Abtabad

by Maniza Naqvi “Last night I dreamt I went back to Manderley.” I muttered. Sadaf seemed smaller, diminished, no longer the huge imposing mansion within a sprawling compound of the splendid gardens of my childhood. The scales of time, experience and perspective had taken their toll. We had driven around the neighborhood several times looking…

Divining Water

By Maniza Naqvi “Say: Just think: If your water were to dry up in the morning who will bring you water from a fresh, flowing stream?” A sunflower yellow plastic container caught my attention as my cab weaved its way through morning traffic in DC. Exactly the kind carried every day of the year on…

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To be able Just to be Present With Without Want Of Possession. Is it possible? This nothing? Is that the space Of not That space? That refuge? Is it possible? This nothing? Where nothing, is. After journeys of Need, Want, Loss. This addition Of shedding is Nothing. The place arrived. Build me a space where…

Shame On Us

By Maniza Naqvi A time arrives when circumstances dictate that there is no choice. “Of course the choice is yours”— said the nonchalant and gentle voice—typically urbane, typically sophisticated— of a seasoned diplomat in the Embassy of Pakistan. His thinning hair jet black and a sliver of mustache equally gleaming above his lips curled into…

Imagining Lyari Through Akhtar Soomro

By Maniza Naqvi “I’ve lived all my life in my old neighborhood of Lyari. My father was a mason and he died of lung-cancer when I was six years old. I still feel his presence and remember his gestures and his appearance with his beard and a black and white checkered scarf on his head—…