Daily Times

Usually my Sundays are spent comfortably wrapped up in a warm, velvety quilt that my godmother gifted me some 28 months ago. This Sunday, however, was slightly different in its course: early in the morning I got a text from a friend who was in Karachi and wanted to reconnect over a cup of splendid matka chai, something that we both utterly cherish; right after, I dropped my bickering sister’s son to his friend’s birthday gathering, where, when we reached, some 15 12-year-olds were nestled closely in a circle, discussing Charles Dickens’ literary masterpiece Great Expectations’ Pip- to be honest this surprised me because as an English language teacher in a bustling metropolis like Karachi it is always a struggle to bring my children – I mean my students; that is just how I refer to them – to read; this was, of course, followed by an event that I was ardently looking forward to attend, author Sabyn Javeri’s crackling conversation centring the metaphorical representation of hijab in her literary masterpiece Hijabistan.

Throughout the talk, which almost ran for about one hour and a quarter of it, I thought of Sabyn Javeri’s tribute to her mother at the start of this defiantly stubborn, rebellious and deceptively sunny – it is no coincidence that these words were used by Javeri on the first page of her debut novel’s description of its lead, without actually naming her – anthology of short stories, which, no wonder, states at the outset, ‘For Ami, Please forgive me’ Curious about its subtext I dodged some parts of the conversation unravelling up on the stage, however, my questions got answered as I heard Javeri speak about her relationship with her mother. Perhaps a little queer.

She wanted to be different and here is she, as quoted by a member of the audience, falling into the league of extraordinary female writers of the subcontinent like Ismat Chughtai and Rasheed Jahan.

Still utterly absorbed by the layers of emotions explored by Javeri in the short stories that incorporate characters whose lives are somehow – or in many ways – affected by or linked with hijab, it is taking time to unpack the notions of existence and veiled identities that Javeri has unspooled in her unusually striking and definitely very, very unsettling compilation of complex character portraits – that is how I would like to address her work. This is mostly intimate because of two reasons: it works on building the mood and imagery, especially when it comes to Karachi and the portraiture of its lead characters that are shown as flesh and blood humans, not caricatures.

For instance, if we take the protagonist of the first short, ‘The Date’, her outline is so scrupulously sculpted that one can almost feel her agony, her guilt, her desire to break free. And this is the case with most shorts here.

My top pick of the lot is ‘Radha’, which is a lot like reality. The building of tension feels real here. The atmosphere and setting make you uncomfortable enough to sit up, cooking up a whirlwind of cascading emotions that hit you like a cavalcade of chaotic rumbles in the subterranean layers of your subconscious, which, when jolted, plays havoc with your self-identity and the way you perceive this superficially built facade of society, preferring cosmetic touch over actual ‘self’, as a result, compelling humans – both men and women – to veneer their rough edges with a more decorative yet concealed version of themselves.

To an extent, the string of short stories in this stunningly ambitious book allows one to understand how patriarchy makes way for matriarchs within family setups. That is forced conditioning of women to conform to the standards of men and then, they bring up generation after generation by caging them in mental and physical barricades, the ones endorsed by the holier-than-thou societal standards.

The point that Javeri brings home, without sledge hammering, is: toxic matriarchy is as harmful for the society as patriarchy. The larger problem with the society that we inhabit is: both go hand in hand, thus suffocating a lot of young souls that is forced to give up on its dreams.

So let’s be upfront: nothing, or no story in this anthology is made ostensibly attractive or acceptable. Or, as a matter of fact, no feminist role models are mounted to make the stories enticing for a certain target audience. Rather Javeri chooses to go low-key and let the readers derive what is in there and see where the rot is. And when we come to terms with it, we realise that the rot is, in fact, too deep.

And this is the result of systematic conditioning of men and women to act in the way they do.

Javeri, however, does not shy away from exploring these narratives. Her work is also reminiscent of great works. Like her writing in ‘The Urge’ made me go back to intricate works of literature and filmmaking like ‘Lihaaf’ and ‘Dedh Ishqiya’, respectively. The best thing about Javeri is that she is exceptionally well aware of the pop culture and her book clearly depicts that.

Hijabistan is a work of courage that triggers a conversation and allows us to explore the role of men and women in the society. With veil or without veil: not even a single story passes judgement on its women. The stories, on the other hand, choose to deep dive in the undercurrents of secrets hidden under those abayas, making way for Javeri to flaunt her insightful and incisive – but also very sensitive – research on the characters that drive her slithering, thoughtful compendium of veiled identities and punctuate her poignantly portrayed portrayals with moments of pinching dark humour.

This is neither a pessimistic telling of its leading ladies nor overly optimistic; its characters constantly oscillate between being desperately flawed and depressingly amusing – a doing of their surroundings. And the veil, even if we like it or not, is still mercilessly tugged away every night, the lipstick smudged and the mascara smeared.

The writer is a teacher based in Karachi and can be reached at adnan.murad@live.com