Misty-fying Haze

There seems to be a growing culture, induced by either recently returned yuppies of a yonder society or the ever-present idiot box, of promoting
the cause of "Intellectualism". There have always been writers of prose and poetry amongst our clan, and Salman Abidin recently orchestrated a
poetry recital at The Cafe Blue in an attempt to create a forum for budding writers. Aptly dubbed "Blue Haze", the myriad of inane imagery read
largely failed to inspire the audience. A lot of the poetry seemed heavily inspired from the required reading syllabus of 'o' level English. And
evident enough was the tradition of courtly love and metaphysical vagueness bred with modern jargon, seemingly derived from the likes of Byron
and Shelly coupled with the modern poets addiction to free verse. Despite everything though, it still was a good idea.

Cafe Blue has a unique style to it. Entering through a bohemian class door, one is hit with an aura that encloses around you as you enter. If it is
full, it exudes the charm of a well-visited "yuppie" class hangout. It's nice. Conversely, if it happens to be empty it has all the charm of a hot
poker. The recital seemed to have attracted a good many from various tiers of society who were either genuinely interested in poetry, or were
friends of the readers. Either way the audience seemed mature and appeared more then slightly interested in the goings on of the evening. At
something-past-9 Salman Abidin, a graduate of the IBA and a budding film director, introduced himself and the lady next to him, Ms Shandana
Minhas who later told me the reason she used so much sexual imagery in her work was because she believed that one of the root causes of the
breakdown of our society is sexual repression. And no she is not a nymphomaniac. Her thoughts and imagery were original, cleverly presented
from an unusual perspective. Her work was also much better received then the others because of the clarity of her diction. Salman and Shandana
read three pieces each and the contrast between content and delivery couldn't have been more marked. The first two pieces she read dealt with
ways for a woman to respond to a society that attempts to control her sexuality. What was refreshing was that they weren't from the 'victim'
perspective, the woman triumphed. The poem 'er' started with the line "sex is what I think should be not just optional but compulsory" and took the
listener through a description of the different kinds of sex and who they were appropriate for. The poetess described an ex-boyfriend as 'he was
the kind who saw in stains the wetness of complicity' then ended with her withdrawal from the sex object race saying 'and now sex means naught
to me since I don't have my own, a wellspring of androgyny I, sexless, stand alone."
Salman read first, and stunned the audience (uhh...) by his "Blue Haze", the theme poem of the evening if you will. His other pieces were "The bell
and the cat" and "Dividing Lines". Salman self-admittedly, has only being writing for a year seriously, and according to him he "translates
experience to abstract". He is currently working on a script for a film and chooses this as his calling. Idealistic and reactive, Salman's work needs
to improve. It was very predictable and disjointed. His poem "Blue Haze" talked of walking in a mire of blue haze in search of a blue flame. His
thoughst of being dazed and confused (and in love...) came through as cliched analogies and had all the depth of toothpaste. But we can rest
assured that he will get better as he can only improve.

Following the introductory duo, were Shen Hussain and Fozia Hussain. Shen's work was passionate and laced with vision, yet it offered more to
its writer then to its listener. She was very lucid in her thoughts, yet her overzealous use of adjectives alienated the listener, as did most of the
readers from the floor. Someone in the audience burst out laughing when a young poetess read the line 'resplendent in your smallness." Fozia
again, was very graphic and chest bare in her work. It was very honest and very passionate. But the audience got the impression that here was
someone with a powerful writing style but without the requisite life experience to give it focus and depth. Her work had fluidity, yet it still lacked a
lot in terms of experience. One of her pieces, seemed targeted towards a certain critic of her work and she shocked the organizers by using a lot
of "f\\*\\*\\*" in her lines. Bravo Fozia. I guess she had more balls then the organizers, who still seem affixed to our cultural ties, hypocritical as that
may seem. Regardless, it was a fair recital from the both of them. Fozias reads well.

Next up were Zain Mankani, a student at the Indus Valley School (and self-dubbed modernist) and Omar Amanullah, a student at the same. Zain
came off as a highly introverted personality though his piece "Elephant Mail" seemed extraordinarily rare from a writer of his ability. It spoke of how
things change yet they remain the same, no matter how much you try to change them. It was perhaps his only work that got more then just a
half-hearted response from the audience, but this might just be because of poor delivery. According to him, Zain's work is inspired by his dreams,
and so a lot of it is "personal abstraction of dreams" (uh huh...?). Omar on the other hand had a very short yet impressive style. His poetry was
Haiku-ish and said a lot in just a few lines. He had a flow which, when combined with a touch of maturity, provoked images and tangential
thoughts in the listener. One of his pieces contained the lines "flying trees...flying people...flying dreams.....funny how things fly without wings"
which really appeal to the neurons as they fire sporadically. The chaotic image of flying people and flying trees creates interesting images.

The final talent to come up as a part of the program was Amna Majid. Her work was summed up neatly in two pieces, "Alone" and "Still alone".
Amna was obsessed with "dot on a crisp white sheet" and other such punctuation. She yearned for a "drop of ink" to fill up her life. "Passionate,
sensitive and aggressive" she may claim to be; yet there is an amazing vacuum in her thought. The pieces were weak and soon lost the attention
of the audience. They seemed to drone on as does school near the summer break. And desperately missing were the right words to express her
emotion. Maybe that's why you're alone Amna....With her on to read the final piece was Shandana again. Though all of what she had read was
very original and powerful in it's theme, perhaps her most inspired piece was "To the dissenting Judge in the Saima case". Inspired from the famous
Saima case where on a panel of 3 judges there was one who disagreed to letting a woman marry of her own free will, Shandana proactively
presented the case of "woman-ity". Shandana also drew the audience into her recital by talking to them between poems. At one point she asked
"it's ok to give head, but it's wrong to use it?" Another called "Neighbors" atypically described our social structure, where noses are usually in
places where they don't belong...and that is acceptable, and how our values are shifting from abstract ideals to material.

At the end of the reading there was open mike session. Surprising, 4 people from the audience got up to read their work. Most of the poems read,
like the ones proceeding, couldn't quite make it out of the adolescent love/angst rut, but Nadir charmed the audience with his inspired delivery of
anecdotes about his love life. "I looked at her/then she punched me/and I was on the floor/and she was standing over me" might not sound very
impressive, but I guess you had to be there.

Regardless of everything, Blue Haze was a great idea. It's the only forum for writers to gain some critique of their work and its general acceptance.
Blue Haze also brought to light the anemic quality of the availability of art and literature forums in the city. The idea behind it was indeed insightful
and maybe it will promote writing amongst our people. Another encouraging thing was that most of the 'poets' were women. It is imperative that
writers understand that the use of words and fancy adjectives do not make poetry but just a seemingly remarkable mix which is akin to liquid steak.
What was startling was the near total absence of original imagery. One should never lose perspective and start writing what is impressive over
what is truly felt. One hopes that The Cafe Blue becomes a place where people can read not just for the sake of it, but to inspire others to do the
same.