kujh meinun maran da shauq vi si.

Cure those Monday blues with this brilliant poem by Munir Niazi

Thanks to the boys from The Kominas for the poem.

RIP Faiz.

25 years after Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s death, I can only say this in remembrance: thank you Faiz sahib.

From the film Firaaq, Naseeruddin Shah reading one of my favourite poems by Faiz:

Faiz Ahmed Faiz reading his poem Aaj Bazaar Mein, followed by Nayyara Noor’s rendition of it:

And my own personal favourite couplet by Faiz:

“Ho chuka ishq, ab hawas hi sahi
Kiya karein, farz hai ada-e-namaz”

RIP Faiz.

Recommendation of the Day

Zia Moheyuddin reading the brilliant short story Toba Tek Singh by Saadat Hasan Manto.

Part 1
Part 2

Thanks to Nadir for the link.

Stranger to Wishmakers.

I’ve been meaning to blog. I really, really have.

Then I read Ali Sethi’s The Wishmaker. Not only did I waver between wanting to shoot myself or fall asleep at intervals while reading the book, but at the end of it, I fell into a pit of depression – godawfulbooks always do that to me; the recovery process from reading the first chapter of Aatish Taseer’s Stranger to History was an experience I’d like to forget. The book has no plot to speak of, and is just a collection of random incidents and impressions thrown together. I could go on and on about what I thought of the book, but I will take a shortcut and point you to a great review of Ali Sethi’s book that more or less echoes what I thought of the book, at Ultrabrown.

On the other hand, Baitullah Mehsud can finally be pronounced a dead man. Now we can continue arguing about whether the heir Hakimullah is dead as well, the increasing number of US drone strikes and their effectiveness, Rehman Malik’s mind boggling statements and Marvi Memon’s conspiracy theories [the latest one, via her Twitter feed: "Break in attempts in my office last nite! If govt is so desparate why don't they chek website. It has all documents!"].

Or we can just start placing bets on the Champions Trophy semi-final and start the endless round of questions, to be followed by the usual round of recriminations if Pakistan loses. So will Pakistan win? Will KESC cooperate and not cut off our electricity just as Shahid Afridi’s bowling spell begins? Will there be a kiss, and who will be the lucky recipient? Will we spy Veena Malik [allegedly in South Africa according to a report cited by Cafe Pyala] in the stadium? And lastly, will Wasim Akram calm the fck down in the commentary box!?

On journalism, reading aloud and decoding women.

Its a Saturday, I’m at work (ugh!) and I know Twitter has taken over the sister’s and my life when I was chatting with her on Google Talk:

Me: “I’ve had a terrible day. This happened, that happened and then to top it off, this happened”
Saba: #lifefail

And since Twitter combined with overactive A/Cs that leave your fingers resembling icicles and writing deadlines has sapped my ability to blog for now, I’m going to be utterly lazy and just post my favorite bits and pieces culled from the Web.

The Independent: Robert Fisk’s World: A glimpse of Obama in a Cairo emptied of its people and its poor:

Go into the average newspaper office and you’ll find the reporters staring at Sky News or the BBC or Al-Jazeera International.

But visit the studios of Sky News, the BBC or Al-Jazeera International, and you’ll discover that all the journalists there are reading newspapers. Its an odd form of osmosis which – being an old-fashioned reporter – I’m not very happy about. I still believe, along with an encouraging number of young Arab and Israeli reporters, that we’ve got to be out on the streets, just as I was when I started in journalism in the Blyth office of the Newcastle Evening Chronicle. So Fisk was prowling the streets of Cairo this week, hunting for Obama and Lady Hilary.

From the Guardian Blog: Is anything gained from reading aloud?

What all literary festivals are about, as well as meeting the authors and rummaging through the bookshops (and basking in the sun this year – hooray!) is being read to. Some people can’t hear the written word enough, perhaps because it invokes memories of our earliest literary experience, that of the parent reading to us at bedtime, filling our sleepy heads with Gothic castles and death-defying escapes and Moomins that then swirled about in there after the light went out. Others, though, resent it, possibly for much the same reason, that it seems to return you to a helpless, infantile state where you couldn’t just read books for yourself.

Via the sister, from What A Woman Means When She Says…:

Faux Pas of the Day

Via Cafe Pyala:

Following the publication of his sensational autobiography A Stranger To History, an autobiography/experimental work of Science Fiction using real geographical locations, the talented author who shall remain nameless (being nameless plays a large role in his life) has had his publicist contact his well-known politico/media-moghul father to ask if he may use his premises for a book launch in Pakistan. One can only imagine his father’s reaction. Hopefully it shan’t manifest itself as a bill passed in parliament permanently preventing book launches in the Punjab.