Maniza Naqvi writes fiction. Her novels are: Mass Transit (OUP, Karachi, 1998); On Air (OUP, Karachi, 2000); Stay With Me (SAMA, Karachi 2004; Tara Press, India 2005); A Matter of Detail (SAMA, 2008; Tara Press, 2008); Sarajevo Saturdays (SAMA, 2009). Her short story "An Impossible Shade of Home Brew" is included in the anthology And then the World Changed (Feminist Press, 2008). Her short story "A Brief Acquaintance" is included in Neither Night Nor Day (Harper Collins, 2007). Email: manizanaqvi195 [at] hotmail.com
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—…
by Maniza Naqvi Chapter One: The Little Coffee Shop Chapter Two: The Hotel Chapter Three: Dreaming Dulles Chapter Four: Civil War Chapter Five: Stanley’s Girl Chapter Six: Hope “We are just props for validating and furthering their policy! We say no to them and they punch us hard and prove their point with another explosion!…
By Maniza Naqvi Chapter One: The Little Coffee Shop Chapter Two: The Hotel Chapter Three: Dreaming Dulles Chapter Four: Civil War Chapter Five: Stanley’s Girl There is no telling what a murdered man is capable of doing. Murdered, in the cross hairs of a surveillance camera mounted on an unmanned predator drone; murdered on national…
Maniza Naqvi I wrote this play in 1999. It was published in an anthology in 2005 and as a chapter in my novel A Matter of Detail in 2008. That Sara Aziz! Meet Ava, Sonia, Kulsum, and Shireen in four different levels but otally connected: From a sidewalk cafe where Ava who is a lawyer,…
By Maniza Naqvi Today, the other, would be Estonia. And outside, not a sound, a moment worth savoring had come to town: as if in anticipation, as though they were all on the same side; same thoughts; same direction. Whatever happened today, it would happen to them together. Jasna got out of bed—washed her face,…
By Maniza Naqvi Chapter One: The Little Coffee Shop Chapter Two: The Hotel Chapter Three: Dreaming Dulles Chapter Four: Sovereign Debt or Civil War The terminal entered, Pakistan left behind she adjusted for the gained time. Younger by an hour—she smiled, fiddling with her watch. One of the perks of the job: eternal youth and…
Maniza Naqvi Chapter One: The Little Coffee Shop Chapter Two: The Hotel Chapter 3: Dreaming Dulles Stanley knew—Eileen would have him murdered. It was understandable. At another time he would have done the same. And the hours left to save her—someone who was life itself to him–were but a few. Madness—to have made so much…
By Maniza Naqvi She had been at Arlington cemetery on that hot swampy August day when a flag draped coffin had arrived from Andrews Air Base. The constant roar of planes taking off from National Airport nearby and the insistent shrill of their landings was making it difficult for Eileen to hear the speeches though…
By Maniza Naqvi Our infallibility—our goddamn innocence, Eileen, the infallibility of—-of—of– our goddamn—-goddammit! He had slurred-his words when he had called her in the middle of the night-it was 4.22 a.m. to be exact because she had seen the numbers glowing on the digital bedside clock built into the dashboard at her bedside. Then he…
By Maniza Naqvi Would she, the question was put to her discreetly, add a small personnel issue to her tasks on this particular field visit? Could she perhaps get a reality check on McMullen? In response, she had raised an eyebrow, conveying that she was intrigued by the request but non committal to an affirmative.…
By Maniza Naqvi While Israeli F-18s created sonic booms and closed the open skies above; and the barbed wiring for the fences and the pre-fabricated planks for the wall surrounding Gaza steadily settled down as the facts on the ground; and while Colin Powell droned on about the “roadmap for peace” on CNN; and the…
By Maniza Naqvi I focus hard on being polite to him. I don’t want to give myself away. I ingratiate myself with every sentence and every gesture. I reach out and touch his arm, replenish the wine in his glass. He is visiting from Belgrade. I gush about how wonderful this town is. How friendly…
By Maniza Naqvi Just as the frigid February evening air is stirred by the imams calling out the azan from all over the valley on Monday evening —Hiya al salah—hiya al falah— “come towards worship—come towards salvation”— Rahima pulls a cigarette out from her pack of Drinas; sticks it between her lips; lights it; dials…
By Maniza Naqvi The first time I saw an unmanned drone aircraft was in Karachi when I sat directly under one trying to compose myself into a pose of cool collectedness despite the heat. That day in June 1998 I had gone to get my photograph taken professionally for the promotion of my first novel…
By Maniza Naqvi “You should write an American story.” “'Don’t think I can.” “Of course you can. You just haven’t tried.” “What would I write about?” “I don’t know. You tell me. In fact, go ahead. Try telling me an American story.' '”Now?” “Yeah! Now! What better place then this, sitting here at your favorite…
An imagined conversation between Tariq Ali and Benazir Bhutto. By Maniza Naqvi Act I: The Leftist and the Leader: Scene/Stage: There is a screen at the back of the stage which plays the clip, of General Zia-ul-Haq, declaring Martial Law, on July 5, 1977. When the speech ends, two spot lights have searched, found and…
by Maniza Naqvi The nurse steps back after she finishes wrapping Danis’s head in a bandage of fresh white gauze. Danis is dying of brain cancer. He is dying gracefully despite the horrible pain. She takes a look at her handiwork and smiles as she strokes his head and thinks back to the thick mane…