Saba Ahmed on the searing political comment in Julius John’s artwork
Lending a much-needed hand to the growth of contemporary art in Pakistan, Seher Tareen recently showcased the work of artist Julius John at Rohtas Gallery in Lahore. Having broadcast the work of minority artists, in particular the Hazaras, for her Master’s thesis while at St. Martin’s in London, Tareen continues to hold a candle to the flame of Pakistani art. “It’s important to elucidate what artists have to say about the social and political situation in a country,†she says.
But what does Julius John, the artist whose work Tareen has curated, want to show? We find a deeply personal response to the physical and emotional encroachments of the State. John was born and raised in Kot Lakhpat. He has spoken about the “ganda naala†that divides the posh areas of the city from the relatively impoverished quarters of the Christian community. Three years ago, the government razed the settlements to make a road. The decision naturally altered the landscape, but it also left a deep imprint on John.
John decided to create something directly on the walls of the gallery. His work consists of three parts: two-dimensional wall paintings, an installation, and the play of light and shadow. Upon entering, the gallery is shrouded in darkness. Linear shadows merge and flicker on the walls. A dim glow outside the window illuminates the shadows cast by the trees; it is the only trace of light inside. Ambiguous spaces, seemingly ruinous and barren, are rendered on the walls in strong strokes of black pastel. There is a single Christmas tree bathed in red. Next to it, a bathtub oozes black tar.
John has developed his own system of cartography: successive photography, counting his steps as well as counting landmarks, like trees and bridges
Painting directly on the walls is one of the most powerful things about John’s work. Once the show comes down, the walls will be painted over. In the moment of viewing, however, the observer can’t help but be immersed in the piece. People who came to the gallery in a cheery mood left melancholic and perhaps even a little depressed: John holds a stark mirror to the society we live in. It made me think that there is no such thing as “apolitical art†in Pakistan. In a country ravaged by violence, the political seeps into every aspect of the personal. John’s Christmas tree is not brimming with shiny baubles; it is blood-soaked.
About the show, Tareen said, “I wanted to create an experience for viewers unlike most commercial art exhibitions where you have sculptures on pedestals and paintings on the walls. P.S. {ART} has been able to break free of the shackles of run-of-the-mill gallery shows where art work waits obediently to be purchased by trend-chasing enthusiasts.â€
John told me he was inspired by the Situationist movement of the ‘70’s, in which a group of artists and architects believed that the city should be a constant source of wonderment for its inhabitants. Their process involved moving through the city, documenting it and making alternate maps that they referred to as psycho-geographical maps. Similarly, John has developed his own system of cartography: successive photography, counting his steps as well as counting landmarks, like trees and bridges. John shared an example to illustrate his process: “There is a piece I have done titled 3000 steps of solitude: I walked along an open sewer and photographed the houses situated on the other side of the sewer. I would take a photograph every 30 steps and in total, ended up taking about 3000 steps. Conclusively, I drew all the steps using a solder rod on thermal paper and joined the photographs together.â€
The Christmas tree is not brimming with shiny baubles; it is blood-soaked
Before the show went up, Tareen was away in London while John was at the gallery for a span of two weeks; the space was his and he could do as he pleased. Tareen returned to find everything covered in black pastel. “For him, it was a very creative, immersive process. There is tremendous immensity in his strokes.â€
Creative it certainly is, but I left the gallery feeling both awe-struck and sad. John’s art is an unmistakable response to the violence of the State.
Saba Ahmed meets Arjumand Bano, entrepreneur extraordinaireÂ
The peacock that eclipses all other fashion motifs, including the Angry Birds chick, can be traced to architect-cum-fashion designer, Arjumand Bano. Upon arrival at her swanky and meticulous studio in Defence, I see that the peacock is just one of many motifs that Arjumand has single-handedly developed in her signature 3D style. She is an artist who believes in creating something exquisite from her bare thoughts. This instinct coupled with serious drive makes her a formidable contender in the world of Pakistani fashion, where old powerhouses are found to be, more often than not, stoic and formulaic.
At Beaconhouse National University in Lahore, Arjumand developed a discipline in sketching that led to ideas one rarely sees in the carousel of commercial fashion designers. Of her process, she says: “The idea evolves from the first sketch to the last; the result itself is often a complete transformation from the initial scribble! Like most artists, I keep sketching and then I leave it for a while; I revisit my design and it can take up to three months to work it all out.” That she sketches with a needlepoint drafting pencil is telling of the effort that goes into her drawings. No computer-aided software for Arjumand, who believes in feeling out her work through hand drawings and extensively intricate sketches. As she says, “I love paying attention to detail.”
The two months of November and December, Arjumand can be found exclusively in her tracks and a huge chaaddar, surrounded by mugs of coffee and her sketches
With increased access to technology and the manically-updated bubble that is social media, designers in the East can keep up now more than ever before with the fashion world of the West. Arjumand argues that this is the changing face of the industry: In fits and starts, new designers are trying to outdo the old by putting in longer hours. “Everyone in the Pakistani fashion industry is trying to stay on top of their game because every year you hear there are fifty new designers coming out!” But the profusion of fashion designers has somewhat devalued the profession, says Arjumand. When people find out about her occupation, their reaction is, “Oh God, another fashion designer!”
If anything, the reaction has spurred Arjumand to stick to her guns. “Every party I’d go to, I’d put together something to wear, often stitching it myself. A good friend, Rana Nauman, asked me why I didn’t just do this for a living. For the longest time, it was a hobby: taking scraps of fabric and putting something fun together,” Arjumand recalls of her pre-Opera House fashion obsession.
Eventually, her family convinced her to go for it. Arjumand dotes on her mother and tells me how all this would not have been possible without her mom who has given her strong motivation to excel and to be happy. “I’ve always been the kind of person who never wants to be treated differently because I am a girl. My parents have always been so proud of me: I do architecture, I do clothing, and I take care of my family. Even if everything drives me crazy, I love it because I’m a workaholic and I want to have no regrets about having missed out on life, especially because I was a girl.”
‘I’m a workaholic and I want to have no regrets about having missed out on life, especially because I was a girl’
The study of Mughal architecture and jaali work, patterns, mehrabs and various other more figurative elements has brought Arjumand to the realm of old-world workmanship that merges with a contemporary vision. “I don’t just like doing a simple motif on a shirt, I like to go the extra distance and would want it in 3D.” True words from someone who is constantly seeking to do better in everything—from how the inside of her studio looks to how her labour is run. A workaholic to boot, Arjumand finds it difficult to delegate: in the process, a degree of charm and attention to detail is lost, she says. But as she expands, she is learning to slowly entrust her colleagues with authority. “Every time a client comes back to me, the little child inside me jumps with excitement!”Â
The two months of November and December, Arjumand can be found exclusively in her tracks and a huge chaaddar, surrounded by mugs of coffee and her sketches. She is churning out work for the onslaught of shaadis that begins in the winter. Often, when she ventures out herself, she finds people in her eveningwear. “It’s a great feeling to run into someone wearing my designs and hear them say how strikingly signature my pieces are.” Some of Arjumand’s signature flourishes include peacock motifs, jewellery woven into pieces, and bright embroidery reminiscent of Pakistani truck art.
“When it comes to creation, it’s constantly a learning process”, says Arjumand. With anyone coming into the fashion industry, especially those with a college education behind them, engaging with Pakistani craftspeople is a true test of patience. Putting aside the lack of proper documentation of age-old crafts, Arjumand has learnt everything by simply plunging headlong into her work, and getting her hands dirty. Now, nothing makes her happier than working alongside her kaarigars to create something old from new, and vice versa.Â
The soft and sad melodies of Poor Rich Boy make a gorgeous addition to the spectrum of contemporary music in Pakistan. Shy, nerdy, and bracingly honest, GT talked to the “poor rich boys” about their fears and inspirations
Saba Ahmed: How did you start out as a band?
Shehzad Noor: Zain and I used to be in a two-member acoustic band. Then we got two more members, made it a fully-fledged band, and began performing at The Guitar School. Hamza Jafri owns that school; he used to have Koven gigs there and we used to open for them. Then I became friends with Umer Khan, (whom we all call Duck), who had been doing songs online for a very long time. So we started writing together. Zain really liked one of those songs and that song became Alice. Then Umer Khan and I wrote a song together, Fair Weather Friend and both these two songs are featured in the new album.
‘My sister once responded to my whining by calling me a poor rich boy. It stuck with me. Our music is sad-sounding but, Mashallah, we eat three square meals a day. We like the irony of it’
Zain Ahsan: Yeah, we met and bounced around some ideas, played at cafes and recorded some demos until eventually we realized the need to grow into a band. We needed to add a bass player and a drummer. So we got Zain Maulvi and Ravail on board.
SA: How would you describe your music?
We composed the songs on this album many years ago with an electric guitar and the bass inside a gym room and the sound produced was like hard rock. Or so people have said. Our last album has been described by listeners as indie.
SA: Who are your influences?
Zain Ahsan: Everyone has his own influences: Zain Maulvi listens to a lot of Jazz stuff. Shahzad listens to a lot of singer-songwriters; he’s heavily influenced by Tom Waits. Duck, I don’t even know whether he listens to music, but he makes a lot of it on his laptop. Danny again, he sort of listens to everything, but mostly guitarists, I mean, he is a guitar player. I’m heavily influenced by the blues. For the past two years I’ve been listening to a lot of indie bands. I really like the tones those guys used, there’s the early 90s grunge like Rage Against the Machine, Sound Garden, Nirvana and Stone Temple Pilots. I’ll need to listen to them, because I’m the one producing our albums.
SA: Who do you play for?
Zain Ahsan: Whoever wants to come and listen. We don’t want to say ‘hey you, you can’t come listen to our music and you, you can.’
SA: How do you guys reach a consensus about what you present to your audiences?
Shehzad Noor: Short answer, we don’t.
Duck: We just stop playing whenever someone gets tired.
Shehzad Noor: Whoever has the most energy at that point in time, he takes it forward and it’s usually this guy (points to Zain Ahsan). When we’re conceiving the music too, whoever has the most energy will take his idea forward. Nobody hates anything and everyone in the band is respectful of one another.
‘We are less badtameez and we swear less when we play for more conservative audiences’
Zain Ahsan: At the end of it, we give each other a green light; the song doesn’t go out until every one of us likes it.
SA: How far would you say the type of audience you’re playing for affects your live performances?
Duck: I have serious stage anxiety and I’m just scared regardless of where we’re playing. If the audience number exceeds, say, seven people, I start freaking out.
Zain Ahsan: I don’t really look at the crowd much. I just turn away and look at the band so I don’t really know what’s going on behind me.
Duck: We are less badtameez and we swear less when we play for more conservative audiences.
SA: Most of you work day jobs. How do you balance that with a musicians’ lifestyle, gigs, late nights, practice sessions, etc.?
Shehzad Noor: It’s still something that I’m learning to get the hang of. It’s difficult. I teach drama and music at an IB school in Lahore, it’s pretty demanding and there’s a lot of work. The weekend is when I can take some time out to meet with the band and work on some material. In order to make this album happen, we spent a couple of months together working and practicing. As far as gigs go, the Khayaal festival gig we recently played at, we met up a couple of days before and frantically rehearsed. Basically, I’m just trying to survive.
Duck: This would be a problem if we were really in the mainstream. Right now, with the music scene the way it is, it’s a big deal to get a gig even once a month. It’s pretty manageable. We’re not that famous yet!
SA: How did you come to name the band Poor Rich Boy?
Shehzad Noor: My sister once responded to my whining by calling me a poor rich boy. It stuck with me. Our music is sad-sounding but Mashallah we eat three square meals a day. We like the irony of it.
SA: What’s the best thing about being in a band together?
Shehzad Noor: When everybody’s on the same page it’s really beautiful.
Duck: I never thought that I could sing in front of people or that I would be able to share my creative abilities with a bunch of people who would not only understand what I’m trying to do but also support it for strange reasons that are beyond me. Of course I dreamt of it, and one day it became possible. And I’ve really enjoyed myself. When you go to university, there are idiotic people who say, ‘this guy’s crazy and weird.’ I meet these guys in the band and they are fine with who I am. They get how I am irreverent about some things, yet hold other things very dear.
SA: How do you distinguish yourselves from other bands out there?
Zain Ahsan: We’re broke, they’re not.
Natasha Noman reviews the most talked-about American TV shows of the season
Scandal
In yet another Washington-based political thriller (it’s a shame no other countries can offer interesting politics), a ‘fixer’/PR specialist, Olivia Pope (Kerry Washington), gets drawn into the nefarious affairs of corrupt and often stupid politicians. She happens to run one of the best crisis management firms in DC — which can rather conveniently achieve anything (in the space of an episode, might I add), from circumventing CIA security to waltzing into the Oval office on whim. The twist: she’s sleeping with the President. Sometimes. The palpable chemistry between Pope and the President percolates through the screen and might be one of the show’s better merits. Line deliveries are not the show’s strong suit, predictably overacted and, well, predictably predictable. Washington says most of her lines with a disdainful upper lip curl, followed by an incredulous chuckle and a poker face. Her trusty, emotionally damaged former-CIA sidekick at the firm conveys everything from a look to a line with a shaky face and intense, unblinking eyes peeking out from a head lowered out of suspicion and a smattering of PTSD. The plots are often wildly unbelievable, a sensationalized version of Capitol Hill’s goings-on, but — similar to our friend’s at Homeland — the show can’t help but suck you in and make you crave more. Much like a cheap drug, it’s great at the time but you only realize how bad it is once it’s out of your system.
Rating: 6/10
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Girls
Oh, Girls. What can I say? This show brands itself as the portrayal of what it’s like to be a young, struggling artist in the grimy world of hipster Brooklyn. One problem: everybody’s white. Okay, there are lots of problems; but that’s the main one. It’s painfully homogenous, full of middle/upper-middle class caucasians, excluding the experience of anyone who’s a) a different skin color and/or b) from a different socioeconomic stratum. Lena Dunham, creator/writer/ star/producer/on-set chaiwallah and anything else you can think of, never loses an opportunity to strip down and use unsavory ‘intimate’ scenes to help the show’s shock-factor (one of its selling-points). I’ve heard viewers and fans remark on how this aspect is a sign of liberation, a modern-day female emancipation born from the literal and figurative stripping down. However, I see it more as a symptom of self-loathing: Dunham draws flagrant attention to her more unattractive features, such that you’re too distracted by your own judgment (whether it be good or bad), to focus on her own. Some moments are good at capturing the fitful loneliness and desperation of the human experience. But it seems to me the griminess of the show is an attempt to make it a ‘realistic’ and ‘honest’ representation of being in your twenties in New York — unlike it’s predecessor, ‘Sex and the City,’ which is built off of an excessively glamorized version of living in NY. The grime, however, appears more as facade than substance. Watch it for laughs, though, and to get an idea of what it’s like to be creative, white, and middle-class in Brooklyn. Like any good fried food, take it with lots of grains of salt, privately enjoy it and then feel mildly guilty afterward.
Rating: 5/10
*****
The Good Wife
This show follows the evolution of a middle-aged woman, Alicia Florrick (Julianna Marguiles), after her politician husband falls from grace in a sex scandal and she is forced to return to the workforce after a roughly fifteen-year hiatus. Having trained as a lawyer, she manages to get herself a job at a top Chicago law firm, thanks to an ex-boyfriend from law school. The writers use the circumstances as tinder for tentatively rekindling a love affair between the two. Alicia is conflicted between attempting to salvage a marriage rife with betrayal and hurt, for the sake of keeping her family together, and a former lover with whom there seems to be unfinished business.
If these reviews didn’t reek of subjectivity already, you’re about to get a heavy dose of it now. I find it hard to be scathing of this show, given how wonderfully understated and superbly acted it is. Yes, it has many of the same problems the political thrillers do — things happen at warp speed. Lawsuits will start and end in a day. Court dates are set within hours, rather than weeks. And, naturally, they win the vast majority of their cases. Having said all that, it achieves the same thing Homeland does, occasionally leaving the viewers with a feeling of confusion and unease. The characters’ internal conflict is reflected in how the audience approaches each new scene, feeling equally uncertain — whether it be over the righteousness of a lawyer’s defense or the pursuit of a love interest. The writers adeptly blur lines of morality, sexuality, loyalty, the nature of relationships, among other things, throughout the series. You see Alicia transform from a dewy-eyed, shell-shocked mother and wife into a hardened, independent, ambitious lawyer. And the transformation is played beautifully.
One of the strongest characters is indubitably Kalinda Sharma (Archie Panjabi — you can’t make these names up), offering not only mystique and intrigue, but a bit of diversity, too, as an Indian; she is perhaps the most intractable character I’ve seen on television. All around, a superbly written show and a fascinating exploration of loyalty: both to oneself and to others.
Rating: 10/10
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Homeland
In this Washington-based political thriller (where else do politics happen?), a returned marine may have been broken by his Islamic terrorist captors during his eight-year internment. One CIA operative, Carrie (Claire Danes), develops an obsession with exposing the lauded war hero. To make things more interesting, she suffers from bipolar disorder – which always manifests itself in her quivering chin and furtive, widened eyes (complete with a maniacal glint) in practically every scene. These are coupled with her taking out a pill bottle every five minutes to consume what I can only hope are breath mints. I will credit the show with the compelling, addictive storyline and leaving the audience just as confused and conflicted as the protagonists. The absence of any clear answers leaves the audience perennially questioning the characters’ motives.
Rating: 8/10
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One of the strongest characters is Kalinda Sharma (Archie Panjabi — you can’t make these names up)
Jalal Salahuddin on a whirlwind tour of several foreign chefs in Pakistan
Sitting on a beautiful terrace on a cool and crisp evening in Santa Rosa, California last September, I tasted a handmade tagliatelle dish with braised lamb ragout and had an epiphany. The food presented to us at Zazu, a well-known Sonoma Valley restaurant run by an incredible husband-and-wife team, represented the best of the area’s storied food tradition. The style of eating and drinking in Northern California is classic yet progressive, inventive and contemporary at the same time. Spending a month there was an education. The superb organic produce, the gorgeous vineyards and the talented chefs from around the world who have settled there have created a mecca for foodies and epicurians which matches Tuscany and Burgundy. I began to think to myself: why can’t we have a more exciting culinary scene here in Pakistan? Although many new restaurants have opened up and people in the major cities have become more interested in food, we are still developing our restaurant culture and have not yet embraced a farm-to-table ethos (though perhaps in a strange way, Pakistan’s rural poor have). But organic brands are coming up and we still do eat fairly seasonally in Pakistan. This is a good sign and will be one of the building blocks of our evolving culinary culture.
Twelve restaurants, three cities, three international chefs, one foreign illusionist, and a highly skilled Cuban Cigar Roller
Upon my return from California I got a call from a brand that was interested in bringing chefs from around the world to cook in Pakistani restaurants for a night each. We had done an event like this before with the master brand but this time the 7-Up Chefs Bonanza was to have three chefs cook in a series of restaurants in Karachi, Lahore and Islamabad. This was meant to give diners a novel experience in a restaurant they visit often. The culinary marathon was an exhilarating series of events: twelve restaurants, three cities, three international chefs, one foreign illusionist, and a highly skilled Cuban Cigar Roller, all in the span of three weeks!
I met and interacted with all sorts of people from around the globe, witnessed back-of-the-house of restaurants, talked to the restaurateurs and saw them mingle with international culinary gurus, ate exciting food, and last but not the least experienced the most exciting foreign entertainment in Pakistan.
Laughter and applause emanated throughout the evening as guests were left baffled and delighted at the magician’s mind-bending tricks
It started off with a Michelin Star chef Guiliano Tassinari from Bologna, Italy, who presented out some fabulous Italian dishes such as risotto with green apples and balsamic reduction and handmade tagliatelle in a fresh tomato sauce. For the first few events it was difficult for him to work in the local kitchens due to a lack of equipment and unavailability of ingredients. But as the events proceeded, his menu showcased what true Italian recipes are all about. He got a chance to cook at the Chameleon at Royal Palm, Café Zouk Lahore, Tiramisu in Islamabad, and Café Koel and Montecristo in Karachi. Chef Fazil, an expert in East Asian and Oriental Cuisine, also showcased fabulous food options ranging from Pan Asian to Fusion cuisine at Café Zouk in Lahore, China Town Islamabad and Fuchsia in Karachi. Choices in soups to desserts were vast and tough to choose from as each dish sounded more delicious than the previous one. Everyone loves spicy Asian food here so dishes such as Fazil’s are always well-received. The Lebanese part of the event kicked off at Café Aylanto in Karachi. Amidst a cool breeze and candlelight, guests enjoyed a delectable four-course Lebanese menu prepared by international Chef Fadi el-Reweissati who has been the executive chef for many five-star hotels worldwide. He displayed his culinary expertise at the Café Aylanto Lahore & Karachi, Al-Majlis Islamabad and Polo Lounge Lahore and Islamabad. Anyone familiar with Lebanese cuisine or simply good food would’ve enjoyed the authentic selection of cold and hot Lebanese mezze which included a fresh vegetable platter, fatuoush, tabouleh, hummus, baba ganoush, moussaka, carrot mutable and homemade pita bread.
All this while the Malaysian magician Rosen Roy kept guests entertained during their meals. Laughter and applause emanated throughout the evening as guests were left baffled and delighted at the magician’s mind-bending tricks. The restaurants were filled with warmth and chatter as people mingled with local celebrities and socialites.
Lastly, some evenings featured a fantastic female Cuban cigar roller. Having flown in from the Habanos factory in Cuba, Mercedes skillfully rolled fresh authentic Cuban Habanos cigars for the guests, right in front of their eyes. She is a skilled roller working at Habanos since 1982; she has obtained the 9th Category of Certification (the highest level among Cuban cigar rolling). There are a few things in the world that are known to be the best of their kind. A Havana cigar is one of them.
