Coming from Hasan Square, Gulshan-e-Iqbal, past Ghareebabad, you would find the left footpath of the main road leading to Al-Karam Square dotted with red-hooded stalls. I had noticed them for the first time a few years back. That evening they seemed to have sprung up all of a sudden, out of the pulsating, violence-ridden, notorious Liaquatabad/Ghareebabad cauldron. The bright red sheets tied up with balusters, reddish brown earthen jars, their mouths covered with white kerchiefs, and a bearded fellow–donning white kurta, pyjama and cap–on each stall: I had marvelled at this fleet of qulfi-wallahs, at their spirit, panache and determination to earn a living decently in these miserable times, in Central District, Karachi. A few odd customers, probably residents of the nearby lanes, were sitting on chairs, and a car or two were lined up on the kerb, ordering the Ghareebabad speciality. Indeed, it was delicious.
Jakarta: Islam and Women in Indonesia
Published in Dawn, Karachi, Pakistan, in its Friday Magazine, 13 December 1996.
The first thing that strikes you when you land in Jakarta is its airport. The glass-covered pavilions and ramp ways are flanked on both sides by lush foliage and tall trees. You feel as if you are walking through a garden. A perfect blend of traditional Javanese structure and modern technology, the simple, graceful building of Sukarno-Hatta International Airport, opened in 1985–the recipient of the Aga Khan Architecture Award–is a window to the rich and unique cultural identity of Indonesian archipelago.
Indonesia: Development Linking with Academia
As the taxi drove down the busy intersection of the dual carriageway, lined with buildings, the driver asked us ”Which department?” Bewildered, we told him to first take us to the Institute. “This is the campus”, he said. So, we had already entered the Institut Technology Sepuluh Nopember, Surabaya. With no boundary walls, its many departments, administration blocks and the staff town intermingled with the city. Like a live organ of the throbbing metropolis. Unlike our academic institutes–walled, hedged, fenced, enclaved. Guarded by rangers. Isolated from the city and its dwellers. As if existing outside its space and time.
Bali: Living in Harmony with Nature
In Bali–the lush green, mountainous little island of the Indonesian archipelago–every other person you talk to has an artist in the family–a painter, sculptor, wood carver, dancer. As you drive away from Denpasar–the bustling capital city of Bali, the winding, smooth, metallic road is dotted with villages, each specializing in a different craft. In Batubulan live stone carvers, chipping away at big blocks of soft grey stone, carving out huge statues and enormous temple gates. Celuk is a thriving centre of silversmiths, creating intricate filigrees, fine jewellery and miniatures. In Sukawati people make wind chimes from bamboo and weave baskets from coconut-palm leaves. The villagers of Mas excel in wood carving–human and animal figures, face masks. The people in Puaya create leather shadow puppets for wayang kulit (shadow-puppet play).
Diary of a Feminist: Media Manned by Men
Every morning we look at the world through a man’s eyes. We do so by scanning the newspapers which contain news that are gathered, reported, chopped, edited/blacked out, opinionated, and photographed mostly by men.
What’s wrong with a media manned by men? Nothing as such. It’s just that the picture it portrays is incomplete or slanted at times.
Diary of a Feminist: Men Haven’t Changed
While walking down the busy street or waiting for a rickshaw and trying hard to ignore men’s crude stares, I am often overwhelmed with a sad reflection: things haven’t changed.
I then correct myself: men haven’t changed. These are the same odd glances I braved as a teenager. Commuting to college and back home in public transport had been an ordeal and going to Bohri Bazaar dreadful.
Diary of a Feminist: When Younger Sisters Marry First
How would it feel if your younger sister got married first. Quite an embarrassing question to ask and, for many, equally difficult to answer.
Before I venture to ‘dissect’ this ‘sensitive’ social query, let me make myself clear on one issue: I am absolutely in favor of marrying off younger daughters if elder ones are not getting any proposals. Needless to say, it’s quite a norm these days, i.e., marriage of younger daughters while the elder ones remain single.
Diary of a Feminist: To Marry Or Not To Marry
As I sat in the stuffy hall, watching pretty faces and splashy colors of a predominantly female crowd, waiting for Act II to start, I heard a plump, bespectacled young woman exclaim during the intermission, “What cheap stuff! Such crude characters! And see how the people are enjoying it! Ach…”
I glanced at the high-brow, jet-set lady, her enormous bust and tawny neck. ‘Of course she doesn’t need a dupatta.’ With no ill-feeling towards her dupatta-less Raphaelesque presence, I smiled as I remembered one of Ismat Chughtai’s defiant characters – a young girl when told to wear a dupatta, kicked her feet in anger, grimaced and blurted something to the effect (when her Amma couldn’t hear her): “I don’t need a dupatta. Only flat-chested girls need to wrap themselves up carefully in thick dupattas.”
Diary of a Feminist: The Stigma of Growing Up
As a woman you have to brave many a storm. And the list of minor emotional crises is long. But those keep fading from your mind as you grow stronger.
There is one thing can never forget. Your first menstruation. How can you? The shock, the horror, the trauma. The degree of intensity many differ for each of us. But intense it is – certainly!
Diary of a Feminist: Portrayal of Women – On PTV’s “Ana”
Social fantasia beamed on PTV make me squirm many a times. Soapy stories of the worst kind, they usually revolve around women who are either weak or wild – damaging stereotypes that subtly strengthen wrongful images of women.
PTV’s popular stereotypes: rural woman. Meak, submissive, pitiable creature, with no control whatsoever over her destiny. If wealthy, she is vile and creates trouble for others. Lower-class urban illiterate woman. Pushes her husband into corruption. Else indulges in petty jealousies and social gossiping. Educated middle-class woman has nothing to do except NOT to get any suitors and be a burden to ageing parents. If married and working, plays havoc with her married life. Upper-class women: frivolous, immoral, pretentious.
Zeenat Hisam 