63 –
Pakistan – Nadeem Aslam – Maps for Lost Lovers – September 2018 (Score 8.7)
This
story is of the people, from Pakistan, who are living in a large area in London
away from the centre of the city. All the street names are in Urdu. The author
doesn’t say whether the name plates are in Urdu script or in the Latin
alphabet.
The
name, Dasht-e-Tanhai, which the immigrants apply to London, translates as “The
Waste Land of Loneliness” or, as in the transliteration given below from the
song as sung by Meesha Shah (among others). A book of the same title was
written by Fakhira Batool. I can’t trace whether the poem comes from the book
or vice versa. I found a version on the internet. The sound is beautiful, even
if I don’ speak the language.
“The Desert of my solitude
In the desert of my
solitude, my love, quiver the shadows of your voice, the mirage of your lips.
In the desert of my solitude, from beneath the dust and ashes of the distance between us, bloom the jasmines and the roses of your presence.
From somewhere close by rises the warmth of your breath it smolders in its own perfume – gently, languorously.
Far away, on the horizon, glistens drop by drop, the dew of your beguiling glance.
With such tenderness, my love, your meMeesha Shahmory has placed its hand on the cheek of my heart
That although this is the dawn of our farewell, it feels as if the sun has set on our day of separation and the night of our union is already at hand.”
In the desert of my solitude, from beneath the dust and ashes of the distance between us, bloom the jasmines and the roses of your presence.
From somewhere close by rises the warmth of your breath it smolders in its own perfume – gently, languorously.
Far away, on the horizon, glistens drop by drop, the dew of your beguiling glance.
With such tenderness, my love, your meMeesha Shahmory has placed its hand on the cheek of my heart
That although this is the dawn of our farewell, it feels as if the sun has set on our day of separation and the night of our union is already at hand.”
Towards
the beginning of the book there is some history of the antagonism between
Pakistanis and Hindus in the sub-continent with the wars between East and West
Pakistan and India. This antagonism seems to have been carried over to London
by immigrants from those countries.
The
primary protagonists are the extended family of Shamas who is a well- educated,
and self-taught man, trying to keep his family together. Although a Moslem,
Shamas learns that he was born a Hindu. His wife is Kaurab, uneducated and
speaks very little English even after many years in London. Their family are
all well-educated and speak both languages
The book
is packed full of tension, of things which have happened, have not happened or
may yet happen, people seeing what they should not have seen and have, anyway,
misconstrued. All this reflects on other people and their lives, usually badly.
Bearing
in mind the events in the story I had a frisson of shock when Shamas found a
heart on the footpath, cut in two. It was two orchid flowers which had fallen
from a funeral wreath.
The book
is beautifully written, with many references to nature, impossible to list.
Read the book to find them. I enjoyed it very much, even allowing for the bad
things which happen at intervals. One thing in particular brought the period
back to me – Jack Frost patterns on the windows in the winter. We had never
heard of central heating and double glazing, let alone insulation. I would
guess that they probably didn’t even exist at the time. I scored this book at
ten.
posted by World Bookgroup @ 3:45 pm
