Watermarked: Voices of Pakistan, heard in a whole new way
Watermarked: Voices of Pakistan is a bold collection of literary works by prominent Pakistani writers which creatively explores the themes of ‘women’ and ‘water’ – Radha Spratt delves deep
Pakistan is both figuratively and literally marked by water – the memory of the floods is still raw, its wounds run deep into the land and fabric of Pakistani society, and women and children are its most vulnerable victims. Watermarked’s dramatic cover – featuring young Pakistani children revelling in ferocious waves – hints at the two straightforward themes of the collection; yet, the stories and the accompanying images in this booklet are anything but straightforward.
Ziauddin Sardar’s piece dips into the ritual and metaphorical importance of water in Islam, and is a call for the renovation and rejuvenation of the prescriptions of Shariah, the word meaning ‘a path to a watering hole’ – one from which spiritual thirsts can be quenched.
Homa Khaleeli, editor of Watermarked, explains that “very few people are giving voice to a liberal view of Islam at the moment. There’s a very strict interpretation that’s come through Saudi Arabia via Afghanistan into Pakistan that’s getting a really strong foothold. It also plays into the patriarchal structure that’s already there, making things more problematic for women.”
In this context, Mohsin Hamid’s story, ‘In Concert, No Touching’ – which is boyish candour with a powerful undercurrent of sensuality – can be read as a metaphor for perceptions of women in society being shaped by the ideas of others; he’s at a sufi dance/trance event, sweating profusely, when stolen glances with a covered woman perspiring alongside join them – in his mind – in a sort of private communion.
Maha Khan Phillips’ ‘The Beach’ counters Hamid’s romanticism with a hard-hitting story about domestic violence in high society; a relaxed gathering of family and friends by the seaside – all eating, drinking, chit-chatting – takes a dark turn. When speaking of the internal conflict of Pakistani women – like the ones in her story – she says, “It is very hard to be educated and empowered as a woman, only to then feel restrained by society or culture.” Kausar Turabi, who was involved in the execution of the project, puts this in more personal terms: “You have this freedom but your internal superego is still reminiscing about what your mother told you was decent or not, or what you can achieve, which is a universal inhibition or conditioning.”
Sabyn Javeri writes about people “who want nothing to do with politics, but politics keeps happening to them”; she contributes ‘A Malady of the Heart’, an extract from a novel in progress. It explores with quiet grace that moment when a sceptic encounters the unexplained, and begins to wonder. Her story is “a reflection of a society where pragmatism and superstition go hand in hand.”
The other contributors – Kamila Shamsie, Shazia Mirza and Sehba Sarwar – add yet more dimension to the intriguing and alluring portrait of Pakistan that Watermarked paints, and transmit what the collection’s producers initially desired: “To explain to people that Pakistan can also be a vibrant, beautiful, green, hospitable and fascinating place, full of creative energy.”
Maha Phillips expresses frustration that “people in the UK and elsewhere see Pakistan purely in terms of being… a state where there are either victims or oppressors. Nothing is ever black or white,” she asserts, “and Pakistan is definitely a country with a million different shades of grey.”
Keen on providing an honest glimpse of the Pakistan they know and love through the eyes of its unofficial ambassadors – its artists – a group of professional British women of Pakistani origin decided on an unusual fundraising initiative that would put the nation into balanced perspective. They produced Watermarked with a boldness and creativity that captures the spirit of Pakistan’s diverse population. They also hosted a successful fundraising event called ‘Artistan’ which featured traditional music, art and crafts from the country.
The money they have raised will go towards rebuilding a school in the Sindh province as well as providing basic provisions for flood victims; they’re channelling it through the All Pakistan Women’s Association (APWA), one of the oldest and most well-respected charities in Pakistan, which recently gained registered status in the UK.
Zhaleh Khaleeli, whose grandmother and great-aunt have both been presidents of APWA, outlined that the charity is “involved in promoting financial independence of women through cottage industries,” and has a network of educational institutions and health clinics throughout Pakistan. Author Javeri explains that their work is all the more crucial as, “so many families suffer because the women are not allowed to step outside for work, even if their men don’t earn.”
Reflecting on changes in Pakistan today, Turabi remarks, “The depression it’s going through is a great force for creativity. I think people are becoming slightly less fearful of saying what they feel about how things should be done.”
This attitude certainly comes across in Watermarked: the pieces present either subtle criticisms, or convey nostalgic longing for something lost. The collection travels through the territories of religion, sexuality, familial bonds and patriarchal power, ultimately coming full circle to promote and support the causes of women and those whose lives and livelihoods have been decimated by the floods. Watermarked is nothing less than a worthy literary endeavour for an even worthier cause.
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