I sometimes love you still (Kashif Nasir)

 

Although I don’t hate you,

I sometimes love you still

When the night lies heavily on me

And everything seems uphill.

 

On such a night, I really wish

That you were still here

That you still talked to me

And showed me that you cared

Kashif Nasir

The sky we own - Haleema Malik (Review)

 

Book: The Sky we own

Author: Haleema Malik

Genre: fiction

Plot: Salar, Taimoor, and Maha live in the Indian occupied Kashmir. Amidst, soldiers, curfews, black-outs and mujahideen. Salar, Taimoor Maha and the rest of Kashmiries’ lives hang perilously in the balance. Will they win freedom or die in their struggle?  

My thoughts:

    The story is narrated by Maha a young college student. She has two brothers Salar and Taimoor.  Although we know Maha we don’t exactly know who Salar and Taimoor are. Their characters are still in the shadow. The motives for their actions are yet unknown.  So there is mystery from the start, enough to hook the reader in and keep him guessing?

Maha paints a realistic picture of Kashmir, a world of black-outs, curfews, and soldiers. Seeing Kashmir through Maha’s eyes is a unique experience. The story doesn’t follow the PTV peddled narrative instead Kashmir speaks through Maha.   

Maha asks the question all Kashmir’s youth asks: Is it right to exchange blood for freedom?

Maha also shows how the illegal occupation of Kashmir has affected Kashmiries psychologically. The brothers and sisters are distrustful of each other, always wondering whether someone under their roof is working for the enemy. It gives a good spin to the story; the characters are unpredictable and can always switch sides.  

I have read the first part published by our young author. That consists of seven chapters. It’s very easy to read. The first part ends on a cliffhanger. The author is smart, smart enough to make an avid reader like me wonder what happens next.

There isn’t much fiction about Kashmir out there. This story is penned by an author that feels Kashmir’s pain. It’s original and inventive. She has tried to portray a picture of Kashmir as honestly as possible. Definitely, worth the read.

You can order the book through the Author’s

Facebook: https://web.facebook.com/The-Sky-We-Own-106273351770823/

 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/the.sky.we.own/

 

Or publisher’s website: https://www.meraqissa.com/book/1821

 

For more reviews and literature related news follow my

Facebook: https://web.facebook.com/TheParhako

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mumblings_of_kashif/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/TheParhako

Blog: https://theparhako.blogspot.com/

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/Kashifnasir89/

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

Moth Smoke, Review by Kashif Nasir

 

Book: Moth Smoke
Author: Mohsin Hamid
Genre: crime fiction, thriller, romance
-----
Characters:
Ozi aka Aurangzaib: a young rich recently married guy who moves from Newyork to settle in Lahore Pakistan
Daru: Ozi’s childhood best friend, a banker who recently got fired from his job
Mumtaz: Ozi’s wife, a Newyork party girl
Badshah: An anarchist, drug peddler, rickshaw driver, robber

Plot:
The plot loosely revolves around the corruption of the main character Daru, he starts out as a respectable banker, then a heroin addict, and a drug peddler. The lives of three main characters Ozi, Mumtaz and Daru overlaps and creates a memorable, disturbing, and startlingly original story.

My thoughts:
Wow, where to start. Would you believe me, if I told you that I finished this novel in two days?
When I first picked up this book, I thought it was a common love triangle story but it turned out to be something completely different and quite remarkable.
Daru the main character is somewhat an anti-hero, actually, he is neither a hero nor an anti-hero, he is stuck somewhere between. He is gray, neither white nor black. The beauty of this story is that there is not a single good character in this novel. All characters are terrible. All characters are selfish and brutal.

I have been seeing this kind of thing in literature for a while, I mean look at ‘Gone girl’, a story of villains, or ’The silent patient’, or ‘The girl on the train’. Stories filled with villains.
Cheating partners, casual sex, drugs.

The time for heroes has passed. It’s time for anti-heroes. The moral corruption of our society has seeped into our literature. There are no good people anymore just people worse than other people. Strange merit to measure goodness?

‘Moth smoke’ paints a picture of Lahore I have never seen before, of high profile parties and expensive branded alcohol. Don’t get me wrong I don’t mind a drink every then and now. But the picture seemed unrealistic to me maybe because I am never been part of such high profile society.
Or maybe Mohsin is seeing Lahore through the eyes of a Newyorker. Is his story an escape to New York's nightlife? But then again the rich have their Newyork right here in Lahore.
The rest of the book is convincing. In fact stories worse than this are happening in our cities. Which makes the book more believable.
Mohsin wrote his story beautifully, it gets better in later chapters; especially POVs of Mumtaz and Ozi are pure class.

Personally, I think Ozi is the worst character because Mumtaz and Daru at least have some remorse or regret for their actions but Ozi has none, he is an entitled bastard. Another thing is that Ozi wrong about his belief that Daru is not a victim of the system. He is wrong. My argument is that Daru is indeed a victim of a flawed system. A system (there are dialogues like this in the book) in which a man is the slave of his birth. Your life is determined by your social status and that’s why Daru is the main character because 99 percent of us can relate to his plight. Daru could have simply been Ozi if he had been born in a different household.

Didn’t it strike a nerve when Daru said although he had top grades his wealthy friends went abroad for studies and he couldn’t?

The Other thing is the Bulllshit argument Ozi tries to make for his father’s corruption, what an AH.

There are some weak points related to the characters' hate for air conditioning. Mohsin tries very hard to convince us. The question is how can Daru blame air conditioning for his mother’s demise when he can blame bullets or air firing? The argument for Mumtaz's hate for air-conditioning is as thin as an eggshell.
The rest of the book is good. A good light un-put-downable thriller.

 

Are we Iron ? Are we plastic ?

 

Many of you might have read Eric Blair also known as George Orwell. It has been said that he was a man of big hates. He hated many things, he hated totalitarianism, communism, etc…

 

I have realized that I do hate things… too many things… so today I will just talk about the things I hate…

 

I hate plastic. I can’t stand it. I abhor it. I loathe it.

I don’t know when I first started hating plastic but it has somehow become personal. I have this biochemical reaction whenever I think about plastic, the sensation I feel is similar to touching something wet while washing dishes or seeing some crawling creeping reptile. It’s disgusting.

I hate the nature of plastic. I hate how easily available it is, why can’t it be scarce? Don’t you hate things that are easily accessible? I hate the fact that it has no shape. I hate that it is easily moldable. I hate that it has no moral stance. It has no character. It can be anything you want it to be hence its nothing. I hate that it's nothing.

It should be something.

I mean look at Iron. It can stand very high pressures. It has a character. It takes a lot of effort to change its shape, its stance.

 Even when it rusts. It seems more natural, more humane but plastic lacks any human qualities. It’s pathetic. There is nothing organic about it. It is unnatural

 

Are we Iron? Are we plastic?

 

Slowly the plastic has replaced Iron, even the furniture is plastic now but nobody respects plastic. I abhor the chair I sit on because it is immoral, it is unnatural, it can be easily discarded. It is cheap. It can break anytime. It is not trustworthy but Iron, iron is trustworthy, you know it won’t break, it won’t deceive and it won’t let you down.

 

There is something about plastic that I abhor its touch. Why is plastic, plastic? Why is it so soulless? Why does it exist? I automatically lose interest in a drink if it’s in a plastic bottle.

Maybe you won’t understand why I hate plastic so much… maybe you do… maybe you feel exactly the way I feel.

 

The world is full of plastic; it’s full of individuals who are plastic. They have no character, no shape, no moral stance, no ideas, no original thoughts, they are brain dead, moldable, easily available, they are not even themselves aware that they were cut off this lump, this lump which is plastic, they try to fit in, instead of standing out, they take any place offered to them, they do what anyone wants them to do, they are unconscious and have no thought, they go through life like plastic bottles, they are shaped reshaped in a factory, handed out, used, discarded, brought back recycled reused an endless process without actually ever realizing what’s happening

Why shouldn’t I hate this lump of plastic, why shouldn’t hate this thing which demands to be called humanity. Yet shows no signs of it.

An organism evolving for billions of years busy in a rat race for what,

 Survival? Happiness? dopamine? Is that it?

Why can’t there be a higher calling, a higher purpose?

I believe there is a higher calling. I believe there is a higher purpose.

There is a thing that calls you out. A thing which you can’t help doing. A thing which drives you and gives you satisfaction no other thing can. It can be anything. But it’s your ultimate purpose, your ultimate calling. It’s what makes you unique and human. It’s what makes you not part of the lump. It’s what makes you not plastic. It’s what gives you character and makes you unique. It makes you formidable and gives you heights of fame. It makes you immortal but what won’t make you immortal is being plastic.

So today I want you to go home and burn all the plastic.

It is possible. That throughout our life we might have acquired a protective coating of plastic, a camouflage to fit in.

 

Today I want you to go and sit in the oven and melt all your plastic parts. Burn it all, let its meltdown, and when it’s all gone your naked soul will appear, a will of iron, a stance of iron, a character of iron. A character that doesn’t bend and is not flexible, a character of Iron, your real true self.

 

Oh you who have an inner life

Beyond this dismal day

With war and evil rumors rife

Go blessedly your way

 

Your refuge hold inviolate

On to yourself be true

And save serene from sordid fate

The real you.          

(The poem is copied)