze and question photographs where necessary. The more sensitive the topic, the closer this scrutiny will be.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So here’s how it works, if a particular news agency wants to buy your submission (which is featured on Demotix), you get to keep fifty percent of the profits, while Demotix pockets the remaining fifty. It’s quite simple. Since its inception, the portal has made quite a few sales to well-known media houses such as the Guardian, the Times, the Telegraph, and the BBC. 

“We have also received a huge amount of interest and support from organizations dealing with freedom of speech and advocacy issues. We have partnered with Reporters Sans Frontiers, Amnesty International and the Committee for the Protection of Journalists, and are backed by the United Nations”, Turi affirms. 

Recently returning from a trip to Pakistan, Turi said that he had traveled around South Asia to meet anyone who had a story to share. In his two-week trip, Turi met with many “extraordinary photographers immensely brave journalists, activists, students, newspaper editors, and media owners.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Above: Turi Munthe)

New to Demotix and based in Lahore, Heather Carreiro (a writer for the Associated Content) subscribes to the notion that Citizen Journalism “is essential for the media to accurately portray world events and give insight into different cultures. Many times the mainstream media ends up presenting a skewed view of situations because the reporters are only able to see the event from one perspective. For many breaking news stories around the world, journalists are flown in to cover the events. They lack the background knowledge, language skills, and cultural clues that would give them a fuller picture of the events at hand. Those who can accurately portray events and give valid insights are people who were there when the event happened and have the background knowledge necessary to understand the event as it pertains to the wider picture. Citizen Journalists often have both of these advantages.”

Khaver Siddiqi, a cultural journalist based in Karachi, has a different take: “Citizen Journalism is a volatile concept, and is something that will redefine journalism as we know it. Why is it volatile? Not everybody can be a journalist, a job that requires absolute neutrality combined with a dedication to get the news out. In an age where terrorism and fanaticism are quickly becoming up to date on technology, who will say who is a citizen journalist or a pawn of terror in its guise? However, there can be something good out of this too. People will be motivated enough to spread the word out to the world, which even though is growing smaller by the second, still has a lot to discover about itself.” 

“Today, bloggers are interviewed almost as often as experts on television”, Kalsoom Lakhani (a Pakistani blogger based in Washington DC) says, “Forums like ‘Twitter’ and blogs allow for real-time reporting, and doesn’t require the red tape and hoops journalists may have to go through with their editors. With my blog, ‘CHUP – Changing Up Pakistan’, I have noticed that readers of my site are active participants – debating on various topics and questions raised in my analysis. It has altered one’s previous conceptions of journalism – today, we are not only the consumers of information, but we are also the active producers.” 

In November, 2007, when Musharraf declared a state of emergency within the country – the local media organizations, writers, analysts, journalists, activists and members of the civil society were up in arms. 

It was a very surreal, almost dark patch for our media houses. Anger ran deep. But to combat this ‘blanketing of the media’ back then, websites, portals and blogs were availed for Pakistanis to voice their opinions, put up video clips, and state things how they saw them to be. 

It was these very portals which came as a great source of relief, as they gave a podium to a wide cross-section of the Pakistani civil society in their hour of need. 

That being stated, while Citizen Journalism may have its fair share of loop-holes vis-à-vis plagiarism and credibility, ask yourself – how credible are those sensationalist media houses both at home and abroad? 

In Citizen Journalism, every voice counts. And ‘news just in’ reported by just about anyone – sitting smack in the middle of a groundbreaking event – perhaps carries much more significance than a sketchy report (of the event) penned by someone sitting on the opposite side of the world. 

The Friday Times

Oven Fresh

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: March 31, 2009

 

By Sonya Rehman 

“Masoom Alam wanted to open a franchise of ‘Masooms’ in Lahore”, Farida Zaidi tells me before proceeding, “And around that time we were looking at starting a franchise too.” 

So in 2003, ‘Masooms’ – a much loved, local, coffee house/bakery – introduced itself to the Lahori palate. 

With trained cooks, Farida tells me that much has changed over the years since 2003. “At the time, initially, we had only four people in the kitchen and two in the shop…it took an immense amount of hard work as I would often have to buy the groceries and deliver them myself to and from the shops and the bakery.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But over the years, ‘Masooms’ truly has carved a name for itself – especially given the fact that new coffee houses have managed to spring up by the dozen in Lahore. And that, Farida states, was slightly worrisome in the beginning. But the ‘Masooms’ customer base has remained pretty consistent, since they “never compromise on quality.” 

That holds quite true. In Lahore with the surplus of cafes and restaurants, many filter out because they wind up not being able to remain very steady vis-à-vis the quality of their food. 

And that’s why the food business is always so very ‘touch and go’. You lose out once, and you’re out of the game. But ‘Masooms’, nestled in the basement of a building smack on Lahore’s busy MM Alam Road (the hub of the city’s eateries), sees students, business executives, young couples and journalists come and go amidst tiny, misty clouds of fresh coffee, warm patties and soft, chubby brownies.

“You know, at times we’ve gone for weeks without making a particular item – like our blueberry and strawberry cheesecakes for example”, Farida says, “and that’s because one or two of the ingredients (that we use in our cheesecakes) haven’t been available in the market. We have suffered in that way, but if the ingredient isn’t obtainable in the bazaar – we will hold up making the item till it is.”

Since the launch of ‘Masooms’ back in 2003, Farida in her soft-spoken way agrees that the road has not been without its fair share of bumps and downslides. But she remains pragmatic, having taken these very challenges within her stride – remaining undeterred and evermore resilient. 

Things look far better now than how they used to be – with far more cooks and managers administering the daily output, but Farida stresses that she still makes it a point to oversee the shop’s productivity at every step of the way. 

They say behind every successful man is a woman, but in this case – behind every successful bakery, there’s got to be a meticulous woman! 

 Newsline

Broken vows

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: March 27, 2009

By Sonya Rehman 

Over the past few years, as the outer skin of Lahore has undergone a colossal metamorphosis, so has its society…on a very deep, subconscious level. As the branded stores, foreign food chains, multinationals and buildings have burgeoned, there has been an equally rapid shift in mass consciousness. 

Long gone are those condemnatory days where hushed remarks, lingering trails of gossip and malicious whispers of so-and-so being a divorcee and so-and-so’s daughter calling it quits and walking out from a half-baked marriage as a single woman ready to face the world, head-on. 

The hypocritical tittle-tattle may well, still be there, but it floats about mindlessly as it remains tinged with boredom and a certain amount of acceptance and recognition as one of the major options for a stale marriage. 

Honestly, I never thought I’d see the day. Belonging to a single-parent family (I loathe calling it a ‘broken home’) most of my life, I witnessed my mother being judged on a daily basis for being a ‘single woman’. 

And whilst judging my mother, they would in turn judge me – by telling each other that I too, would wind up being divorced and single. Why? Because oh, I was my mother’s daughter after all. 

But the past five to seven years has inked out those disparaging days. For a majority of those very men and women who labeled divorcees as ‘bad’ people, have wound up with their very own divorced children back on their doorsteps – suitcases and toddlers in tow.

This is not to state that every Lahori family out there has truly ‘evolved’ in the marriage department, but a majority has. 

Sure the city still retains its pockets of conservative, orthodox (and some backward, judgmental) families, but divorce, I reiterate isn’t taken as an earth-shattering family calamity anymore. It’s taken in stride. 

Karachi may well have had its fair share of societal issues, but regarding marriage, divorce and the firm resolution to stay single? It has fared better than Lahore. 

Only now, over these past few years has Lahore truly come to terms with it being ‘okay’ to be a divorcee, and that being a divorcee does not necessarily mean a dreadful thing. 

So now, while parents across the city encourage their daughters to take up solid careers and become financially independent, the rate of early divorces and late marriages has shot up. 

These days it’s not uncommon for a young woman to get married in her late 20s and sometimes even, her early 30s. In addition, the disengagement from a marriage after barely a year or so hardly comes as a shocker anymore.

People may well still talk, finger-point and wrap their dim-witted social banter with sympathy for the “poor” young divorcee, but give or take a week, and it’s shrugged off. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But the rapid increase in divorces amongst young couples could mean many things such as; the media boom in Pakistan (and the awareness that it has brought with it), the stress for a good solid education for young women (by families) – and the gradual build-up of a feeling of empowerment which follows, and so on.

See, divorce isn’t a bad thing. It stands as a good option, but only if one party finds himself/herself shoved into a corner with a point of no return – such as; bearing physical/emotional abuse at the cost of one’s partner, infidelity, etc. 

These days, young couples (and young people in general) are rather flippant. Forget the whole theory of ‘wanting to be married for the love of the idea of marriage’ – that stands as one reason too, but the main reason right now is the empowerment of women in Lahore and the inherent flippancy of young adults. 

A mix of flippancy and far too much pseudo-pragmatism if you will. A “let’s see how it pans out” pragmatism.

But coming back to the alteration in a woman’s place in Lahori society, I recently came across a paragraph in well-known Erica Jong’s best-selling novel, ‘Fear of flying’: “Back in the days when men were hunters and chest-beaters and women spent their whole lives worrying about pregnancy or dying in childbirth, they often had to be taken against their will. Men complained that women were cold, unresponsive; frigid…they wanted their women wanton. They wanted their women wild. Now women were finally learning to be wanton and wild – and what happened? The men wilted.”  

Jong was right. Female empowerment in Lahore may well be a very good thing, but why is it that some of the strongest women I know marry some of the most emotionally impotent men out there? 

And on the flip side, why is it that men these days prefer a strong-headed, career-oriented woman yet begin doing cart-wheels after the marriage vows are exchanged? What really is wrong with this picture?

Nancy Friday, another best-selling author subscribes to the notion that empowered women in the workforce don’t really know how to play the dual role of a wife and a career-woman. 

Somewhere along the line they fall short – while on one hand they may appear tough and cut-throat at work, but on the other hand they may become too clingy and emotionally dependent on their partners. Why? Is the empowerment just a façade? Has society drilled it into our heads for decades – that a woman without a man is nothing but an empty shell? Is divorce these days a self-defense mechanism to cut one’s losses before they begin hurting? Does consumerism in Lahore really have a role to play in all of this no matter how far-fetched it sounds? The notion that there’s so much ‘choice’ out there that it drives one a little wonky? The silly belief that one can always ‘do better’ and possess someone better in the marriage department? 

Have we really begun changing our partners just as swiftly as we would change our brands?

Marriage always comes with a bit of compromise – I mean that’s a given, it’s never a Mills & Boons novel from start to finish. But young adults in this day and age follow an almost zero tolerance policy for anything that would/could rub them the wrong way in the marriage/companionship department. 

I admit, I have my hang-ups too – but I’m working on it. Just as it took us years to be conditioned this way, it’ll take us time to gradually re-condition ourselves to view love and marriage in a balanced way. Without presumptions. Without bias.  

The Friday Times

Five cavities and Michael Buble

Posted by: Sonya Rehman on: March 13, 2009

 

By Sonya Rehman


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In all my piddling twenty-six years, I’ve never found myself in a dentist’s clinic. But recently, my mother thought it’d be wiser to have a general check-up before my departure for grad school this summer. 

And so, off I went to Dr. Rizwan, one of the finest dentist’s in Lahore. His clinic, situated in Gulberg has to be one of the most unusual clinics I’ve ever been to (not that I frequent clinics on a regular basis).

With jazz-boy Michael Buble cooing away in the background, fresh yellow flowers set in a massive vase – that sat atop a large sea-blue chest – and patches of warm sunshine reflecting off the walls and floor, I seriously thought I’d entered someone’s living room, rather than a ‘clinic’. 

Sometimes when I think of clinics I always imagine walls lined with tube lights, shiny, fake leather couches (in white or beige), polished shoes, sadistic needles, broken weighing-machines, buttoned up, prude-ish white jackets and chits of paper filled with diagnosis and medicine lists in square-ish, peculiar handwriting, that would make even the world’s best handwriting expert gawk in confusion. 

But Dr. Rizwan’s clinic was something else. Heck, I could’ve camped out there for the rest of my life. Okay, maybe that’s stretching it, but perhaps for half of my life. Atleast. 

After a general check-up (whilst sniffing in the fact that Dr. Rizwan’s gloves smelt like baby milk); I was advised by him to get braces for both my lower and upper teeth. Not that I have buck-teeth, but let’s just say that all those years of sucking my thumb (till I was 11) ‘upset the balance’. 

“Good, let’s get you those braces”, my mother had said. But I fought it out. “Look Ma, there’s absolutely no way I’m going to be walking the streets of New York for a year in those steely contraptions looking like Ugly Betty!” 

That did it. So it was decided that the braces would be put on hold until I returned, and for the time being, I’d get my teeth cleaned prior to getting my cavities filled up. 

The teeth cleaning bit, I was advised, was necessary to avoid the off-shoot of further cavities. 

Cool. So the following week, I walked back into Dr. Rizwan’s clinic in my favourite sweats and plopped down onto the dentist’s chair (what a fine invention). 

A young and attractive Dr. Sadia was due to clean my teeth, and so, while she put on her milk-scented gloves, we chatted away about New York – with my telling her what a lumbering paindu I was going to be once I landed at JFK International Airport (since I’d never set foot in another country, save for India), and her appeasing me about the fact that the ‘Village’ is going to be a lot of fun and that I’d take to it like a fish to water. 

Lowering my chair down, placing a spotlight of sorts smack in my face, and placing tissue paper around my neck (like a bib), I was told to; “Open wide please”.

“GaaaAaA-k-l-aaaAaAaaa”, I said confidently – trying to keep my cool as Dr. Sadia had placed a tube (which hissed and acted like a mini vacuum cleaner) into the side of my mouth. 

Wearing goggles, she set to work on my lower jaw with a horridly unsettling, frightening little device that made the most unsettlingly loud “RrrrRrRrrRrRRRR” sounds. 

Oh dear, I was in for the long innings. Help me God, I’d thought.

The little drill machine snaked in, out and around, rattling the very core of my lower jaw’s teeth. 

And sometimes, it’d scrape just a fraction of my gum. But I persisted and ground my hands together tightly. ‘Gotta be brave, gotta be brave now’, I told myself. In the distance, Michael Buble continued singing in an amorous and lazy fashion amidst the plinkety-plink of the piano. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dashing Mr. Buble

I wanted to throttle him, or, run into his chubby arms screaming; “Help me, for the love of God jazz-boy, save MEEEEEE.”

“HiiissssSsSsSSsSssSss”, the little tube went. It’d popped out of my mouth. Taking a thin pipe, my mouth was then sprayed by Dr. Sadia. I gurgled. Choked rather. 

“I feel like my teeth have just been treated to a mini car-wash”, I told her good-naturedly (trying to ease my frayed nerves). 

She smiled and then handed me a pair of goggles. “Wow, futuristic”, I had said excitedly, “um, what exactly are these for though?”

“Just in case the water sprays in your eyes”, she had replied. Okay not so futuristic anymore.

After a few minutes, Dr. Sadia then got to work on my upper jaw. I was compelled to yank open my mouth to make it easier for her, but for some reason, my mouth felt incredibly numb. The ‘puch puch’ kinda numb. 

“RrRrrRrRrrRrrrrrrrrrrr” the blasted drill machine shrieked. It slowly made its way to my horrified face. The mini vacuum cleaner in my mouth continued hissing. Michael Buble went on crooning. 

‘NOoOooOoOOooooooo’ I wanted to yell as my mind began doing pretty little convulsions. It dug into the crown of my teeth, pulling out anything that came in its way. Beads of sweat clung to my forehead (thought I’d throw that in for good measure), and I plucked away deliriously at my skin. 

If I was going to get up from the chair (once it was over) and prance down the road in a tutu, I couldn’t be blamed. 

“RrRrRrrrrr”, “hisss hisss hisss”, “gurgle”, “choke”, “sputter”, “RrrrrrRrR”, “mommy?”

And then, everything went blank and I woke up two hours later. No, I jest. There was suddenly, dead silence. “You can gargle now”, Dr. Sadia had said with a smile, pointing to a paper cup containing a pink liquid. “Phewie”, I’d said as I struggled to get up and reach for the cup. 

After I was done, she handed me a mirror, “Take a look”.

Looking at my face – which thankfully wasn’t contorted like Regan from ‘The Exorcist’ – I grinned, widely. 

What a fine set of teeth, I’d thought to myself, still grinning away at my reflection.

Walking out of Dr. Rizwan’s clinic with a spring in my step, I was told I had five cavities which had to be treated right away. 

“You bet”, I’d said – still grinning. As long as they had Michael Buble singing, I’d be game.  

The Friday Times