I used to write a lot for the Friday Times and The News on Sunday, two weekly publications in Pakistan, a few years ago. Sunday newspaper reading was always a favourite activity in our house and it was difficult to get hold of your favourite section. We used to get The Muslim and Daily Jang, before Muslim was replaced by The News.
We were all encouraged to write for print from a very young age. I remember my father would ask us to read the editorial and send letters to the editor. This when we were all 8, 10, and 13.
Us siblings had quite a monopoly over the kids section in the Muslim. One weekend the same page had contributions from all three of us: An article by my sister, my poem and my brother's drawing. Most people used to think that this was a definite case of some nepotism (this being Islamabad- everyone is related to everyone else). My sister got 100 articles published in the Muslim as a teenager and was recognized by the paper for her talent- we were all so proud of her. My parents would pull out the paper recognizing her, at the slightest interest by a random guest.
There is something about seeing your name and writing in print on actual paper (which smells amazing after all these years). You can not edit, change or improve it. It's set in stone. I wish I could say for eternity. Most newspapers end up recycled or to cover the pot of rice for the final "steaming".
I had saved all my published articles in a folder. When I moved from Pakistan to Canada I just had three and a half suitcases to pack 28 years of my life (I had allowed my husband half a suitcase). I could not bring back that folder then, or for the next couple of trips. But I did as soon as I could.
I went through some of my old writings today with a queasy stomach. A conversation with a friend here in Calgary reminded me of one of the articles I had written on the same topic, so I took it out and read it again. It was like I had opened a time capsule. Each of the writings at different stages of my life showed such different shades: I was so fearless but naive. I felt like reaching out to my younger self and giving her a hug. I am glad I had this saved. No picture or video would have reminded me of the emotions I had felt in different stages of my life, as the writings did.
I will share some of them on this blog with a label "old publications". Maybe someday after many years I will read back this post and be reminded how I had felt after a long day working, managing home, dealing with life and successfully putting a toddler to bed.
We were all encouraged to write for print from a very young age. I remember my father would ask us to read the editorial and send letters to the editor. This when we were all 8, 10, and 13.
Us siblings had quite a monopoly over the kids section in the Muslim. One weekend the same page had contributions from all three of us: An article by my sister, my poem and my brother's drawing. Most people used to think that this was a definite case of some nepotism (this being Islamabad- everyone is related to everyone else). My sister got 100 articles published in the Muslim as a teenager and was recognized by the paper for her talent- we were all so proud of her. My parents would pull out the paper recognizing her, at the slightest interest by a random guest.
There is something about seeing your name and writing in print on actual paper (which smells amazing after all these years). You can not edit, change or improve it. It's set in stone. I wish I could say for eternity. Most newspapers end up recycled or to cover the pot of rice for the final "steaming".
I had saved all my published articles in a folder. When I moved from Pakistan to Canada I just had three and a half suitcases to pack 28 years of my life (I had allowed my husband half a suitcase). I could not bring back that folder then, or for the next couple of trips. But I did as soon as I could.
I went through some of my old writings today with a queasy stomach. A conversation with a friend here in Calgary reminded me of one of the articles I had written on the same topic, so I took it out and read it again. It was like I had opened a time capsule. Each of the writings at different stages of my life showed such different shades: I was so fearless but naive. I felt like reaching out to my younger self and giving her a hug. I am glad I had this saved. No picture or video would have reminded me of the emotions I had felt in different stages of my life, as the writings did.
I will share some of them on this blog with a label "old publications". Maybe someday after many years I will read back this post and be reminded how I had felt after a long day working, managing home, dealing with life and successfully putting a toddler to bed.
What a delight reading your post and going down the memory lane! I am so proud of the younger Jaffri joining the blogging wonderland too! Welcome welcome! Thanks for the mention ;) I need to sort out the Muslim articles too, and send you the quoted famous pages with all three of us on the same page ;) Good times!
ReplyDeleteShaista
I am glad our conversation last night inspired you to post that particular article. Loving the writing. Indeed, when you read something you wrote in the past, you will always be your worst critic. I used to read old essays and feel that I was a terrible writer. But then, I was very wisely told by a teacher, "You weren't terrible then. It's just that your thoughts, vocabulary, perspective have matured."
ReplyDeleteKeep writing, I'll definitely be reading. Perhaps I'll kickstart my old blog too :)
Fatima
Yes pls! would love to read your blog and thanks for the feedback:)
Deletewelcome to the blogging world - ;) dust open those old articles and lets see if the talent in indeed in the blood stream ;)
ReplyDeleteBut ofcourse it is :p She has most certainly taken after her talented, wise and kind older sister :p
DeleteThanks! Hmmm oh there are lots of funny family stories on this one. Let's see how much I inherited :)
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ReplyDeleteWhat a great story!
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