Not all men, but always a man
Zarrar Khan's In Flames delivers a gripping narrative of what it's like to be a woman in Karachi, through its sound design, characters, and spatial scenery, offering a true soundscape of terror.
The first day of the 16th Karachi Literature Festival (KLF) on Friday 7th February, concluded appropriately around 10:15 pm with the screening of Zarrar Khan's 2023 directorial debut In Flames, a film that left me and my friend hyper-aware about having to travel back home in a ride with a stranger.
As I watched Ramesha Nawal and Bakhtawar Mazhar play mother-daughter duo Mariam and Fariha on screen, navigating the onslaught of creepy, abusive or simply annoying men in their lives, I couldn't help but reflect on my own relationship with my amma. There are so many things that are left unsaid between us, things we know affect and shape a big part of who we are, such as the reality of existing as a woman in this world, and more specifically, in this city of Karachi.
This reality is projected onto us both externally, through our bodies—how we perceive our own limbs—and internally, through our subconscious gestures. The hand we place across our neck when we feel a pair of eyes on our flesh, the desperate grip of our shawl as we pull it tighter around our chest (we anticipate the betrayal of a strong gust of wind).
My amma never sat me down to tell me what I should expect living as a woman in this world. Neither did her mother before her, and neither did Fariha do so for Mariam.
We are made aware of what we are in for solely through our experiences and confrontations with the unfiltered and screaming face of the world. We live this reality every day, and we are living manifestations of it - in our bones, the lines on our face, the fists of our hands.
Characters Mariam and Fariha not only confront the things unsaid between them, but confront the one character in the film that leaves no stone unturned in making us realise the frailty of our existence—Karachi.
Karachi, as a spirited, potent, and dynamic entity, emerges as the film's main antagonist. It is the current against which all the characters, even the perverted men, are flowing.
The sensorial depiction of the city is, for me, the film's most captivating element. The fervent sound design perfectly captures the ghutan—the acute suffocation we feel, as if a boulder sits on our chest, living in this vast, open-mouthed, overflowing city.
The eerie resonating whistle of a security guard patrolling the area at ungodly hours of the night is symbolic of the ironic terror that the image represents i.e. no guard can protect you from the horrors that haunt you from within, be it within your house or your mind.
Sometimes, the guard himself is part of the problem.
Moreover, the film beautifully portrays the city's gluttonous appetite to overload our senses. The haunting shadows cast by the lights—the green light blinking over Mariam's head as she stands on the balcony, tormented by images of her deceased father, her deceased boyfriend's hands choking her, and the deviant rickshaw driver revealing his perverse intentions—are all symbolic of the overwhelming nausea induced by this environment.
Despite the bleakness and apprehension that all of us would undoubtedly feel once we confront the absurd caricatured dangers of our world, In Flames reminds us that hope exists.
Hope exists in love—in Fariha's arms as she embraces her daughter after saving her from a traumatic experience with the twisted rickshaw driver. It lies in a mother's silent observation of the subtle worry lines between her child's eyes, the hand that brushes the sweaty, matted hair from her fevered little one's face.
Here's hoping we can stop hiding someday, drowning our sorrows in the ocean, sending our woes up in flames, their red-hot embers burning a formidable memory in their wake.
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Express Tribune
11-02-2025
- Express Tribune
Not all men, but always a man
Zarrar Khan's In Flames delivers a gripping narrative of what it's like to be a woman in Karachi, through its sound design, characters, and spatial scenery, offering a true soundscape of terror. The first day of the 16th Karachi Literature Festival (KLF) on Friday 7th February, concluded appropriately around 10:15 pm with the screening of Zarrar Khan's 2023 directorial debut In Flames, a film that left me and my friend hyper-aware about having to travel back home in a ride with a stranger. As I watched Ramesha Nawal and Bakhtawar Mazhar play mother-daughter duo Mariam and Fariha on screen, navigating the onslaught of creepy, abusive or simply annoying men in their lives, I couldn't help but reflect on my own relationship with my amma. There are so many things that are left unsaid between us, things we know affect and shape a big part of who we are, such as the reality of existing as a woman in this world, and more specifically, in this city of Karachi. This reality is projected onto us both externally, through our bodies—how we perceive our own limbs—and internally, through our subconscious gestures. The hand we place across our neck when we feel a pair of eyes on our flesh, the desperate grip of our shawl as we pull it tighter around our chest (we anticipate the betrayal of a strong gust of wind). My amma never sat me down to tell me what I should expect living as a woman in this world. Neither did her mother before her, and neither did Fariha do so for Mariam. We are made aware of what we are in for solely through our experiences and confrontations with the unfiltered and screaming face of the world. We live this reality every day, and we are living manifestations of it - in our bones, the lines on our face, the fists of our hands. Characters Mariam and Fariha not only confront the things unsaid between them, but confront the one character in the film that leaves no stone unturned in making us realise the frailty of our existence—Karachi. Karachi, as a spirited, potent, and dynamic entity, emerges as the film's main antagonist. It is the current against which all the characters, even the perverted men, are flowing. The sensorial depiction of the city is, for me, the film's most captivating element. The fervent sound design perfectly captures the ghutan—the acute suffocation we feel, as if a boulder sits on our chest, living in this vast, open-mouthed, overflowing city. The eerie resonating whistle of a security guard patrolling the area at ungodly hours of the night is symbolic of the ironic terror that the image represents i.e. no guard can protect you from the horrors that haunt you from within, be it within your house or your mind. Sometimes, the guard himself is part of the problem. Moreover, the film beautifully portrays the city's gluttonous appetite to overload our senses. The haunting shadows cast by the lights—the green light blinking over Mariam's head as she stands on the balcony, tormented by images of her deceased father, her deceased boyfriend's hands choking her, and the deviant rickshaw driver revealing his perverse intentions—are all symbolic of the overwhelming nausea induced by this environment. Despite the bleakness and apprehension that all of us would undoubtedly feel once we confront the absurd caricatured dangers of our world, In Flames reminds us that hope exists. Hope exists in love—in Fariha's arms as she embraces her daughter after saving her from a traumatic experience with the twisted rickshaw driver. It lies in a mother's silent observation of the subtle worry lines between her child's eyes, the hand that brushes the sweaty, matted hair from her fevered little one's face. Here's hoping we can stop hiding someday, drowning our sorrows in the ocean, sending our woes up in flames, their red-hot embers burning a formidable memory in their wake.
Express Tribune
11-02-2025
- Express Tribune
A beginner's guide to surviving Karachi Literature Festival
As a first-time attendee at the Karachi Literature Festival (KLF) 2025, I braced myself for a day of intellectual stimulation, cultural immersion, and perhaps a few unexpected adventures. Little did I know that Sunday would offer all that and more, wrapped in the vibrant chaos that only Karachi can provide. The day began with an ambitious plan: attend the 11:00 a.m. session on "Media and Youth Mental Health: Role of Organisational Leadership" in Jasmine Hall. However, my morning enthusiasm was quickly dampened by the realisation that finding a decent cup of chai amidst a sea of literati is akin to locating a metaphor in a physics textbook. After a labyrinthine search through bustling bookstalls and animated discussions, I finally secured my caffeine fix, only to discover that the session had concluded. Lesson learned: at KLF, the early bird catches the panel discussion. Determined to make up for lost time, I headed to the Main Garden for the 12:00 p.m. talk, "Creating Resilience through Climate Change Education," featuring the esteemed Sherry Rehman. The discussion was as enlightening as it was urgent, underscoring the pivotal role of education in combating climate challenges. Feeling inspired, I decided to split my attention between two simultaneous sessions: "A Journey of Friendship and Political Activism" with Sherry Rehman and Victoria Schofield in Jasmine Hall, and the "Book Discussion: Three Tales from Gulistan-i-Saadi" in the same venue shortly after. In my naivety, I believed I could flit between sessions like a literary butterfly. Reality, however, had other plans. Navigating through throngs of bibliophiles, I arrived at the first session just as it was wrapping up and the second was commencing. Settling into a seat, I was soon engrossed in the rich narratives and scholarly discourse, momentarily forgetting my earlier misadventures. Between sessions, I found myself wandering toward what I thought was a space for young professionals—the Youth Pavilion. Expecting a vibrant discussion on literature, activism, or contemporary issues, I stepped inside only to find myself surrounded by excitable children, crayons in hand, deeply engrossed in storytelling and interactive workshops. It took me a moment to realise my mistake, but by then, a particularly enthusiastic volunteer had already invited me to participate. Politely excusing myself, I made a hasty retreat, my pride slightly bruised but my amusement fully intact. In an effort to reclaim my dignity, I ventured into the Art Gallery, a hidden gem tucked away from the main festival chaos. The gallery was a sanctuary of visual storytelling, showcasing works by emerging and established artists, each canvas speaking volumes about Karachi's cultural and socio-political landscape. Abstract interpretations of cityscapes, evocative portraits, and intricate calligraphy lined the walls, offering a refreshing contrast to the festival's literary focus. I lingered longer than expected, captivated by the seamless intersection of art and literature. As evening descended, the festival's energy crescendoed. The 6:00 p.m. slot presented a smorgasbord of options: "Emergence of Urdu Rap in Pakistan" in Jasmine Hall, a poetry session titled "شاعری کے رنگ جوانوں کے سنگ" in Aquarius Hall, and "From Chapters to Change: Literature and Environmental Justice" in Room 007. Torn between my burgeoning interest in Urdu rap and a lifelong love for poetry, I opted for the former, curious to see how contemporary music genres are shaping Pakistan's literary landscape. The session was a revelation, highlighting the fusion of traditional poetic forms with modern rhythms—a testament to the evolving narrative of Pakistani art. As the clock edged toward 7:15 p.m., the festival grounds buzzed with anticipation for the Closing Ceremony in the Main Garden. Keynote speeches by educationist Arfa Sayeda Zehra and journalist Mishal Husain promised profound insights into the cultural and educational paradigms of our time, followed by a soul-stirring Qawwali performance by Ustad Farid Ayaz and Ustad Abu Muhammad. Unfortunately, reality intervened—I glanced at the time, realising that staying any longer would mean a long, uncertain commute home. With a heavy heart and a lingering sense of FOMO, I made the reluctant decision to leave just as the final session was about to begin. As I walked away, the distant echoes of harmoniums and applause followed me, a reminder that sometimes, even the best-laid festival plans demand a bittersweet farewell. As I left the festival grounds, my tote bag heavier and my notepad fuller, I couldn't help but chuckle at the day's misadventures. From missing sessions in search of coffee to mistakenly joining a children's workshop and unexpectedly losing myself in an art gallery, my first KLF experience was an unforgettable tapestry of knowledge, culture, and community. Note to future self: arrive early, plan wisely, and always—always—carry a thermos of coffee. Until next year, KLF. This rookie will be back, wiser and ready for more literary escapades.
Express Tribune
10-02-2025
- Express Tribune
We all benefit from a creator's dream'
SLOUGH, ENGLAND: For a bookaholic (definition: one always has an emergency book on their person alongside the obligatory phone and wallet), nothing makes the heart twang with excitement more than a literature festival. I am talking, of course, about the 16th Karachi Literature Festival – and the very fact that it exists makes the bookaholic in me more homesick than ever, more so even than the combined pain of missing out on nihari and Bihari kabab rolls. Is there anything for the humble expat? Of course, the main joy in attending a literature festival or book fair of any description is grappling with the question, "How many books will not break the bank?" followed by the deliciously devilish thought, "Screw the bank, how many of these can I carry back to the car?" As an expat currently living in Slough – much too far away from the Beach Luxury Hotel – I was denied the raptures of walking away with a teetering pile of books. However, thanks to Oxford University Press taking the trouble to post mouth-watering reels and full-blown videos of panel discussions with industry experts, I could certainly be there vicariously. Whilst every single contributor spoke eloquently on the issues prevalent today – be it about art or about the world at large – this limited space does not permit paying adequate homage to their insights. Poring through the hours of raw footage posted by OUP, here are two cornerstone media women whose words stood out. Mishal Husain As an expat Pakistani woman, Mishal Husain is a force to be reckoned with – especially for someone wanting to prove to girls that a long-standing respectable career in the media is possible for anyone. Husain's face and voice will be familiar to any avid BBC news watcher for 28 years until late last year. The broadcast journalist, whose roots lie in Pakistan, spoke during the closing ceremony during her first stint at the festival, lauding the range of panel discussions from climate change to theatre in Sindhi, Balochi, Punjabi and Pashto, amongst many others. "The special spirit of Karachi has been brought under one roof – this has not happened by accident," Husain said warmly. Speaking in depth about her parents' and grandparents' experiences during partition, Husain said, "I mention all this because of the many writers and creators of different kinds who are gathered here. In their dreams, there will be fictional characters and the search for the right word of expression. For the visual creator, they will try to capture the right image that captures their scene. Film and documentary makers will dream of the perfect visuals. For agents and designers, there will be layouts and captions – and that's where all of us come in and come together. Paying homage to the depth and breadth of creators in the country, Husain poignantly noted, "We all benefit from the dreams of the creators. In the context of Pakistan, their work is no less of a part of the building of a nation than the building of a factory or a road." Kamila Shamsie on writing Any aspiring Pakistani novelist would do well to take on board Salt and Safron author Kamila Shamsie's advice on writing, which the writer eloquently expressed during a panel discussion running over an hour long. You would be surprised to know that there is much more to finishing a book than nailing the nitty gritty of your plot and the backstory of your characters. "If the writing has to feel alive, a lot of it has to be a surprise to you, as a writer," she advised. "There has to be a sense of discovery there. You really need to log into your subconscious." When it comes to getting under the skin of a place, Shamsie had more specific insights. "Writing about a place defines your relationship to that city," said the writer, who has previously gone on record to say that she is made up of the books that she has read as much as the cities she has lived in. Elaborating on the special nuances she incorporates about a place in her writing, Shamsie added, "When you write about a place, you need to know, what is the weather in May as opposed to November? What plants are in bloom? What trees are growing there?" Be not alarmed if you want to write fiction but cannot even keep a cactus alive. I don't know anything about plants," confessed Shamsie. "I'm terrible. But every one of my novels will tell you what is in bloom, what trees are around and whether they are in flower or not. When I'm writing about Karachi, I basically call my mother and ask her, 'In June, what's in flower?'" The details that Shamsie stitches into her prose becomes evident when we see her writer's mind at work – and to be given the opportunity to get a sneak peek behind the scenes makes the pain being so far away from this precious festival bearable. Other KLF highlights The three-day Karachi Literature Festival was held from February 7-9 at the Beach Luxury Hotel, with this year's theme revolving around 'Narrative from the Soil'. Panel discussions shed light on critical issues facing the city and its place in the world, seeking ways to move forward. Rather than dwelling on disorder, violence, and calamities, the aim was to understand these challenges and find lasting solutions. The key to finding these lasting solutions? Bringing on board a diverse group of writers, thinkers and literature enthusiasts to share their stories and ideas, exploring major trends and critical issues. Bearing all this in mind, the festival this year featured over 70 sessions, including 26 book launches with a mix of both Urdu and English, alongside 15 sessions showcasing theatre, story-time, and music for younger audiences. The broad range of sessions included talks on literature, education, public interest and culture, as well as performances, feature films, and a series of short independent film screenings. In a country where public libraries are as scarce as blue diamonds, for the committed book lover, any place with a horde of books in one place is tantamount to a fashionista discovering there is a 90 per cent sale on Gucci handbags. Add to that the icing on the cake of a place for Pakistani writers to come together and take part in panel discussions (free for us to watch, in person or online), and there is no finer way to spend a weekend.
