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Review: Salt And Saffron

Rating: 3.5 Stars

Salt And Saffron by Kamila Shamsie is a light-hearted book about family history, class divisions, prejudices and familial love. Shamsie has created a fictional aristocratic family, proud of its roots that go back many centuries. She has used this family as an example of the elitism and caste system deeply embedded in our culture in the guise of family values and pride.

The very name of the family, the Dard-e-Dils (the Heartaches), is so unreal that you know what will follow can only be satirical and tongue-in-cheek. This family, the Dard-e-Dils, is proud of its heritage and they love to tell stories, mainly about their ancestors. Most of these stories are about the “not-quite” twins. These “not-quite” twins have been born quite frequently through history, and have always brought about the downfall of this family.

Aliya is the main protagonist, going back from the US to her family in Karachi, by way of London. She last talked to her Dadi (paternal grandmother) 4 years ago when they had a massive falling out. After avoiding her for 4 years, Aliya thinks that it’s time to heal the breach. But first, she makes a stop in London to see her older cousin with whom she is very close. And it is there that her own story seems to take an unexpected turn. She not only finds herself attracted to a boy who might be unacceptable to her family, but also meets the Indian side of her family.

The Indian and Pakistani sides of the Dard-e-Dils refuse to acknowledge each other, and still carry old wounds from the time of the partition. Aliya learns something about herself during her meeting with her Indian relatives. This makes it even more imperative for her to go back home and figure out what she wants from life.

Essentially a love story, Salt And Saffron also takes a look at the deeper consequences of the Indo-Pak partition; the deeply ingrained prejudices that are passed down through generations in the form of class and caste. How family history is written through stories that become legends as time passes.

Kamila Shamsie is an excellent writer and it is hard to find fault in her writing. She takes very real elements from her surroundings and turns them into a riveting story. The only problem is that since this book is written from the perspective of a particular class, it might be difficult to relate to for people who do not belong to that class. However, this does not stop me from appreciating her craft and her command of words. She is definitely a master storyteller.

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Review: The Family Tree

Rating: 4.5 Stars

First and foremost, I want to thank Sairish Hussain for writing The Family Tree. It was so refreshing to read about people that I could relate to; people like me, my friends, and my family. There have been very few books about people of Pakistani origin that portray them as normal, everyday humans, with average families and average lives, without the specter of religion haunting the whole story, sometimes even overshadowing it!

The story spans a period of some 24 years, from 1993 to 2017, and is the tale of a family living in Yorkshire. The mother dies in childbirth and leaves behind a new-born girl and a ten year old boy. This situation is bewildering and upsetting for the poor father. He fights his way through depression and brings up his children to the best of his ability. There is nothing stereotypical about this man, or any other man in this book. These characters are all as real as any living person.

Amjad is a British-born man. His parents migrated to Britain from Pakistan before his birth. He works at a warehouse and lives in a modest house, but dreams of giving his children a better life. Dreaming the same dream with him is Harun, Amjad’s best friend. Amjad’s son Saahil and Harun’s son Ehsan are also inseparable and do everything together. When his wife Neelam dies while giving birth to their daughter Zarah, it shatters Amjad. He is determined to do his best by his children and give them everything that he is capable of providing.

With Harun and his wife’s support, and with Saahil helping him along, Amjad manages to give his kids a loving home, not remarrying despite his Ammi’s constant nagging. Things start looking up when Zahra turns ten, and Saahil and Ehsan are all set to graduate from engineering university. And then everything changes in just one night. The lives of all these people change after an act of senseless violence, and Amjad finds himself left alone to raise Zahra with only the aid of his ageing Ammi.

The three main characters are also the narrators of the story. There is a background of cultural and religious identities clashing with the politics of the times. The characters are so well fleshed out that it is easy to picture them all as if they were right in front of you.

While there are many instances where I might have shed a tear or two, this book is not heavy on the heart; you never feel hopeless. Every character is determined in their own way, trying to navigate life like everyone does in the real world. They have their strengths and weaknesses; their highs and lows; yet they remain hopeful. This sense of hope is why The Family Tree stands apart from other similar books.

All through the book we encounter things like racism, religious identity, inter racial friendships, sexism, and other relevant issues. Yet, not once do these issues take over the narrative and draw you away from the real story. It is like all these things are a part of life, not anyone’s whole life. And this is what makes this book amazing in my eyes.

Amjad is representative of all those fathers who live their lives for their children. His love for his family shines in his character above everything else. My heart ached so much for this man who has to raise 2 kids on his own, and yet does the best that he can to give them a better future. There are so many fathers like him in this world, who are willing to sacrifice everything for their children, and who work tirelessly towards this end.

Saahil is one of those young men whose dreams are cut short by tragic circumstances. He is forced to grow up much before his time. His actions and their consequences are so real and believable that you can’t help but feel sad for this boy. He thinks and reacts like a normal teenager and while his actions are questionable, he thankfully doesn’t succumb to the too-common fate of becoming radicalized!

Then there is Zahra.

…everyone is too busy telling us who we are. It’s time we spoke for ourselves.

My favourite character by far has to be Zahra. She is intelligent, smart, beautiful, and knows what she wants. Her identity does not confuse her, nor is she apologetic about her heritage. Zahra is a British Muslim with Pakistani roots, and the world has to accept her for who she is. It was sheer pleasure to encounter such a strong female character who doesn’t have to resort to props like a shalwar kameez or a hijab to make her a Muslim, nor does she need validation from the males around her to make her a good Pakistani girl. These are the kind of girls that I want to read about.

I would also like to add that I really love the cover of The Family Tree. It is beautiful, and so in sync with the book. Neelam’s shawl plays a major role in the story. It is the thread that binds this family together. If there is one thing that can represent this family, it is this piece of cloth. It truly does connect all three people in this family.

The Family Tree is one book that I would recommend everyone to read, whether you are a South Asian or not. I promise you will not regret it!

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Family In The Time Of Pandemic

If the last few months have taught me anything, it’s the importance of family in my life. I have been worried about aunts, uncles and cousins; trying to keep in touch with them as much as I can. It is not easy since my family is spread all over the world. They live in all kinds of crazy time zones, but social media makes it possible. I will forever be grateful to modern technology for this.

I have a large family. My father had five siblings, while my mother has six. It might seem strange in this day and age, but the love among the siblings also transferred into their offspring. So, having cousins living far away in other countries didn’t stop us from loving each other, even when there was no internet or cell phones. To others it still seems like a strange dynamic, but this has always been our normal.

During this lock down, I have had the opportunity to re-connect with the elders who I have looked up to all my life. I have worried about them, scolded them, cried with them and listened to them while they scolded me. It has been the closest that I have ever felt to them; all while sitting in our homes in different countries and sometimes even continents.

As for my cousins, it is sometimes difficult to make people understand that my cousins are my oldest friends. I was friends with them before I knew what friendship was. We have navigated our lives together, giving each other support and encouragement. Even though blood bonds us, our ties are so much more than just that. And that goes for all of them, no matter how much older or younger they are, they’re still my go-to for problem solving, brain storming and even hand holding.

I once read a book called We Were Liars, and it was easy to relate to the relationships in that book. I too have cousins with whom I used to spend days getting in trouble with. And, honestly, there are some of us who are entirely capable of killing each other too! As our world comes closer to opening up, I just wanted to write down how these last few months have made me thankful for all the people who I have always taken for granted. My constants. My family.

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Racism: Of Dark And Light

Harper Lee wrote To Kill A Mockingbird in 1960. Since then, the world has changed beyond recognition for almost everyone. In the last 60 years, man has made progress in every conceivable walk of life. Be it science, technology, arts, religion, geography, or anything else you can think of, we have changed the world. What hasn’t changed in these 60 years, is the way the world treats the Tom Robinsons of the world. Racism is still a constant.

The world has always been divided on the basis of colour. How many places do you know of where dark skinned people are superior to their light skinned counterparts?

Coming from South Asia, I can tell you about our obsession with light skin. I can tell you that despite being discriminated against and being called derogatory names ourselves, we still look down upon black people as someone inferior and unworthy. We believe that we’re inferior to our white masters, but there are people who are beneath even us. These people just happen to have darker colored skin.

In school, when we learned about the history of the Indo-Pakistan subcontinent, the first chapter was about two main races. The Aryans and the Dravidians. The Aryans were bigger, stronger, and whiter than the Dravidians who were the worker class, weaker socio-economically and physically, and darker in colour. We grew up reading about this superior race who achieved greater heights than their counterparts. Is it any wonder then, that our sub-conscience still wants to be like these great invaders?

When that part of history ended, we read about the horror unleashed by the British who came to subjugate the darker skinned Indians. Yet, reading about the great British masters only made the already complexed people of the subcontinent want to be like them in every way that they could. We have always looked up to the “goras” (whites), and tried to follow in their footsteps, clinging on to their ways long after they left our land.  

Racism is a part of us since we are born; our prejudices passed on to us through generations. The names my own relatives call black people appall me to this day! But since I never called anyone out on it, I cannot claim to be so innocent myself. People still ridicule dark-skinned girls and call them “kaali” (black) in our culture. Many of them have ruined their skins trying to become just 2 shades lighter. Despite living in a so called “enlightened” society, one of my kids gets preferential treatment even from strangers because he has light skin, light hair, and light eyes. 

We can scream and shout all we want, but the truth remains that we are all racists in one form or another, and no matter how hard we try, we can never understand how the people at the bottom of the racist color spectrum feel. Because we might not have shunned them actively, but we have been guilty of feigning ignorance when others did it. Today, as the world is awakening to the plight of black people, it is imperative to look within ourselves and weed out even traces of racism, of thoughts that make us think that we are better than someone because of our skin.

Being a Muslim, one of the first things we learn as children, is that all people are equal, regardless of their nationality, ethnicity or skin color. After learning this, how can we ever justify the racism inherent in all of us? Stop making fun of something that no man has control over; don’t bring people down because of their looks; stop making it okay for people to be derogatory about other people; don’t be insensitive to other people’s insecurities. 

The change needs to come from within.  

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Sunday Blues: Will This Pandemic Ever End?

The last three months have been the strangest of my life, maybe of everyone’s lives. Due to this pandemic, life was put on hold and a new normal has been born. I spent the first month just trying to get used to having everyone at home all the time. The second month was smoother, and now it’s like we have always been like this!

Before the social distancing and quarantine woes started, I had completely given up on reading. I had a ganglion cyst in my right wrist. Over the last few months it became too painful to hold even the lightest of things. So, I gave up books, tablets, my kindle and to a great extent my phone as well.

When things became really bad, I decided to get the cyst removed and try to get back to normal life. As luck would have it, by that time the world was waking up to the pandemic that would wreak so much havoc around the world.

I had the surgery and found out, much to my annoyance that there won’t be a miracle and I would still need a couple of months to get back full use of my right hand. The bandage was removed after ten days. And then all hell broke lose!

The world went into a lockdown, and the help that I was counting on to get me through the next months was no longer there. As everyone who has faced this situation knows, there is a lot more work when everyone is at home. The kids and husband tried to chip in as much as they could, but they had school and office respectively. I’m thankful that my kids’ school hasn’t lost a single day of studies and are on track for the scheduled summer holidays.

Unfortunately for me, my wrist never got the rest that it needed. It has been almost 9 weeks and my hand still feels uncomfortable and painful sometimes.

Last week I finally decided that enough was enough and picked up my first book in months. What else? Agatha Christie of course! Since then I have decided that right now I’m more comfortable with my Kindle which is lighter and more easily manageable. As a result, I have finished two books in the last three days!

It is a big achievement considering it is Ramadan and things are a bit off kilter with fasting and quran classes every day. Yet, I’m determined to hold on to my Kindle and get back into the saddle.

It’s funny how I’m suddenly so attached to this little device that I have been so vocal about disliking! My love for physical books is still there, for nothing can come close to that smell and that feeling, but I have also decided to reserve a little corner of my heart for e-readers that help you when you need it the most.

I just hope that this pandemic ends sometime soon in the future. But I have a feeling that the world will never get back to where it was before this horror started.

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Review: Remnants of a Separation

Rating: 5 Stars

I got Aanchal Malhotra‘s Remnants Of A Separation from Karachi, back in July 2018. Since then, it had been sitting around on my shelf with all the other numerous books that I never read. One fine day, sick from my overdose of thrillers, I just picked it up to see what it was about.

Objects have a way of inspiring the mind to remember things it might have forgotten.

Aanchal Malhotra, Remnants Of A separation

To say that reading this book was difficult, is an understatement. Every story, every page reminded me of my grandparents. These stories are their stories; of hardship and resilience at the time of the partition of India. The horrors that both the sides witnessed, the loss, the displacement, the helplessness, it all becomes real as you read the accounts of some very real people. This is not fiction, yet sometimes that is all you want it to be.

Not everything is about darkness and despair though. While the actual time of the partition was traumatic, most of the narrators reminisce about their youth in a way that is endearing. It makes you want to return to your own childhood. Even with this lightness, the fact remains that circumstances forced most of these people to let go of their dreams. They had to grow up overnight.

Almost all these stories have one thing similar in them; the suppression of conscious memory of those dark times. They might never have talked about the past to their own families, but when they finally talk about it, all of them become fascinating story tellers, each with their own unique story. Yet all these stories are essentially the same.

Displacement, often sudden and mostly in the dark of the night, is a frightening concept. The thought of leaving all your worldly goods behind and starting anew in a place where you have no roots and nothing to fall back on, is a scary one. Add to that, the breakdown of common human decency and a return to barbarianism, and it’s no wonder everyone wants to suppress their memories of such times.

Reading Remnants Of A Separation gave birth to a lot of regrets too. I wish I had thought of documenting the lives of my grandparents while they were alive. The stories that I heard growing up became blurred and clouded by the passage of time. Maybe because while they were being told, no one was really interested in listening. My son did a unit on displacement last year, and I will be eternally grateful to his school because when he interviewed my paternal uncle for the unit, I learned the harrowing story of a 6-year-old boy who came to Pakistan without his parents. I never knew the details, and never bothered to ask either.

Aanchal Malhotra has done something that I wish I had been able to do. I wanted to keep reading and never stop. Remnants Of A Separation is the type of book that we should make our children read. Textbooks teach us only one side of history, often biased and mostly opinionated. We need to know our past and learn from it, not glorify and worship it.

As a Pakistani, I can only be thankful that Pakistan came into being that August in 1947, but the way it was done, and the politics of division that made men into animals, is something that no one, Pakistani, Indian or Bangladeshi, can ever condone. Anger, intolerance, greed, these words can never define the destruction that was caused by human hands. It was, and will always be, a dark blot on humanity. All of us need to revisit that time again and again so that we never forget the lessons that the Partition taught us.

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Sunday Blues: Dream House Part Deux

When I wrote the blog post about the house of my dreams I had no idea that I was so close to achieving my dream. We were in the process of moving house around the time that I wrote the post, and all I could think of was how much stuff I needed to get rid of because even though the place was bigger, it has less storage space. My bookshelves have always remained a joke with my husband. He knows how sentimental I feel towards my books, and he’s not above making fun of my attachment.

When we first though about moving, my husband was full of plans to convert the family room downstairs into a gaming/ media room. I thought it was a good idea and accordingly thought up of how I was going to set it all up. I don’t like watching TV and find it hard to concentrate on anything while it is on, even if I’m not watching.

With all this planning going on in my brain, I had no idea what my husband had cooking in his head. The day before we were to start moving our stuff, I asked him which wall he wanted the TV mounted on, and he completely changed his tune! He insisted that he wanted his TV in the living room and nowhere else. I was perplexed by this sudden change in plans and asked him what was I supposed to do with this extra room that would now be useless. He told me to use it for myself and do what I really wanted to do with it in the first place.

I didn’t even get time to think things through before I was directing all the bookshelves into this room. As a result, all our bedrooms got a bit more spacious, and we managed to get all the books in one room.

This is how my dream came true and I got a study in my house. As a thank you to my husband, I fixed up his foosball table in the study too!

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Sunday Blues: Dream House

Growing up, my dream house always had the largest library imaginable. I didn’t know the number of rooms it will have, how big it will, or even if it will have a swimming pool or not. The most important thing was to have floor to ceiling shelves full of books, oh, and a ladder with wheels so that I could access all those books up near the ceiling!

As I grew older, I realized that it might not be possible to have such a library in the house and I might have to settle for a study full of shelves. I resigned myself to my fate and began looking forward to this dream study. I have to admit that in 40 years of my life there have only been two friends whose houses I have envied, both of them because they had a room full of books. I have shamelessly borrowed books from both the friends, and would have continued to do so had we not all gotten married and moved away from each other.

Over the years I have come to accept the fact that maybe I don’t really want a library. It requires too much work, and while I like my books organized and classified, I’d rather not do it myself. So it’s obvious that I need a messy study full of books in my life. Sadly, I still don’t have one. When we moved to our current place three years ago, I had definite plans on turning one of the rooms into a cozy little reading room full of books and easy chairs. Alas, my kids decided that they’d rather have separate rooms than let their mom move all their books to some other room.

And there you have it. My kids are the biggest hindrance to my dream library. They want their books to be close to them at all times. The other night I rescued 13, yes 13, books from the upper bunk of the bed where my second-born sleeps! His excuse: that he needed to have all these books with him because he never knew what he might want to read! facepalm It made me mad because he only goes up there when I turn off the lights, so what he’s reading in the dark, I don’t know.

When my husband told me a few days ago that we might have to move to another place, all I wanted to know was if there’s an extra room for my books. He just gave me that look and never answered my question. It doesn’t matter. Even if this new place has no library or study, I will not give up on my dream to have one some day. Maybe after one of the kids grows up and moves away? I don’t know, but I dream.

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