There was no chariness that Salim and Ali were chatting so openly with me, sitting cross-legged on a cot. Both the brothers liked their free-spirited young aunt, Naheeda.
Tracking Naheeda, the Pathan Village Woman
by Farzana Versey
State of Nature
She had not let childbirth and housework mar her looks, although some chubbiness had settled on her cheeks and chin. Her head was uncovered and her black hair was tied in a loose braid. ‘I want to work too, but I get no time. The schools are far, so I have to drop the children there. Women rule in the house. If I were under any restrictions, do you think I could talk to you in privacy? My husband is there praying, he could have stopped me.’ Just then he called out to her. She returned within minutes. ‘He has asked me not to let you leave without having lunch with us. He has to remind me to be a good hostess, I just talk so much that I forget basic manners.’ And what happened to the education she had acquired? ‘In future I don’t know, but for now my children will benefit. And it shows in the way I conduct my life. No one can boss over me.’ While her husband and mother-in-law were busy with their afternoon prayers, she did not feel it necessary to join them.
(Rest of this extract from A Journey Interrupted: Being Indian in Pakistan is at the link or the Journey blog)
Showing posts with label extract. Show all posts
Showing posts with label extract. Show all posts
12.5.09
Before the Taliban: Memories of Peshawar
Before the Taliban: Memories of Peshawar
by Farzana Versey
Countercurrents, May 12, 2009
As the city is on edge, and friends are being seen as enemies, I want to share recollections of the times I spent in the capital of the frontier province on the trips I made to Pakistan between the years 2000 and 2007.
* * *
We were hungry. I told Salim, my guide, I wanted to eat at an authentic Kabuli restaurant. Breads were being baked on upturned woks. The place was packed. I was the only woman in there. A scraggly-looking man came up to us and parted a curtain; the few men having their meal immediately got up and moved out without a word. Chivalry was unspoken and not brandished with a flourish.
The sofa felt wonderfully comfortable after the long drive. The moment I raised my eyes I found (Indian film star) Ajay Devgan staring at me. Stuck on the wall, his photograph typified the Afghan obsession with Hindi films.
We had a hearty meal. There was a stew, some barbequed meats and sautéed vegetables. The food did not leave you feeling full, cooked as it was with a touch so light that even flesh had a feathery texture. Bowls of yoghurt served as dessert.
Driving back to the city, we passed another route. This was Hayatabad; it was called the mini Islamabad due to its well-structured houses, trees peeping out of high walls, bursts of floral colour in the balconies. The inhabitants were invisible. Who were they? Salim explained, ‘Mainly Afghans, the ones who have made it big. But they can only rent the houses, not buy them. There are two million Afghan mohajirs here, so they say Peshawar should be theirs.’ --->
(more of the extract here or on the link in the title)
by Farzana Versey
Countercurrents, May 12, 2009
As the city is on edge, and friends are being seen as enemies, I want to share recollections of the times I spent in the capital of the frontier province on the trips I made to Pakistan between the years 2000 and 2007.
* * *
We were hungry. I told Salim, my guide, I wanted to eat at an authentic Kabuli restaurant. Breads were being baked on upturned woks. The place was packed. I was the only woman in there. A scraggly-looking man came up to us and parted a curtain; the few men having their meal immediately got up and moved out without a word. Chivalry was unspoken and not brandished with a flourish.
The sofa felt wonderfully comfortable after the long drive. The moment I raised my eyes I found (Indian film star) Ajay Devgan staring at me. Stuck on the wall, his photograph typified the Afghan obsession with Hindi films.
We had a hearty meal. There was a stew, some barbequed meats and sautéed vegetables. The food did not leave you feeling full, cooked as it was with a touch so light that even flesh had a feathery texture. Bowls of yoghurt served as dessert.
Driving back to the city, we passed another route. This was Hayatabad; it was called the mini Islamabad due to its well-structured houses, trees peeping out of high walls, bursts of floral colour in the balconies. The inhabitants were invisible. Who were they? Salim explained, ‘Mainly Afghans, the ones who have made it big. But they can only rent the houses, not buy them. There are two million Afghan mohajirs here, so they say Peshawar should be theirs.’ --->
(more of the extract here or on the link in the title)
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