By Sonya Rehman

“Life is so unexpected and spontaneous here” I wrote to my mother in an email the other day, “In Lahore, there was a comfort in planning/dreaming ahead…but by the same token, there is a comfort in knowing that the days, weeks and months ahead will lack uniformity.”

Pry yourself out of that bubble, that comfort zone, and you will fast gain perspective on what you’d like your little sphere of life to represent till the end of your days.

In the present, in New York, on quieter days as it rains gently, memories of Lahore roll out like a filmstrip of sepia-toned visuals. Choppy clips, without sound. The other day, I heard the sound of an ice cream van playing a soft jingle in the distance. It took me back to my babyhood and how my heart would race at the sound of the ice cream-wallah cycling down the street near my house. How quickly the years flee by. It was only then that I’d realized how short life is. How intensely short.  The realization hit me deeply and it made me think that my unborn children will, one day like me, race towards the gate for an ice lolly on a warm, sunny day – without a care in the world. And then years down the line the realization will hit them too…thus, the cycle will continue. Spinning in continuous motion, without suspension.

Apart from gaining an education here, I see myself gaining life experience too. On a daily basis. In the beginning the subways terrified me – and that was just one of many things mind you. New York, to me, represented a futuristic hodgepodge of shallowness and depth – much like Lahore.

I’m taking it all in: the loud roar of the trains, and the way they come screeching to a halt at the subway stations, the wizened, old people – how they hobble down the street with walking sticks…fragile, like paper dolls. Couples, holding hands. Stripped of inhibitions. A little poodle in a sweater sniffs a frothy puddle as her owner tugs the leash gently to move the puffball away from the muck. A woman with beautiful hips sways, her fingers lightly tapping her headphones, she is smiling, making her way to work. The orderliness of life; the subway passes, the credit cards, the debit cards, swiping cards, shopping, clothes, food, swipe your card some more, the immigrants and the rings under their eyes, the way they hold onto their culture fiercely, their wild-eyedness…The way of life here represents a mechanical orderliness which, on pensive days, makes me miss the loop-holes of the system back home. The rustic disorderliness. My Eastern heart, I oft realize is usually in over-drive; romanticizing her soil, her people. But, absence always makes the heart grow fonder.

In New York, there is music and spontaneity everywhere; turn the corner and you will find yourself in the midst of a street fair, walk down the stairs into a subway station and you’ll wind up hearing the most moving notes of music being played by a saxophonist in the corner somewhere.

I recently went with a friend to watch the live screening of ‘Madam Butterfly’ at the Lincoln Center. I’d always had an aversion to Opera, but watching ‘Madam Butterfly’ on a massive projector in the outdoors with scores of New Yorkers – I was touched. It was a magnificent, gripping production.

It’s true – when you’re living in another country on your own, your likes and dislikes continuously change because everything is new, foreign, and different.

Over Eid this year, I thought I’d be stuck in my room studying but wonderfully enough, I found myself tucking into home-cooked Pakistani food (such bliss!) with a bunch of engaging, young people. Afterwards, we walked down to Central Park and played kho-kho – running about in the sun, all of us twenty-somethings. I felt rather silly initially as I’d worn a traditional shalwar kameez and khussas, but off they came (only the khussas!) and I ran about on the grass like a self-confessed nutter, bare-footed in merriment.

In September, I found myself at the UN General Assembly at a ‘Concert for Pakistan’ which was held to raise awareness of the humanitarian crisis in Pakistan. It was put together by well-known musician, Salman Ahmad – who continues to give performances under the banner of ‘Junoon’. Why, I do not know – considering the fact that it has been yonks ever since Junoon disbanded and each musician went his separate way.

Still, the concert was pretty good – with performances by Gavin Rossdale, the band ‘Outlandish’ along with others. Nobel Laureate, Dr.R.K.Pichauri, Jeff Skoll, Bobby Sager and a host of other personalities and advocates gave speeches as well. The General Assembly was packed with Pakistanis. At one point the friend I was with sardonically stated: “This is what’s wrong with Pakistan.” Asking him what he meant he went on to explain that most Pakistanis make lives for themselves here, in the West, rather than go back to their homeland and contribute to the society. This, he’d elaborated, owed to the major brain drain back home. Whether he was right or not, his comments left a rather bitter taste in my mouth.

But onto happier things, I got to see U2 in the flesh this October at the Giant’s Stadium in New Jersey. Shelling out a hundred dollars for the ticket, I’d decided I could go hungry for a few days rather than miss seeing Bono sing ‘One’ live. What fantastic performers the band members of U2 are, they truly had the stadium – jam-packed with people – riveted. The highlight of the evening was not only Bono singing ‘One’, but ‘Stuck in a moment’ being performed as it drizzled. At one point, my eyes welled up. It made the traumatic experience of having a tipsy beefcake (who was belching and yelling in my ear) in the crammed train all the way to the stadium worth it.

Every morning, the smell of fresh pizza wafts out of a popular pizza joint as I make my way to class hurriedly. On a 113th and Broadway, I have just a few more blocks to go before the gates of my university are within view.

Winter is elbowing her way in speedily. My hands are cold. I need woolly gloves. The months are condensing. I must make the most of this, I tell myself often.

I feel like a different person. I am too, stripped of my old identity…but I hold onto my core and what defines me fiercely. Can’t wait to be home.

The Friday Times

By Sonya Rehman

The past few weeks have had me reeling.  I left Lahore on the 1^st of August with a crazy, extended travel itinerary planned out ahead of me. Little did I know I was going to be air-bound, airport-bound and nauseated for over 24 hours.

I was super amped about my departure. This was because I’d waited for two years to finally attend Journalism School at Columbia University in New York. The wait was primarily due to a lack of aid to cover my fees for the year (a typical, run-of-the-mill student sob story – boo hoo).

Until however, the Fulbright Scholarship came along – like a buffed superhero – and swiped me off my feet.

So this is what my travel itinerary looked like: Lahore to Islamabad – Islamabad to Dubai – a 9-hour wait at the Dubai International Airport (yikes), followed by a 14-hour flight to Washington (double yikes) – a connecting flight to Albany – a two day stay at Albany (for the Fulbright Gateway Orientation) and then my final destination: New York City on the 5^th.

‘Okaaaaay’, I thought, ‘I can do this’. I felt tough and independent, until PIA (Pakistan International Airlines) began ‘descending’ into Dubai’s International Airport.  Feeling like I was sitting on a razor-edged gangsta rap song, the plane literally plummeted, twirled and tumbled thousands of feet below to the tarmac. Holding onto my seatbelt and wheezing in utter panic, my mind raced: ‘I can’t die. No I can’t. God does NOT have sadistic tendencies. Uh oh – turbulence, air-pockets! Okay, okay, so uh, make eye contact with someone…anyone! Okay not the Arab guy, NOT THE ARAB GUY. Uh oh is the Arab guy staring? Yes he’s staring! Air-pockets! I’m a good girl I am!’

Minutes later, we had ‘descended’.

I don’t think I’ve ever loved PIA’s signature jingle as passionately as I did when it started playing, as the plane inched its way slowly down the landing strip. Quivering like a jellyfish with a bad case of hypochondria – I was suddenly a happy trooper.

But let’s not get started on the 14-hour plane journey to Washington. I will NOT go there! It was utter madness. By the end of it, I felt like one of those mutant chickens grown in the kitchens of KFC. Shiver me timbers!

On my way to Albany, however, I met with a few other wonderful Fulbrighters. Looking back now, I can’t help but laugh out loud when, as our little plane sliced through dense clouds and an overcast sky, I looked at this girl from Hunza (who was sitting next to me) and asked her worriedly, my brow furrowed; “Think we’re gonna crash?”

Suddenly, the poor girl, like me, was frightened out of her wits. That comforted me. 

But anyway, onto happier things – I arrived at the JFK airport in New York on the 5^th of August after getting over my jet-lag in Albany (in addition to making some wonderful friends during the Fulbright Orientation program).

Hailing a yellow cab and loading in my suitcases, I took in as much of the city as I could – as the cab hurtled its way down the road. My senses were overloaded. The skyscrapers made me feel like a choonti, an ant.

The city was congested, throbbing with energy, pulsating with life. How clichéd. But so apt when describing New York.

In my initial few days, apart from everything else, two things about the city truly stuck out for me. Firstly, almost every second person on the street was walking a dog.

Dogs – in all shapes and sizes. Shitzus, Labs, Bloodhounds, Great Danes, Chihuahuas, Spaniels, Terriers and more. I simply couldn’t get enough of stopping almost every dog walker on the street and petting his/her pooch. So much so that I missed, and continue to miss my furry little companions back home immensely.

But it made me convinced that throughout my nine months in New York, I would continue kneeling down, giving a tail-wagging, wet-nosed, cheerful fella a quick pet and belly rub.

The second thing which stuck out for me in New York was that at night, the city looked like something out of a comic book: the mammoth skyscrapers, the lights, the slim winding roads, the sign posts, the shops and the people.

At night, the city is surreal, loud, mystifying. Like a trippy, artsy, bohemian sci-fi.

Or maybe I’m just an inexperienced traveler. But it’s true. To the foreign eye, New York is a mind-trip. And when I’d arrived, I was way past the ‘tripped out’ stage.

People from all walks of life, wearing everything and anything imaginable, tourists, New Yorkers – the city is a medley of cultures and colours.

And how can I forget the first time I walked by the Journalism School’s building. How my heart soared! I couldn’t stop smiling! The first few days of orientation went by like a breeze. Sitting in the school’s Lecture Hall amidst young, energetic journalists, each one of us was asked to introduce ourselves. When it was my turn, I stood up with a lump in my throat and looking over at the hall of students; I told them how happy and overwhelmed I was to have made it, to be with them – J-School’s Class of 2010!

In New York, and in Journalism School, I find myself inspired continuously. From my professors to my class fellows – it is almost humbling to be in the presence of so much brilliance. I’m also astounded by the approachability and humility of my professors and deans. Such remarkable role models they make, and how I value their constructive criticism.

And regarding my batch mates, one of them for instance, a girl from Hong Kong (called Ivy) has interviewed seven Nobel Laureates. One of whom was John Nash! And Ivy’s only 24-years-old.

She has to be one of the most unassuming, down to earth, young journalist’s I’ve ever met. Lacking even an iota of arrogance.

Living and studying on your own in a foreign country can be awfully overwhelming for an international student. Even though it’s been a little over a month that I’ve been here, I’ve only now felt myself acclimatizing to the way of life in the Big Apple. It was hardly instantaneous, not like I had imagined it to be. I didn’t take to it like a fish to water – more like a fish to a skateboard! But the freedom has been liberating, from the most basic of things such as walking down the road to a bookstore or a restaurant, or meeting a friend at a park or the movies. And apart from being overwhelming, for an international student, studying in another country can be astonishingly empowering. So empowering that with time, it can make one become a little haughty.

But last night, while looking out of my window, and letting the view of the Hudson River fill my eyes, I made a silent promise to myself: that no matter what happens; I’d never forget my roots. That I would remain humble and persevering and that upon my return to Pakistan next summer, I would remain tolerant of my surroundings.

Home is Home. How I miss Lahore and my loved ones. But I remain wistful, homesick, in joy.

The Friday Times

By Sonya Rehman and Khaver Siddiqi

Evil has had many faces. During the 20th century alone, we have seen it in many forms. It has been shocking, it has been horrific, but most of the times it has always been close to home.

It was perhaps after the Second World War when the forces of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ realized that war was a profitable commodity, but it had to be re-branded. So the forces of evil were ‘re-branded’ and along came the Cold War, which had Communism as the face of evil. Communism went on to star in many sequels and is still, the star of the Korean peninsula.

But over time Communism began to wane and wilt and so a new ‘evil’ was introduced. Harvested and bred by the forces of good themselves, this ‘evil’ has proven that war is here to stay and the forces of good and evil can continue to profit, no matter the consequences of any inflation. The face of evil for the new generation is the Taliban. Once the gallant heroes of the Soviet-Afghan War, now the enemy of states across the world – the Taliban (much like the Communism of its time) are everywhere.

However, nowhere around the world is it more close than it is in Pakistan. Or is it?

Is the threat of total domination by the Taliban real, or is it concocted and thoroughly sensationalized by media houses both at home and abroad? Is the peril of ‘Talibanization’ within Pakistan a shock and awe strategy being implemented by internal and external forces for the achievement of an ulterior motive?

Up until the year 2000, the Swat valley and the areas surrounded it, were havens for tourists and travellers from around the world. Travellers from Europe, and even the United States, frequently visited these areas – soaking in the scenery and the culture.

Then came 9/11, the ‘War on Terror’ and Osama Bin Laden – and all of that changed. Suddenly, the once precious valley became volatile and off-limits, to foreigners and to the people of the region alike.

And it is dealing with this new-found threat that has become tricky with the Pakistani government.

After first making a deal with the Taliban, the Pakistani government decided to bomb them.

In an article titled ‘Alarmism does not help’ by Aasim Sajjad Akhtar (published in a local daily), the author subscribes to the notion that: “…the jihadis have cultivated significant pockets of support (even while employing outrageous brutality and coercion at the same time) by representing themselves as an alternative to incumbent state and class power, throughout invoking a divine mandate. Trying to bomb them into submission will serve only to make their millenarian mission into a self-fulfilling prophecy and increase their popularity.” This holds rather true. Those that empathize with the Taliban and their ‘cause’ must realize that the Taliban aren’t Robin Hoods. There is no reasoning with them.

Yet, it must be understood, and never forgotten, that the Taliban’s inception and the subsequent spread of militia within Pakistan was the result of the war in Afghanistan against the Soviets in the 70s. And therefore, the United States has had quite a large hand to play in the sculpting of this explosive militia.

In April this year, the US Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, stated: “We can point fingers at the Pakistanis. I did some yesterday frankly. And it’s merited because we are wondering why they just don’t go out there and deal with these people. But the problems we face now to some extent we have to take responsibility for, having contributed to it. We also have a history of kind of moving in and out of Pakistan. Let’s remember here… the people we are fighting today we funded them twenty years ago… and we did it because we were locked in a struggle with the Soviet Union.”

As long as the Taliban posed no imminent threat to the main cities within the country, the Pakistani government had nonchalantly assumed a backseat. But as the news reports of trigger-happy Taliban started seeping in, along with the mounting pressure from the United States, the Pakistani government snapped into action – resulting in an almost zero-tolerance, ‘wipe out’ policy of the Taliban in the Northern areas of the country.

Not very long ago, spine-chilling rumours regarding the threats given to established educational institutions by the Taliban had started doing the circuit. Apparently, educational institutions such as the well-known, all girls Kinnaird College (KC) in Lahore was under threat by individuals who had stood outside the campus and warned the students to cover up or else acid would be doused on them.

A host of other schools and colleges in Lahore too, were faced with similar threats resulting in the imposition of certain dress codes for women (no jeans, or Western attire could be worn) and both genders had to keep a certain degree of physical proximity from one another.

Overall, it is Lahore and Islamabad that are now facing the brunt of these attacks. Perhaps it is the proximity or perhaps the Taliban are now sending us a signal. That no matter where we are, and no matter who we are, the Taliban can (and will) reach us. Even the local police and rescue services are no longer safe.

In May, the country suffered its third bomb blast in as many months, when the Rescue 15 building (in Lahore) was completely levelled as the result of the blast. Twenty-six people, including an ISI colonel and 15 police officials, were killed and around 400 people injured – when an explosive-laden vehicle rammed into the Rescue 15 building.

For that matter, even those scholars that decry the Taliban movement are not safe either, as in the case of Sarfraz Naeemi who was killed in a recent suicide attack in Lahore. A leading Sunni Muslim scholar opposed to the Taliban, Naeemi was known for his outspoken views against suicide bombings and militancy. Being one of the few scholars who had openly supported the ongoing military operation in Swat, Naeemi had also labelled the activities of the Taliban as “un-Islamic”. He was a vital part of a conference of Islamic scholars, convened by the government in May, which criticised suicide attacks and the beheading of innocent Muslims as un-Islamic, stating that the Taliban were “misusing” religion for their activities and were bringing a bad name to the Islamic faith. His words seem to indicate that the Taliban were being used, rather than acting on their own.

And regarding the staggering number of internally displaced families, currently? It is heart-wrenching.

Abdul Basit, a young Pakistani who happened to visit the IDP camps stated: “I get shivers down my spine every time I step into a camp because of the agony infront of me. From Swabi to Mardan, the story is the same; the IDP’s are afflicted with troubles related to health, sanitation and the scorching heat. While I was there, I heard of an incident where a father and son were trying to cross into Mardan from Malakand during the curfew. They were attacked and the son died on the spot. The father however, managed to cross over. The son was only six – he didn’t deserve this…”

Mobisher Rabbani, another youngster (based in Dubai) who has been heavily involved with collecting aid for the IDP’s, said: “I’m proud of our soldiers who are bravely fighting these terrorist and criminal elements within the country. We should pledge all our resources into helping the IDP’s get back on their feet. Whenever I visit the camps for distribution of relief items, I apologize to the people for coming to their aid so late as they’ve scarified their today, for our tomorrow.”

Our police have been attacked, our rescue services have been attacked, and our very faith has been attacked by the Taliban. Whatever the Taliban may be, a part of them is a part of us. After all, we were a part of the forces that made them who they are now. Technically, we are a parent to their destiny and we have to owe up to that, unlike the other parent –  the United States – who conveniently walked out of this ‘family’ only to walk back in; guns blazing.

Only history knows the outcome of this conflict, but the sad part about that is that, history does not write herself, for she is written by the victorious.

In the final analysis, it is the soldiers of war, the preponderance of internally displaced families and the young men (roped in to fight for a ‘cause which isn’t as black and white as it’s made out to be) who are made to endure the repercussions of a ‘war’ gone horribly wrong – that are the truest of all casualties. And whose lives will never be the same again.

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

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

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 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.

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. 

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

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

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