Our Mother

Storyteller,

How we can never run away from a shadowing sky, shading comfort. How everywhere we go there follow brisk winds. Just her presence makes us believe in the certainty of bright horizons.

Peace!

Ferzi…as the writer says “Although, we daughters,…” I suspect the we in the narration is not a first person singular… also (again I suspect) the ‘we’ was woven into this fabric not tenuously but after deliberation…otherwise it risked becoming only her mother’s tale…the distancing makes it more universal…

storyteller....shadows and rumi reminded me of this Saathi Saya

lve,

t

Dear storyteller:

You tell your story well...I liked the langurous approach...especially as you have used the ``we` instead of an ``I``. It is also something that is close to us...we have just had a quarrel with our mother and are now typing this, wonderign what to tell her, how to say so many things...we have not forgotten her, but do we forgive for faults that are in truth ours?

Liked this passage: ``Our mother indulged in fantasies of escape as well. She threatened to leave, to walk into the dark night without a single look back. We protested openly but wondered secretly what it would be like. Would we gather and savor the profoundness of her absence. That heavy serenity that would finally keep us grounded in monotony and all the certainty it brings. Or would we have followed her into the dark fields of her yearnings, wailing and calling out her name. ``

Strangely, what I liked about this piece could become its undoing at some point...it distances you...maybe we all need that distance sometimes...

Best,
Farzana

=== Interact Filtered ===
view this users filtered interacts

darn!

sorry storyteller:

the preceding was meant for another thread!

cheesoo
stop lurking and participate!

Cloudy

coming back to the ``creating language`` issue. it doesn`t have to mean a different prose altogether. creating a language could also mean making variant uses of the same words. or adding sounds, and so on.

…i think am getting a better grasp of what you mean now…’language’ threw me off…you mean voice or diction or in a lesser way a certain identity a writer has or builds through his work?

…if my conjecture is correct then i would say the following:

…there are thousands of english writers in the world…hundreds in the south asia (diaspora included)…how many have found their ‘voice’ their unique ‘style’ or ‘diction’?…

…personally i think we should focus on reading and enjoying the book…and leave such grave matters to studious language scholars and academics who would give their verdict long after the authors are dead…and no, am not being facetious…such verdicts are grave and can only be uttered after a time lapse and after studying the great body of work of the author in question…

…presently, mohsin hamid, arundathi roy and others are one trick ponies only…

(now turn around and accuse me by saying so was desani;)…which is true…his other writings for us magazines and the illustrated weekly of india have been lost…but…desani was a unique writer…in that he was a trail blazer…

are you familiar with urdu?…ahmed shah bukhari wrote only one book patras kay mazameen but he is acknowledged as a leading humorist…

also on urdu...heheh… a digression what else…in lahore lives intezar hussain…he is known as a columnist who writes on language in literature in both urdu and english…but his fame in literary circles is due to his short stories…read a collection or two of this stories…he is a major ‘voice’ in udru ..has a unique ‘style’ and ‘diction’…and if you are not familiar with him i have an excellent source on the net where you can learn more about him…but please do so after exams;)…or …

…go to Urdu Studies and search for articles on intezar hussain and translations of his works…

warning...if you do that…(click on urdu studies—a passion of dr. muhammed umar memon)…you will be visiting a new vista…the paths in the jungle will vie for attention…such gems are there…should you visit ismat’s villa or manto’s house, intezar’s chalet or nasir’s abode…fehmida’s nasheman or…shakir’s gulzar…

…where was i?….


that was one of the reasons why m.hamid`s novel was so readable. it followed its own pace and the tone of the language diversified with the characters.

yara to be honest if you remember cut above and re-visit in 20 years and see if it still holds true…I suspect mohsin appealed more to you and you sensibilities because you happen to live and breath his city…if….and this is a very qualified if…mohsin is really great then he would have a similar impact when read in civitivecchia, cartaghena or cairns…

ps. what essay? and since i have not read desani, what was rushdie acknowledging?

…this is a toughie…I don’t have the foggiest clue now…but I read his acknowledgement of desani’s pioneering efforts in south-asian English propulsion..and his influence on his writings…

i still have to read 60% of the books i`ve bought. mid-way through some and have yet to start others.

…unlike our respected maulana roz, my favourite abu huraira hadith does not mention finishing every book I read;) (now, please take it with a grain of salt)…it is perfectly alright to start and not finish some books…the writing, the authors, the weather, the friends, external circumstances beyond one’s reach sometimes dictate leaving a book unfinished…and if you do not ever return to that unfinished book then my favourite abhu huraira hadith says it is thus ordained:)

ps: what is your major?

acloudysky

---

yes there is remorse........the kind which comes from not learning from a life experience. this indifference/missed oppurtunity/misjudgement often times leads us to the very thing we were trying to escape. we tend to dismiss certain events or people from our lives thinking they are irrelevant, petty or just some unsavory thing we need to rise above. (this could also be because people, in general, think first and foremost of themselves) so we fail to rise above something that is in us all along and when you see this inherent flaw clearly; it can be a difficult thing.

for isphahani

---

I think I see your point but Rumi has a point too. Here’s some more from him……..


How does a part of the world leave the world?
How does wetness leave water?

Don’t try to put out a fire
By throwing on more fire!
Don’t wash a wound with blood!

No matter how fast you run,
your shadow keeps up.
Sometimes, it’s in front!

Only full overhead sun
diminishes your shadow.

But that shadow has been serving you!
What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
Your boundaries are your quest.

I can explain this, but it would break
the glass cover on your heart,
and there’s no fixing that.

You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.

When from that tree, feathers and wings sprout
on you, be quieter than a dove.
Don’t open your mouth for even a coooooo.

**You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.

storyteller,

its beautifully written, but why do i feel certain under-currents of remorse?

=== Interact Filtered ===
view this users filtered interacts

you live up to your nick, storyteller...very powerful and extremely well-written.

Mamas are like roses; while we crush them, they perfume our hands.

And as the saying goes, God couldn`t be everywhere so he created mothers.

thanx everyone for your positive feedback...made my day!

storyteller:
I too have been `wowed` by the complexity of this piece. Still trying to grapple it...perhaps need more experiences to see it.

mothers...why is it that we never apprecaite them while living with them and the moment we are way, start pining for them?

``We hope that she hears our pleas and stops running. We pray that we may stand as one before her and show her our wounds. Then she might show us hers. And while we count and compare them, the wind would drop, a stillness would descend, and the skies would clear; once…and for all.``

So true. Every time I think of writing about Mommy, I realise a day`s franctic stringing of words won`t do justice to all that she has done for me. it would need 25 years of singing her praises...and then, it hits me, in the 25 years i would be trying to word justice to her, she would have another 25 years to her credit. God! Now you have me crying...I so miss her.
Oh please chowk staff...do you have to publish such articles? that some poor away from family expats start crying?

Storyteller,

We realized that there was more to her than the absolute power she wielded over our lives. That she was a woman, and she sometimes laughed too cheerfully, and sang too loudly , and wept too easily. The other mother would at times surface due to some unforeseeable event. A surprise visitor, a telephone call, an unexpected opening, when she would get a chance to reclaim bits of her neglected self. And it was then when we would see her falter. And her fragile humanity became apparent. Strangely enough, the other mother, with her unkempt hair, desperate eyes and ready smile, left us bewildered.

We judged her with a harshness that youth and inexperience fosters. As we watched her fumble and flail, we gained strength from the sure knowledge that we were different. There would be no grappling and floundering in relationships for us. We believed we would each find a companion who would quench our deepest thirst.

WOW!

rarely have I read the complex, multi-warped and wefted relationship with `our` mothers described like this. Bravo..

Mothers as women have been scary - we have all wanted her to be just a `mum`. As a woman, she would be too contemporaray, then we would have to accept that she would have other emotions, attributes.

Emotions which we welcomed in oursleves and our peers - jealousy, love.. were scary in her.

In her, they frightened us.

And we wanted her to just a mum - with us as the sun in her life...

Thanks n regards,

Sucheta