The Official DWL Blog: an encyclopedia of random thought
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Papercuts Pre-Launch Meeting/Reading
Exciting news! We're holding a small reading in Islamabad next week to promote the next volume of PaperCuts! Kuch Khaas has graciously agreed to host us on January 4th, but we HAVE to be certain of the number of people in attendance! If you are planning on being there, please get in touch via email at shehla(at)desiwriterslounge(dot)net. This event is not open to the public, so get in touch with us if you want to attend! (And to get the details, of course).
Friday, November 19, 2010
DWL Update
It has been a while since the blog was updated, and in case you're wondering what happened, here's your answer: shortlisting and editing for volume 7 of PaperCuts is in full swing!
This means the editorial team is working hard at putting together the content, and not really focusing on blogging too much :) We are super excited at how the thematic content is coming together. There are several wonderful articles in store for you in the next issue, and of course, we will be featuring prose and poetry from the forums as well. In the coming week, the DWL members whose pieces have been selected for editing will be getting emails from the editors, so if you are on the forums, make sure your email address with us is current.
We're also looking forward to sharing with you the brand new look for PaperCuts, which is being finalized by the creative team as we...type.
So, as you wait for January to roll around, why not come up with some suggestions for next issue's theme? We would love to hear from you!
This means the editorial team is working hard at putting together the content, and not really focusing on blogging too much :) We are super excited at how the thematic content is coming together. There are several wonderful articles in store for you in the next issue, and of course, we will be featuring prose and poetry from the forums as well. In the coming week, the DWL members whose pieces have been selected for editing will be getting emails from the editors, so if you are on the forums, make sure your email address with us is current.
We're also looking forward to sharing with you the brand new look for PaperCuts, which is being finalized by the creative team as we...type.
So, as you wait for January to roll around, why not come up with some suggestions for next issue's theme? We would love to hear from you!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Translations
posted by Noor
We recently posted Mohammad Umer Memon's interview conducted by chapatimystery.com on the DWL forums. I was particularly intrigued by the quality of work he has translated from Urdu to English. I have always felt that literature in Urdu is overwhelmingly rich - like the arable lands of the country it originates from.
I grew up reading books and short stories in Urdu - literature that was perhaps more suited for an adult than a child. My parents, both writers by profession, maintained an overbearing library - a room with an imposing desk, carefully decorated with fountain pen holders and crystal paperweights, rocking chairs, floor pillows, sketches of writers, my parents' awards, and wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with books and magazines. From a very early age, I began to know names like Bano Qudsia, Nazir Ahmad, Ishfaq Ahmad, Qurat-ul-ain Haider, Imtiaz Ali Taj, and the like. I devoured these books just like I ate up every last word of Dickens, Shakespeare, and Eliot.
I remember, I was in the library once, and my father came in and saw me with one of Manto's anthologies. "Perhaps this is better suited to a young lady's tastes," he said and extended a copy of Mira'at-ul-Uroos towards me. "After you're done with this one," he said pointing to the book I was holding. Manto is nothing if not controversial. But so layered is his work that I find something new and rather chilling every time I read one of his stories. So rich with metaphors - there was this one story in which a man collects empty cans and bottles and ends up marrying someone who looks like an empty bottle after getting rid of his collection. Sigh! I have butchered it. If you have not read Manto, READ MANTO! His work contains perhaps the most powerful social commentary that I have ever read. Alas! I digress.
I slowly discovered poetry in Urdu, too. I cannot claim to fully understand Ghalib and Iqbal, but took a particular liking to Mir Dard and Mir Taqi Mir. Contemporary Urdu poetry opened up to me like a ball of yarn running loose around the house. The romance in Parveen Shakir's work took me through my angst ridden adolescence. I found thehrao, control, clam (how would I translate this?!) particularly in Mansoora Ahmad's work. Gulzar's "Chand Pakhraj Ka" remains a favorite to this day.
There is such a wealth of Urdu literature in our country - both classic and contemporary - and it's tragic that many in our generation are not familiar with it. In a time when Urdu is no longer the fashionable or cultured language to speak, Mohammad Umer Memon is translating books and short stories from Urdu to English to introduce the depth of human emotion, understanding, and wisdom contained in them.
It's unfortunate that I, too, living in a world where Urdu is seldom recognized as a language in existence, let alone spoken or read, am losing my command over it. Sometimes, I find myself wondering how a word is spelled - if it uses "tay" or "tuaein." Small, everyday battles to keep a little bit of my roots alive. For people who are not familiar with the richness that is in the works of authors who write in Urdu, Memon comes as a fresh breeze, a rescuer of the ignorant. More importantly, he is an ambassador of literature written in Urdu and is a voice that reaches everyone in the world and proclaims: "This is how we do it!"
Currently reading: Harper Collins Book of Urdu Short Stories by Mohammad Umer Memon.
Get a copy!
We recently posted Mohammad Umer Memon's interview conducted by chapatimystery.com on the DWL forums. I was particularly intrigued by the quality of work he has translated from Urdu to English. I have always felt that literature in Urdu is overwhelmingly rich - like the arable lands of the country it originates from.
I grew up reading books and short stories in Urdu - literature that was perhaps more suited for an adult than a child. My parents, both writers by profession, maintained an overbearing library - a room with an imposing desk, carefully decorated with fountain pen holders and crystal paperweights, rocking chairs, floor pillows, sketches of writers, my parents' awards, and wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with books and magazines. From a very early age, I began to know names like Bano Qudsia, Nazir Ahmad, Ishfaq Ahmad, Qurat-ul-ain Haider, Imtiaz Ali Taj, and the like. I devoured these books just like I ate up every last word of Dickens, Shakespeare, and Eliot.
I remember, I was in the library once, and my father came in and saw me with one of Manto's anthologies. "Perhaps this is better suited to a young lady's tastes," he said and extended a copy of Mira'at-ul-Uroos towards me. "After you're done with this one," he said pointing to the book I was holding. Manto is nothing if not controversial. But so layered is his work that I find something new and rather chilling every time I read one of his stories. So rich with metaphors - there was this one story in which a man collects empty cans and bottles and ends up marrying someone who looks like an empty bottle after getting rid of his collection. Sigh! I have butchered it. If you have not read Manto, READ MANTO! His work contains perhaps the most powerful social commentary that I have ever read. Alas! I digress.
I slowly discovered poetry in Urdu, too. I cannot claim to fully understand Ghalib and Iqbal, but took a particular liking to Mir Dard and Mir Taqi Mir. Contemporary Urdu poetry opened up to me like a ball of yarn running loose around the house. The romance in Parveen Shakir's work took me through my angst ridden adolescence. I found thehrao, control, clam (how would I translate this?!) particularly in Mansoora Ahmad's work. Gulzar's "Chand Pakhraj Ka" remains a favorite to this day.
There is such a wealth of Urdu literature in our country - both classic and contemporary - and it's tragic that many in our generation are not familiar with it. In a time when Urdu is no longer the fashionable or cultured language to speak, Mohammad Umer Memon is translating books and short stories from Urdu to English to introduce the depth of human emotion, understanding, and wisdom contained in them.
It's unfortunate that I, too, living in a world where Urdu is seldom recognized as a language in existence, let alone spoken or read, am losing my command over it. Sometimes, I find myself wondering how a word is spelled - if it uses "tay" or "tuaein." Small, everyday battles to keep a little bit of my roots alive. For people who are not familiar with the richness that is in the works of authors who write in Urdu, Memon comes as a fresh breeze, a rescuer of the ignorant. More importantly, he is an ambassador of literature written in Urdu and is a voice that reaches everyone in the world and proclaims: "This is how we do it!"
Currently reading: Harper Collins Book of Urdu Short Stories by Mohammad Umer Memon.
Get a copy!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
How to Tackle Writer's Block (By Indirection!)
posted by Noor
We have all encountered this beast at some point in our writing careers. Sometimes you can fight it head-on; other times you have to cheat it, find a way around it, and give it a surprise defeat.
These techniques may work for you!
1. Start with Chapter Two. Pretend that you have already given all the background information about your characters. Start writing the second chapter.
2. Dessert First. When you're just writing, write the delicious parts, write the parts that you like.
3. Resist the rapture of research. Stay away from Google, the library, reference books. Look up information later. Write now.
4. A good idea that doesn't happen is no idea at all.
5. XX factor. When you don't know a fact about your story, don't stall to ponder it. Put XX there and move on. When you are ready, go back and fill the gaps later.
6. Listen to your characters. How do you know who they are?
7. Interview your characters.
8. Take a shoebox and put physical things in it that remind you of your character. For example, you see an easy chair in a catalog and your character should be sitting in that chair or you can imagine him/her sitting in it, cut it out and put it in the box.
9. What if? Ask creative what if questions that might just jump start your story.
10. Even if you feel like life is interfering with your writing, remember that you need that life and its activities in order to write.
11. Banish the devil on your shoulder - the critical voice. You need a critical voice at some point, but certainly not when you're blocked.
12. Write letters. Besides being an emotional catharsis, it also leaves you with a bank of emotions that you can withdraw from later.
13. Responsive writing. Keep asking yourself questions, they can be random questions, and keep answering them. Question-answer loop on a page to break out of the block answer by answer.
14. The Hemingway Technique. Hemingway often stopped writing at a high point, frequently even in the middle of a sentence. Instead of writing and writing until you get stuck so that the next day you're dreading the point where you left of, you should perhaps stop when you are in the zone and you're loving to write, so that you will be looking forward to the writing the next day.
15. Sometimes writer's block is a message to you that you have picked something inherently wrong to write about - emotions, material, characters, voice, it can be anything. Once you have recognized and acknowledged this message, the writer's block becomes a building block.
16. Sometimes the silence of the black screen is really a shout - it's the silence of incubation.
Useful Resources, Good Books, Websites:
JEFF HERMAN'S GUIDE
Publisher's marketplace http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/
Halldor Laxness - Independent People
Art of Racing in the Rain - Garth Stein
Enzo - book written from the perspective of a dog - Garth Stein
http://theopening.org/
What If?: Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers - Anne Bernays, Pamela Painter
The Paris Review Interviews (3 volumes)
Bird by Bird - Some Instructions on Writing and Life - Anne Lamott
We have all encountered this beast at some point in our writing careers. Sometimes you can fight it head-on; other times you have to cheat it, find a way around it, and give it a surprise defeat.
These techniques may work for you!
1. Start with Chapter Two. Pretend that you have already given all the background information about your characters. Start writing the second chapter.
2. Dessert First. When you're just writing, write the delicious parts, write the parts that you like.
3. Resist the rapture of research. Stay away from Google, the library, reference books. Look up information later. Write now.
4. A good idea that doesn't happen is no idea at all.
5. XX factor. When you don't know a fact about your story, don't stall to ponder it. Put XX there and move on. When you are ready, go back and fill the gaps later.
6. Listen to your characters. How do you know who they are?
7. Interview your characters.
8. Take a shoebox and put physical things in it that remind you of your character. For example, you see an easy chair in a catalog and your character should be sitting in that chair or you can imagine him/her sitting in it, cut it out and put it in the box.
9. What if? Ask creative what if questions that might just jump start your story.
10. Even if you feel like life is interfering with your writing, remember that you need that life and its activities in order to write.
11. Banish the devil on your shoulder - the critical voice. You need a critical voice at some point, but certainly not when you're blocked.
12. Write letters. Besides being an emotional catharsis, it also leaves you with a bank of emotions that you can withdraw from later.
13. Responsive writing. Keep asking yourself questions, they can be random questions, and keep answering them. Question-answer loop on a page to break out of the block answer by answer.
14. The Hemingway Technique. Hemingway often stopped writing at a high point, frequently even in the middle of a sentence. Instead of writing and writing until you get stuck so that the next day you're dreading the point where you left of, you should perhaps stop when you are in the zone and you're loving to write, so that you will be looking forward to the writing the next day.
15. Sometimes writer's block is a message to you that you have picked something inherently wrong to write about - emotions, material, characters, voice, it can be anything. Once you have recognized and acknowledged this message, the writer's block becomes a building block.
16. Sometimes the silence of the black screen is really a shout - it's the silence of incubation.
Useful Resources, Good Books, Websites:
JEFF HERMAN'S GUIDE
Publisher's marketplace http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/
Halldor Laxness - Independent People
Art of Racing in the Rain - Garth Stein
Enzo - book written from the perspective of a dog - Garth Stein
http://theopening.org/
What If?: Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers - Anne Bernays, Pamela Painter
The Paris Review Interviews (3 volumes)
Bird by Bird - Some Instructions on Writing and Life - Anne Lamott
Friday, October 8, 2010
My friend: The Social Media
posted by Ayesha
The ever changing social media vs. the conventional word of mouth advertising was the debate I read recently on a blog. Not a known blog, just a random rant of an advertising professional who had retired to blogging to pass his time.
On most of these blogs that analyze the impact of social media, while the writers rave on about the role of tweets in changing the world to a well informed, well read contruct; I read on for some heady stimulation that will tell me something I don’t already know.
Or something that I have not already read (Not that I am suggesting I am a reading addict, far from it actually - just imagine my disappointment thus).
Maybe I am jaded but then I know this for sure, from the blogs that I follow to the Facebook likes that I love to click on, I am yet to find a real place for social media in my world.
Other than filling my free moments, I have yet to see if it really fits the role of a life changing, an opinion shaping, an earth shatteringly strong/ mild dose of information inject that it is perceived to be by the analytics. Does it shape my opinion? Yes.
But I don’t think I can *share* it yet. Maybe I can do it on the next Tweet that catches my attention.
But then that’s the whole point. Social media is offering us freedom and superfluous socializing opportunities.
The idea behind this particular article that I read was about interaction having become two way through the medium. One relevant point that I am all for; of course it’s all about clicking submit.
The writer managed to convince me that conventional advertising through word of mouth was in an incomplete campaign in itself. The consumers when now have the chance to use a product and then comment on it, have the power to now change the dimension of advertising completely. I totally agree.
What I do have a problem with is the fuss that is being made about the social media in the process. Fully aware of the fact that it is a medium that cannot be controlled in any of its dimensions, how much can we trust an entity that is absolutely free?
I understand how one relevant opinion piece by Fasi Zaka is repetitively *shared* on facebook for that mere percentage of our youth who can read and ARE able to connect on FB.
I also appreciate how it serves to highlight an issue that would probably not find its due share of attention on traditional media. bBut what happens to an anonymous writer who makes a point and is not able to put it on an authentic blog; does he/ she find h/is/er trust with the reader? Just a random thought.
In his 3 dimensional advertising theory, the writer talked about the content spreading like a wild fire. I then wondered about the fires that do spread in our part of the country.
The wondering being that I am, I couldn’t help but also wonder about the use of the word ‘wild’ by the author.
How wild is the news we read on social media. Oh better yet, how wild are we to believe it? And how many of us are wild enough to write it? Okay that last question is perhaps better left unanswered.
While I am ABLE to comprehend the power of social media in the small, budding life of the PR industry in my country where literacy is little and internet penetration a small seed; I often think about how significant is social media for us?
Here I am referring to the US - Us who are the elistist facebookers and are linked on the In. With our supersonic broadband / wiresless connections, we who are the real people affected by the social media in this time and place, WE - who can read and write and rewrite. Wonder some more and then wonder again.
I am wondering still.
In the PR industry where I am a professional content developer, I understand and realize the constraints that research resources of the noble social media bring with them. When I speak of constraints here, they are not lack of speed or how I cannot stream enough. They are a wee bit more complicated than that.
For one, authenticity of content is such a huge issue for people like moi that I’d probably never be able to whine enough about it. Maybe someone else out there can scream for me.
While having the internet is such a great blessing, Google being the best thing that happened to man since the telephone, I am also faced with the downside of the blessing.
In the big bad world of internet, for me nothing is real and nothing is safe. Everything I see is a creation (not always in a good way) or a re- creation and I don’t mean recreation there.
With all due respect to inspirational writers on the social media and the analytics of its impact, I believe that the this untamed world belongs to an intelligent user/ writer/ reader.
A person who understands that not everything on the social media can be *shared*. Not everything is credible and not everything is correct.
I don’t believe we can entirely keep up with the pace of the changing phenomenon but what we can do is be a part of it. However little is the feedback we can provide, we must do our part at least. Interactivity could be the key.
One thing to note is the communication we make - It reflects on us, on what we portray; the world of internet is only visual, a little care to choose the interaction could go a long way. Choosing the interaction means two things:
One - Choose a platform that helps you.
Two - Choose your words wisely.
When the flood relief news broke on the channels, I was already a little informed because of the industry I am in, but the way the information spread over blogs, Facebook and websites gave me a fair idea of what a wild fire actually is.
The same content that I had prepared was all over Facebook and telecom blogs. Even now I see it being replicated and pasted, even in places I wouldn’t want to be seen but there it is. I have no control and little control is what drives this form of media. Whether I like it or not it is *shared*. A great way to make noise but is noise all we want to make?
So while I am jaded and a little old fashioned, a wee bit wary of the content I find on my RSS feeds and a little fed up for the lack of real NEWS on news feeds, I am a little hopeful too.
Maybe the social media will evolve into some kind of a process or an institution in itself. It is possible that we will give birth to the intelligent user who will not be carried away in the fire but use its warmth and light to see the way.
And carry it too. More power to interactivity and a little wisdom to us - the users!
The ever changing social media vs. the conventional word of mouth advertising was the debate I read recently on a blog. Not a known blog, just a random rant of an advertising professional who had retired to blogging to pass his time.
On most of these blogs that analyze the impact of social media, while the writers rave on about the role of tweets in changing the world to a well informed, well read contruct; I read on for some heady stimulation that will tell me something I don’t already know.
Or something that I have not already read (Not that I am suggesting I am a reading addict, far from it actually - just imagine my disappointment thus).
Maybe I am jaded but then I know this for sure, from the blogs that I follow to the Facebook likes that I love to click on, I am yet to find a real place for social media in my world.
Other than filling my free moments, I have yet to see if it really fits the role of a life changing, an opinion shaping, an earth shatteringly strong/ mild dose of information inject that it is perceived to be by the analytics. Does it shape my opinion? Yes.
But I don’t think I can *share* it yet. Maybe I can do it on the next Tweet that catches my attention.
But then that’s the whole point. Social media is offering us freedom and superfluous socializing opportunities.
The idea behind this particular article that I read was about interaction having become two way through the medium. One relevant point that I am all for; of course it’s all about clicking submit.
The writer managed to convince me that conventional advertising through word of mouth was in an incomplete campaign in itself. The consumers when now have the chance to use a product and then comment on it, have the power to now change the dimension of advertising completely. I totally agree.
What I do have a problem with is the fuss that is being made about the social media in the process. Fully aware of the fact that it is a medium that cannot be controlled in any of its dimensions, how much can we trust an entity that is absolutely free?
I understand how one relevant opinion piece by Fasi Zaka is repetitively *shared* on facebook for that mere percentage of our youth who can read and ARE able to connect on FB.
I also appreciate how it serves to highlight an issue that would probably not find its due share of attention on traditional media. bBut what happens to an anonymous writer who makes a point and is not able to put it on an authentic blog; does he/ she find h/is/er trust with the reader? Just a random thought.
In his 3 dimensional advertising theory, the writer talked about the content spreading like a wild fire. I then wondered about the fires that do spread in our part of the country.
The wondering being that I am, I couldn’t help but also wonder about the use of the word ‘wild’ by the author.
How wild is the news we read on social media. Oh better yet, how wild are we to believe it? And how many of us are wild enough to write it? Okay that last question is perhaps better left unanswered.
While I am ABLE to comprehend the power of social media in the small, budding life of the PR industry in my country where literacy is little and internet penetration a small seed; I often think about how significant is social media for us?
Here I am referring to the US - Us who are the elistist facebookers and are linked on the In. With our supersonic broadband / wiresless connections, we who are the real people affected by the social media in this time and place, WE - who can read and write and rewrite. Wonder some more and then wonder again.
I am wondering still.
In the PR industry where I am a professional content developer, I understand and realize the constraints that research resources of the noble social media bring with them. When I speak of constraints here, they are not lack of speed or how I cannot stream enough. They are a wee bit more complicated than that.
For one, authenticity of content is such a huge issue for people like moi that I’d probably never be able to whine enough about it. Maybe someone else out there can scream for me.
While having the internet is such a great blessing, Google being the best thing that happened to man since the telephone, I am also faced with the downside of the blessing.
In the big bad world of internet, for me nothing is real and nothing is safe. Everything I see is a creation (not always in a good way) or a re- creation and I don’t mean recreation there.
With all due respect to inspirational writers on the social media and the analytics of its impact, I believe that the this untamed world belongs to an intelligent user/ writer/ reader.
A person who understands that not everything on the social media can be *shared*. Not everything is credible and not everything is correct.
I don’t believe we can entirely keep up with the pace of the changing phenomenon but what we can do is be a part of it. However little is the feedback we can provide, we must do our part at least. Interactivity could be the key.
One thing to note is the communication we make - It reflects on us, on what we portray; the world of internet is only visual, a little care to choose the interaction could go a long way. Choosing the interaction means two things:
One - Choose a platform that helps you.
Two - Choose your words wisely.
When the flood relief news broke on the channels, I was already a little informed because of the industry I am in, but the way the information spread over blogs, Facebook and websites gave me a fair idea of what a wild fire actually is.
The same content that I had prepared was all over Facebook and telecom blogs. Even now I see it being replicated and pasted, even in places I wouldn’t want to be seen but there it is. I have no control and little control is what drives this form of media. Whether I like it or not it is *shared*. A great way to make noise but is noise all we want to make?
So while I am jaded and a little old fashioned, a wee bit wary of the content I find on my RSS feeds and a little fed up for the lack of real NEWS on news feeds, I am a little hopeful too.
Maybe the social media will evolve into some kind of a process or an institution in itself. It is possible that we will give birth to the intelligent user who will not be carried away in the fire but use its warmth and light to see the way.
And carry it too. More power to interactivity and a little wisdom to us - the users!
Saturday, September 25, 2010
On The Dock
posted by Jalal
- in which the author discovers a new condition to his life, attempts to develop a whole new communicable disease, tries to change, is targeted by Halliburton, out does the Pakistani Cricket Team, takes a hike and socks it to big Pharma.
It starts innocuously enough.
There’s a pounding in my head, my vision is swirling, I have a shooting pain in the left side of my chest and three fingers in my left arm go instantly numb. So I chalk it up to:
a. Stress
b. Bad posture (damn those office chairs)
c. Last night’s, not-gas-attack-inducing-at-all, masala daal fry
d. The horrible project briefing my team is giving me
Until it gets scary and my colleagues are staring with giant ‘O’s at my face.
“Eeeerrr…boss?”
His voice is a whisper in the thundering now emanating from my ears.
“What?”
“You look pale,” my colleagues have a gift for understatement I discover.
And from that moment, from my desk to the emergency room, it took only twenty minutes to be introduced to the rest of my life as a blood pressure patient.
My dad was using the car when I called for it so he came along for the ride. Distinguished elderly gentleman that he is, the doctors and orderlies all assumed that it was he I was accompanying and not the other way around. So they all looked at me funny as I lay down on the bed when the doctor ordered, ‘Will the patient please lie down!’
‘What’s the issue?’ says he.
‘I feel funny,’ Says me.
‘Oh holy crap! Why are you not dead?’ says he, ‘You call this a BP?’
British Petroleum has instructed me inform you that they disavow all knowledge of the unnatural disaster that is this post and besides…it was all Halliburton’s fault anyway.
Halliburton at this stage have also instructed me to inform you that nothing is ever their fault. Nothing. Whatsoever. SAY IT BITCH! OR THE US ARMY WILL BOMB AND OCCUPY YOUR DILLHOLE!
You know you have a serious problem when your heart has a higher score than the entire Pakistani Cricket tea…DAMN YOU CRICKETING SCANDAL! NOW I CANT EVEN BE SURE OF MY JOKES ANY MORE! And here I had this awesome joke about how my BP hit 190 over 140…higher than our cricket team’s batting average.
HOW DO I KNOW! HOW DO I KNOW THEY WEREN’T MATCH FIXING THAT DAY TOO! Dirty Buggers.
The doctor in the emergency room put me on BP meds and gave me tranqs and told me to just lie there and go to sleep. Three hours later…I’m still not asleep. The doctor looks at the monitor and says that if the numbers don’t go down soon, I’m getting hospitalized. They go down. I go home. Word travels that Jalal was in an emergency room for three hours. Everyone, family and friends, gathers at my house that night, all concern for my brush with high blood pressure and soothe down me frazzled nerves and racing pulse with such comforting homilies like,
‘YOU GET A STROKE IF YOUR LOWER FIGURE GOES OVER 110!’
‘IT’S A SILENT KILLER, YOU KNOW THAT!’
‘BLOOD PRESSURE KILLS MORE PEOPLE THAN CANCER, AIDS AND RERUNS OF DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES! COMBINED!’
‘DUDE CAN I HAVE YOUR XBOX WHEN YOU DIE?’
What followed were constant trips to the doc’s to figure out the optimal chemical concoction that is to keep my BP within normal ranges and out of the stratosphere. And doctor’s room conversations with my beloved like the one below:
‘No salt.’
‘Really…just a little…from time to time’
‘NO!’
‘FUCK!’
‘Mind your language. And don’t get upset. You have high BP! You’ll pop a blood vessel! What will I do then?’
‘Well I wouldn’t be on edge if you let me eat a little salt.’
At this stage the doctor feels she needs to interject to prevent my then fiancé now wife from killing me with kindness and worry, ‘Actually, he can eat normal food salt. Just don’t sprinkle on more on the top like you have been doing…’
‘HAH! See?’
‘Shut up Mr. 190 over 140.’
‘Are you sure you two aren’t already married…?’
And injunctions from all and sundry that the best thing for BP is constant exercise and the Miracle of all Miracle exercises, God alone knows how we ever lived without it, was…
Prepare yourselves
It may sound like crazy talk
The miracle, universal panacea, the Holy Grail cure for-every-frakkin’-thing is….
…Walking!
Doesn’t it strike you as strange as how the healing powers of tramping up and down are touted as nothing short of miraculous? Or that over 30 odd years of education to become a highly qualified physician and ‘talking a walk’ is the best that you can do for a patient? What next will you be prescribing?
‘Doctor! I’m Dying!’
‘Quick! Take two Nikes and one Reebok then call me in the morning!’
Well after spending 10 minutes circumnavigating the Aunty ridden walkways of Hilal Park, I called up my beloved, then fiancé now wife, and said,
‘Hi Baby! Guess what. I’m off to go shoot myself! Love you. Bye!’
And then life has since settled into a comfortable rhythm. I take my meds, watch what I eat and walk regularly…
Okay. Semi Regularly.
Okay. I walk sometimes.
FINE! I THINK about walking sometimes!
Oh have it your way Mr.Factanista! I lounge on my ass all day and play computer games in the evening and call it exercise. Happy?
And the BP has not been that bad to live with. It could have been much worse. Sure I have my episodes when I push myself or am irregular with my rest. Some days I wake up feeling low and like I’ve been running. The numbers are 150 over 110 and the office gets a phone call from me, ‘Hi team. I’m not coming in today because I’m sick. Don’t do anything that could make me get sicker. Just do what I’ve told you to do. Don’t use your heads too much and remember that I will yell at you if I see you haven’t used your heads at all. Enjoy figuring that out. Bye!’
I am now doing my best to turn high BP into the world’s first disease communicable over cell phone.
No Twitter, I am not talking about you.
At one point, when my episodes kept coming with more frequency, it was time to go get a professional consult. The cardiologist pooh poohed it and told me to get an ECG. That resulted in a rather humorous episode involving a cell phone, two tubes of Anne French, Magic Carpet Rides and perhaps the most bizarre trip to the loo I’ve ever taken.
The ECG is clear so the doctor advises that I quit smoking,
Oh yeah! Absolutely. Tomorrow.
That I keep up with regular walks
Uh huh. Yup. As soon as there comes out an XBOX Walk. Till then…will lots of guitar hero do?
And that I maintain a Zen like calm and inner peace to manage my stress.
Now those of you who know me also know that in my head I am much akin to the hyperactive squirrel from Ice Age, on speed, and crack, with ADD, trying to decide between the world’s biggest pile of nuts or Mad Donkey Stud Monkey sex.
But methinks I have discovered the ultimate groove to mellow out in. Once in that groove not even work can harsh my calm, bro.
It has to do with the Missus. I can come home raging like a lion, pace the floor like a tiger and tirade against the world like Hitler addressing Berlin. Then all she needs to do is go,
‘Aw Poor Baby! Did yoo haz a bad day?’
I pout.
‘Aaaawww,’ she melts. ‘Did the big bad world eated your cookie?’
‘It did! It did eated my cookie.’
‘C’mere!’ she holds out her arms…
…
Hah! Suck on THAT big Pharma!
- in which the author discovers a new condition to his life, attempts to develop a whole new communicable disease, tries to change, is targeted by Halliburton, out does the Pakistani Cricket Team, takes a hike and socks it to big Pharma.
It starts innocuously enough.
There’s a pounding in my head, my vision is swirling, I have a shooting pain in the left side of my chest and three fingers in my left arm go instantly numb. So I chalk it up to:
a. Stress
b. Bad posture (damn those office chairs)
c. Last night’s, not-gas-attack-inducing-at-all, masala daal fry
d. The horrible project briefing my team is giving me
Until it gets scary and my colleagues are staring with giant ‘O’s at my face.
“Eeeerrr…boss?”
His voice is a whisper in the thundering now emanating from my ears.
“What?”
“You look pale,” my colleagues have a gift for understatement I discover.
And from that moment, from my desk to the emergency room, it took only twenty minutes to be introduced to the rest of my life as a blood pressure patient.
My dad was using the car when I called for it so he came along for the ride. Distinguished elderly gentleman that he is, the doctors and orderlies all assumed that it was he I was accompanying and not the other way around. So they all looked at me funny as I lay down on the bed when the doctor ordered, ‘Will the patient please lie down!’
‘What’s the issue?’ says he.
‘I feel funny,’ Says me.
‘Oh holy crap! Why are you not dead?’ says he, ‘You call this a BP?’
British Petroleum has instructed me inform you that they disavow all knowledge of the unnatural disaster that is this post and besides…it was all Halliburton’s fault anyway.
Halliburton at this stage have also instructed me to inform you that nothing is ever their fault. Nothing. Whatsoever. SAY IT BITCH! OR THE US ARMY WILL BOMB AND OCCUPY YOUR DILLHOLE!
You know you have a serious problem when your heart has a higher score than the entire Pakistani Cricket tea…DAMN YOU CRICKETING SCANDAL! NOW I CANT EVEN BE SURE OF MY JOKES ANY MORE! And here I had this awesome joke about how my BP hit 190 over 140…higher than our cricket team’s batting average.
HOW DO I KNOW! HOW DO I KNOW THEY WEREN’T MATCH FIXING THAT DAY TOO! Dirty Buggers.
The doctor in the emergency room put me on BP meds and gave me tranqs and told me to just lie there and go to sleep. Three hours later…I’m still not asleep. The doctor looks at the monitor and says that if the numbers don’t go down soon, I’m getting hospitalized. They go down. I go home. Word travels that Jalal was in an emergency room for three hours. Everyone, family and friends, gathers at my house that night, all concern for my brush with high blood pressure and soothe down me frazzled nerves and racing pulse with such comforting homilies like,
‘YOU GET A STROKE IF YOUR LOWER FIGURE GOES OVER 110!’
‘IT’S A SILENT KILLER, YOU KNOW THAT!’
‘BLOOD PRESSURE KILLS MORE PEOPLE THAN CANCER, AIDS AND RERUNS OF DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES! COMBINED!’
‘DUDE CAN I HAVE YOUR XBOX WHEN YOU DIE?’
What followed were constant trips to the doc’s to figure out the optimal chemical concoction that is to keep my BP within normal ranges and out of the stratosphere. And doctor’s room conversations with my beloved like the one below:
‘No salt.’
‘Really…just a little…from time to time’
‘NO!’
‘FUCK!’
‘Mind your language. And don’t get upset. You have high BP! You’ll pop a blood vessel! What will I do then?’
‘Well I wouldn’t be on edge if you let me eat a little salt.’
At this stage the doctor feels she needs to interject to prevent my then fiancé now wife from killing me with kindness and worry, ‘Actually, he can eat normal food salt. Just don’t sprinkle on more on the top like you have been doing…’
‘HAH! See?’
‘Shut up Mr. 190 over 140.’
‘Are you sure you two aren’t already married…?’
And injunctions from all and sundry that the best thing for BP is constant exercise and the Miracle of all Miracle exercises, God alone knows how we ever lived without it, was…
Prepare yourselves
It may sound like crazy talk
The miracle, universal panacea, the Holy Grail cure for-every-frakkin’-thing is….
…Walking!
Doesn’t it strike you as strange as how the healing powers of tramping up and down are touted as nothing short of miraculous? Or that over 30 odd years of education to become a highly qualified physician and ‘talking a walk’ is the best that you can do for a patient? What next will you be prescribing?
‘Doctor! I’m Dying!’
‘Quick! Take two Nikes and one Reebok then call me in the morning!’
Well after spending 10 minutes circumnavigating the Aunty ridden walkways of Hilal Park, I called up my beloved, then fiancé now wife, and said,
‘Hi Baby! Guess what. I’m off to go shoot myself! Love you. Bye!’
And then life has since settled into a comfortable rhythm. I take my meds, watch what I eat and walk regularly…
Okay. Semi Regularly.
Okay. I walk sometimes.
FINE! I THINK about walking sometimes!
Oh have it your way Mr.Factanista! I lounge on my ass all day and play computer games in the evening and call it exercise. Happy?
And the BP has not been that bad to live with. It could have been much worse. Sure I have my episodes when I push myself or am irregular with my rest. Some days I wake up feeling low and like I’ve been running. The numbers are 150 over 110 and the office gets a phone call from me, ‘Hi team. I’m not coming in today because I’m sick. Don’t do anything that could make me get sicker. Just do what I’ve told you to do. Don’t use your heads too much and remember that I will yell at you if I see you haven’t used your heads at all. Enjoy figuring that out. Bye!’
I am now doing my best to turn high BP into the world’s first disease communicable over cell phone.
No Twitter, I am not talking about you.
At one point, when my episodes kept coming with more frequency, it was time to go get a professional consult. The cardiologist pooh poohed it and told me to get an ECG. That resulted in a rather humorous episode involving a cell phone, two tubes of Anne French, Magic Carpet Rides and perhaps the most bizarre trip to the loo I’ve ever taken.
The ECG is clear so the doctor advises that I quit smoking,
Oh yeah! Absolutely. Tomorrow.
That I keep up with regular walks
Uh huh. Yup. As soon as there comes out an XBOX Walk. Till then…will lots of guitar hero do?
And that I maintain a Zen like calm and inner peace to manage my stress.
Now those of you who know me also know that in my head I am much akin to the hyperactive squirrel from Ice Age, on speed, and crack, with ADD, trying to decide between the world’s biggest pile of nuts or Mad Donkey Stud Monkey sex.
But methinks I have discovered the ultimate groove to mellow out in. Once in that groove not even work can harsh my calm, bro.
It has to do with the Missus. I can come home raging like a lion, pace the floor like a tiger and tirade against the world like Hitler addressing Berlin. Then all she needs to do is go,
‘Aw Poor Baby! Did yoo haz a bad day?’
I pout.
‘Aaaawww,’ she melts. ‘Did the big bad world eated your cookie?’
‘It did! It did eated my cookie.’
‘C’mere!’ she holds out her arms…
…
Hah! Suck on THAT big Pharma!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Problem of Imagery
posted by Noor
“There is a simple trick at the heart of imaginative writing…The trick is that if you write in words that evoke the senses, if your language is full of things that can be seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and touched, you create a world your reader can enter.”
-Imaginative Writing – The Elements of Craft by Janet Burroway. Second Edition. Page 3. (Not following a standard citation method here).
I have often belabored a singular point in my critique to poets who must have come to detest it by now: introduce more concrete images to your poem. When you create a poem, no matter how commonplace the language written, it evidently transforms into a masterpiece in your mind. It is the same instinct that makes a mother love her child beyond its physical appearance. Obviously, the devotion to the poem from the poet is of (slightly) lesser magnitude.
During my years at DWL, I have come across countless poems that hold great potential. The themes may be very strong and refreshing, the idea nothing short of genius, but more often than not, the poems fall flat once written. The most important thing that the poet must understand is the importance of getting the reader involved. No one cares about your personal suffering, plight, identity crisis, break-up, et cetera, if it doesn’t somehow pull them into the theme of your poem. If readers can’t hold on to the poem by some kind of tactile imagery offered to them, they will not give a damn about the story you have to tell. Essentially, they want to be able to find a world they can enter – aptly phrased in the quote above.
In my experience, the best way to check a poem for its impact and quality is to take yourself out of the poem. Invariably, my poems are in first-person. Empathy dictates that a large ratio of a random sample of readers should be able to relate to my experiences as written in the poem. If I am to write about my life however, without giving them a chance to be a part of it, chances are empathy will be flushed down the toilet in 2 seconds flat. Even if I am writing about something that is of extreme personal significance, I must make the poem “friendly” for my readers. I generally try to do this by introducing the reader to my world, getting them acquainted with my life and surroundings. I mention the pile of dirty laundry at the foot of the bed in passing. A bamboo bowl of two month old potpourri on the nightstand – almost completely scentless, except the times when a wayward breeze from the broken window teases it. A red lampshade throwing diffuse light on a dried ring of stale chai on the coffee table. These are concrete images. Something the reader can recognize and hold on to. Now if I throw in a hurtful fight with my significant other somewhere between the dirty laundry and the caked ring of chai, with the emotional outburst highlighted metaphorically by the red lampshade – aha! I have a poem and I have pulled. You. In. I do this by writing out what exactly I want to say in the poem (the fight) and slowly fleshing it out with images, metaphors, and similes – figures of speech do wonders for your poem. Be creative with them. The way to flesh out your poem is best done by trying to look at what you have to offer beside yourself and your personal experience. So if you take yourself out of the poem, what is left? If you’ve got a handful of articles and a weak line of introduction, then you’ve got work to do. Build a world around yourself in the poem and you’ve got what you are looking for.
I am going to leave you with a short poem by Yusef Komunyakaa. It is a very personal poem (as most of them are), but please try to look for concrete imagery that he cleverly introduces along with spectacular metaphors and similes. Enjoy – and of course, happy writing!
Facing It by Yusef Komunyakaa
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn’t,
dammit: No tears.
I am stone. I’m flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way – the stone lets me go.
I turn that way – I’m inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap’s white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet’s image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I’m a window.
He’s lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she’s brushing a boy’s hair.
“There is a simple trick at the heart of imaginative writing…The trick is that if you write in words that evoke the senses, if your language is full of things that can be seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and touched, you create a world your reader can enter.”
-Imaginative Writing – The Elements of Craft by Janet Burroway. Second Edition. Page 3. (Not following a standard citation method here).
I have often belabored a singular point in my critique to poets who must have come to detest it by now: introduce more concrete images to your poem. When you create a poem, no matter how commonplace the language written, it evidently transforms into a masterpiece in your mind. It is the same instinct that makes a mother love her child beyond its physical appearance. Obviously, the devotion to the poem from the poet is of (slightly) lesser magnitude.
During my years at DWL, I have come across countless poems that hold great potential. The themes may be very strong and refreshing, the idea nothing short of genius, but more often than not, the poems fall flat once written. The most important thing that the poet must understand is the importance of getting the reader involved. No one cares about your personal suffering, plight, identity crisis, break-up, et cetera, if it doesn’t somehow pull them into the theme of your poem. If readers can’t hold on to the poem by some kind of tactile imagery offered to them, they will not give a damn about the story you have to tell. Essentially, they want to be able to find a world they can enter – aptly phrased in the quote above.
In my experience, the best way to check a poem for its impact and quality is to take yourself out of the poem. Invariably, my poems are in first-person. Empathy dictates that a large ratio of a random sample of readers should be able to relate to my experiences as written in the poem. If I am to write about my life however, without giving them a chance to be a part of it, chances are empathy will be flushed down the toilet in 2 seconds flat. Even if I am writing about something that is of extreme personal significance, I must make the poem “friendly” for my readers. I generally try to do this by introducing the reader to my world, getting them acquainted with my life and surroundings. I mention the pile of dirty laundry at the foot of the bed in passing. A bamboo bowl of two month old potpourri on the nightstand – almost completely scentless, except the times when a wayward breeze from the broken window teases it. A red lampshade throwing diffuse light on a dried ring of stale chai on the coffee table. These are concrete images. Something the reader can recognize and hold on to. Now if I throw in a hurtful fight with my significant other somewhere between the dirty laundry and the caked ring of chai, with the emotional outburst highlighted metaphorically by the red lampshade – aha! I have a poem and I have pulled. You. In. I do this by writing out what exactly I want to say in the poem (the fight) and slowly fleshing it out with images, metaphors, and similes – figures of speech do wonders for your poem. Be creative with them. The way to flesh out your poem is best done by trying to look at what you have to offer beside yourself and your personal experience. So if you take yourself out of the poem, what is left? If you’ve got a handful of articles and a weak line of introduction, then you’ve got work to do. Build a world around yourself in the poem and you’ve got what you are looking for.
I am going to leave you with a short poem by Yusef Komunyakaa. It is a very personal poem (as most of them are), but please try to look for concrete imagery that he cleverly introduces along with spectacular metaphors and similes. Enjoy – and of course, happy writing!
Facing It by Yusef Komunyakaa
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn’t,
dammit: No tears.
I am stone. I’m flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way – the stone lets me go.
I turn that way – I’m inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap’s white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet’s image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I’m a window.
He’s lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she’s brushing a boy’s hair.
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