This summer my niece fell in love with Roald Dahl’s books. For those who don’t know: Dahl is one of the greatest storytellers of all time, and one of the best things you can do with your time after you turn nine is to immerse yourself in his world. My niece ate her way through ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’, and then ran around like a power child through ‘Matilda’. Luckily, she lives in a city where she can actually see a stage production of Dahl’s work going on during the summer, and her joy at witnessing a real-life Matilda on stage conducting an orchestra of hundreds of flying objects after just having read the book is one of my all-time favorite memories.
I too went through a Dahl phase. But rather than focus my mania on Matilda (“You’re a telekinetic, stop playing the victim!”) or Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory (worst book in the world for a fat kid), I luxuriated in ‘The Witches’, a magical and surprisingly agreeable romp through the business of child abduction and large-scale espionage.
Dahl’s books for children made him famous (well, that and his model granddaughter, the curvaceous Sophie Dahl), but it recently came to my knowledge that he had also written books for grownups. Curious to see if his peculiar magic endured past the onset of puberty, I sought out some of these books. Turns out they’re comprised mainly of morbid crime stories – one is about a woman who beats her husband to death with a frozen leg of lamb and then serves it to the policeman when he comes round asking questions – and scandalous entertainments as in the collection “Switch Bitch” (Yup, that’s ‘Switch Bitch’ by children’s author Roald Dahl!) and finally the lesser-known but exceedingly disturbing ‘My Uncle Oswald’, a novel about “the greatest fornicator of all time.”
It’s jarring to read works that are very different than what you’ve come to expect. I recall blushing every time J. K. Rowling dropped the F-word in her first post-Potter book (seriously, they find a dead baby in a cupboard at one stage, talk about dark themes…). But occasionally the dissonance is so great as to require you to stop, stare and pause at the wonder of the word.
You will understand, then, why my heart leapt when I saw that Altaf Hussain, our very own Prince of Darkness, had launched his own English-language book, a self-help manual/treatise on the human condition entitled “The Philosophy of Love”.
Let me just run that by you again: The. Philosophy. Of. Love. By Altaf Hussain.
[quote]I'd have sooner believed that the pope wrote a book called 'Contraception and Me: A Papa's Journey'[/quote]
A month ago, I’d have sooner believed that the pope wrote a book called ‘Contraception and Me: A Papa’s Journey’ than that Altaf Hussain of the MQM had written a book on love, but here we are, basking in the loving. It seems such a perverse – and brilliant – thing to do for a man routinely accused of murder and mayhem and much else besides.
The book seems to be quite a sweeping tome, despite being based on a lecture Altaf Bhai gave back in 2003. In it, he lays out the revolutionary idea that if we all love each other a little more, than we wouldn’t be so divided as a nation. (That’s right: let’s love more. And kill less, please.) Turns out that Love, in the words of Captain & Tenille, will keep us together. He also goes into an analysis of Pakistani proto history, saying that the creation of Pakistan was inevitable because “the Hindus” were being really mean to us, leaving no option for us but to divide the sub-continent. Since then, the lack of love has divided us further and led to our present confusion.
His arguments are mainly aimed at the “muhajir” community, weaving a narrative of their departure from India for Pakistan and their subsequent struggle for political representation and some share of our national resources through the decades.
Partition was tough, obviously. We know that, but I honestly don’t see the point in holding onto “muhajir” as a socio-political identity. Almost seventy years and three generations after the Partition, it seems counterproductive.
But not to everyone. The MQM ranks are falling over themselves to say how lovely the book is, how long-awaited and how absolutely seminal. (Will they be gassed and throttled if they don’t? Spread the love!) You’d think he’d just written ‘The Secret’. As for ringing endorsements, senator Mushahid Hussain Syed promises us that we’ll get to “feel the romantic side of Altaf Hussain”, a statement I shall leave open to interpretation.
Let’s not be coy here. I don’t think anyone with a brain thinks Altaf Hussain is the poster child of peace (image: Altaf as free-love hippy circa 1968, with bellbottoms and flowery headpiece). I’m not basing this on rumor, or unproven cases, or what his supporters routinely call “unproven allegations”. All I’m saying is that it’s sad for a man who routinely threatens protestors and politicians in Karachi with “swift retribution”, calls for the secession of this country’s only functioning port, and has publicly spoken about levels of bloodshed to have the temerity to launch a book aimed at teaching us about Love. Almost everyone around me seems to think the book is a bit of a joke and par for the course as political propaganda for his “image” – was it Malala that inspired him? – rather than a serious attempt to engage with the struggle of living.
I disagree. I believe words matter. It matters to me, for instance, that Imran Khan has been on that container for months, harping on about the corruptions of politicians, but has refused to talk about the Taliban or the Army. It is beyond self-serving; it’s detrimentally selfish and adds to the chorus of lies and self-deceptions that we cling to even in the face of obvious, bleeding realities.
So it’s no longer funny for me to see mockeries of public perception, such as Altaf Hussain’s book, or Friar TuQ’s farewell speech. I can’t overlook or dismiss such disingenuous performances as mere “strategy” or necessity or whatever. When powerful people dissemble, it is imperative upon the citizenry to point it out.
Which is what I think I’m doing.
Write to thekantawala@gmail.com and follow @fkantawala on twitter
I too went through a Dahl phase. But rather than focus my mania on Matilda (“You’re a telekinetic, stop playing the victim!”) or Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory (worst book in the world for a fat kid), I luxuriated in ‘The Witches’, a magical and surprisingly agreeable romp through the business of child abduction and large-scale espionage.
Dahl’s books for children made him famous (well, that and his model granddaughter, the curvaceous Sophie Dahl), but it recently came to my knowledge that he had also written books for grownups. Curious to see if his peculiar magic endured past the onset of puberty, I sought out some of these books. Turns out they’re comprised mainly of morbid crime stories – one is about a woman who beats her husband to death with a frozen leg of lamb and then serves it to the policeman when he comes round asking questions – and scandalous entertainments as in the collection “Switch Bitch” (Yup, that’s ‘Switch Bitch’ by children’s author Roald Dahl!) and finally the lesser-known but exceedingly disturbing ‘My Uncle Oswald’, a novel about “the greatest fornicator of all time.”
It’s jarring to read works that are very different than what you’ve come to expect. I recall blushing every time J. K. Rowling dropped the F-word in her first post-Potter book (seriously, they find a dead baby in a cupboard at one stage, talk about dark themes…). But occasionally the dissonance is so great as to require you to stop, stare and pause at the wonder of the word.
You will understand, then, why my heart leapt when I saw that Altaf Hussain, our very own Prince of Darkness, had launched his own English-language book, a self-help manual/treatise on the human condition entitled “The Philosophy of Love”.
Let me just run that by you again: The. Philosophy. Of. Love. By Altaf Hussain.
[quote]I'd have sooner believed that the pope wrote a book called 'Contraception and Me: A Papa's Journey'[/quote]
A month ago, I’d have sooner believed that the pope wrote a book called ‘Contraception and Me: A Papa’s Journey’ than that Altaf Hussain of the MQM had written a book on love, but here we are, basking in the loving. It seems such a perverse – and brilliant – thing to do for a man routinely accused of murder and mayhem and much else besides.
The book seems to be quite a sweeping tome, despite being based on a lecture Altaf Bhai gave back in 2003. In it, he lays out the revolutionary idea that if we all love each other a little more, than we wouldn’t be so divided as a nation. (That’s right: let’s love more. And kill less, please.) Turns out that Love, in the words of Captain & Tenille, will keep us together. He also goes into an analysis of Pakistani proto history, saying that the creation of Pakistan was inevitable because “the Hindus” were being really mean to us, leaving no option for us but to divide the sub-continent. Since then, the lack of love has divided us further and led to our present confusion.
His arguments are mainly aimed at the “muhajir” community, weaving a narrative of their departure from India for Pakistan and their subsequent struggle for political representation and some share of our national resources through the decades.
Partition was tough, obviously. We know that, but I honestly don’t see the point in holding onto “muhajir” as a socio-political identity. Almost seventy years and three generations after the Partition, it seems counterproductive.
But not to everyone. The MQM ranks are falling over themselves to say how lovely the book is, how long-awaited and how absolutely seminal. (Will they be gassed and throttled if they don’t? Spread the love!) You’d think he’d just written ‘The Secret’. As for ringing endorsements, senator Mushahid Hussain Syed promises us that we’ll get to “feel the romantic side of Altaf Hussain”, a statement I shall leave open to interpretation.
Let’s not be coy here. I don’t think anyone with a brain thinks Altaf Hussain is the poster child of peace (image: Altaf as free-love hippy circa 1968, with bellbottoms and flowery headpiece). I’m not basing this on rumor, or unproven cases, or what his supporters routinely call “unproven allegations”. All I’m saying is that it’s sad for a man who routinely threatens protestors and politicians in Karachi with “swift retribution”, calls for the secession of this country’s only functioning port, and has publicly spoken about levels of bloodshed to have the temerity to launch a book aimed at teaching us about Love. Almost everyone around me seems to think the book is a bit of a joke and par for the course as political propaganda for his “image” – was it Malala that inspired him? – rather than a serious attempt to engage with the struggle of living.
I disagree. I believe words matter. It matters to me, for instance, that Imran Khan has been on that container for months, harping on about the corruptions of politicians, but has refused to talk about the Taliban or the Army. It is beyond self-serving; it’s detrimentally selfish and adds to the chorus of lies and self-deceptions that we cling to even in the face of obvious, bleeding realities.
So it’s no longer funny for me to see mockeries of public perception, such as Altaf Hussain’s book, or Friar TuQ’s farewell speech. I can’t overlook or dismiss such disingenuous performances as mere “strategy” or necessity or whatever. When powerful people dissemble, it is imperative upon the citizenry to point it out.
Which is what I think I’m doing.
Write to thekantawala@gmail.com and follow @fkantawala on twitter