I. Rida Mahmood's Blog, page 3
August 19, 2022
The Long Way to Joseph Anton
by I. Rida Mahmood
Fall, 1993 – Amman, Jordan
We sat at our desks as we succeeded one another into the classroom after the morning assembly. Most of us huddled with their neighbor; some sat in an awkward, contorted position in their seat, with their torso facing forward and their head turned back. Small mouths chattered incessantly, giggled occasionally, exchanging the latest jokes, or filling each other in with highlights of the latest episode of their favorite anime show – or that late night drama, for those whose parents were more lenient about bedtime. Many heads wore a ponytail; others wore a long, tight braid; some wore a stylish headband to keep their hair away from their eyes. Few heads were covered with a white headscarf.
The teacher walked in. Silence prevailed. All up on their feet.
After the usual exchange of greetings, we sat down. Time to begin the first class of the day: Islamic Studies.
The teacher’s eyes widened, her hand on her chest.
“Girls, have you watched the news last night?” Her veiled head oscillated, scouting out volunteers. It couldn’t be me, as I was among those who were sent to bed every night at 8:00 p.m. sharp, right when the news broadcast began.
“About the Indian writer?” asked a girl in the middle row. My envious eyes almost pierced the back of her head.
“Yes!” said the teacher, her tone a mix of relief and excitement. “That horrible Indian writer! Did you hear the title of his book? He named it Ayat Shaytaniyah!”
The whole class let out a loud gasp. What? Satanic Verses? The horror!
The teacher went on a tirade against the author, whose name she couldn’t recall. As she vented her frustration and contempt, she gloated over Khomeini’s fatwa, calling for the author’s death. “He will spend the rest of his life on the run!”
The author’s name, of course, was Salman Rushdie. And I guarantee that, to this day, our revered teacher hasn’t bothered to read his “Satanic” work – or any of his works for that matter.
I can’t say for sure what prompted Jordan’s national TV to report on Rushdie in 1993. Perhaps it was in objection to awarding him the Booker of Bookers that year; a gesture that the religious entities most likely saw as an affront to the Muslim World. After all, I didn’t watch the news. But it was thanks to this report that the work of Salman Rushdie found its way into my psyche, at the age of 10, all despite my parents’ strict bedtime rules.
* * *
Few years into the new millennium – Amman, Jordan
Intrigued by a slew of online – and thankfully unsuccessful – petitions to extradite Rushdie to Pakistani authorities, I got my hands on a copy of the notorious work, with the help of a few kindred spirits. It began:
To say I was mesmerized is an understatement.
This was the voice of Orpheus emanating from the pages and I was serenaded, lured into a magical interstice between the realms of poetry and prose. I say this as an English major who spent a great chunk of her life in the company of the greats, from Shakespeare to John Milton to George Bernard Shaw to Charles Dickens to Oscar Wilde to James Joyce to William Faulkner to F. Scott Fitzgerald to T. S. Elliot to E. E. Cummings to…
I searched for an offensive passage, but to no avail. And even if I did stumble upon it, nothing a writer may possibly pen down could warrant a death sentence or threat.
Nothing.
* * *
October 7, 2013 – The Other Side of the World
I arrived on Olive Way. The evening was rainless, my favorite city still walkable as ever. Ten minutes of brisk walking and I was in front of Town Hall Seattle. The lines were so long they looped around three sides of the building. Somehow, I still managed to find my friend Nick. We hugged. My enthusiasm must’ve seeped through him.
“You look a little excited,” he said. We laughed.
We managed to find good seats. Many people had to attend standing in the back of the hall. After the presentation and the Q&A, I met the man in the flesh, the man I was taught to hate, only to end up asking for his autograph on my copy of Joseph Anton two decades later.
“Mahmood!” said Rushdie, looking at my name card. “Is that from Pakistan or…?”
“Jordan!” I responded, barely able to contain myself.
“Ah!” he said, as he signed the book with his usual elegance.
How I wished I had more time to let him in on a journey that began in sixth grade, a story that he must’ve heard thousands of times before, with minor differences each time. I looked behind me at a long line of fans waiting for their turn, so I settled for a smile of gratitude and a heartfelt “thank you!”
Fall, 1993 – Amman, Jordan
We sat at our desks as we succeeded one another into the classroom after the morning assembly. Most of us huddled with their neighbor; some sat in an awkward, contorted position in their seat, with their torso facing forward and their head turned back. Small mouths chattered incessantly, giggled occasionally, exchanging the latest jokes, or filling each other in with highlights of the latest episode of their favorite anime show – or that late night drama, for those whose parents were more lenient about bedtime. Many heads wore a ponytail; others wore a long, tight braid; some wore a stylish headband to keep their hair away from their eyes. Few heads were covered with a white headscarf.
The teacher walked in. Silence prevailed. All up on their feet.
After the usual exchange of greetings, we sat down. Time to begin the first class of the day: Islamic Studies.
The teacher’s eyes widened, her hand on her chest.
“Girls, have you watched the news last night?” Her veiled head oscillated, scouting out volunteers. It couldn’t be me, as I was among those who were sent to bed every night at 8:00 p.m. sharp, right when the news broadcast began.
“About the Indian writer?” asked a girl in the middle row. My envious eyes almost pierced the back of her head.
“Yes!” said the teacher, her tone a mix of relief and excitement. “That horrible Indian writer! Did you hear the title of his book? He named it Ayat Shaytaniyah!”
The whole class let out a loud gasp. What? Satanic Verses? The horror!
The teacher went on a tirade against the author, whose name she couldn’t recall. As she vented her frustration and contempt, she gloated over Khomeini’s fatwa, calling for the author’s death. “He will spend the rest of his life on the run!”
The author’s name, of course, was Salman Rushdie. And I guarantee that, to this day, our revered teacher hasn’t bothered to read his “Satanic” work – or any of his works for that matter.
I can’t say for sure what prompted Jordan’s national TV to report on Rushdie in 1993. Perhaps it was in objection to awarding him the Booker of Bookers that year; a gesture that the religious entities most likely saw as an affront to the Muslim World. After all, I didn’t watch the news. But it was thanks to this report that the work of Salman Rushdie found its way into my psyche, at the age of 10, all despite my parents’ strict bedtime rules.
* * *
Few years into the new millennium – Amman, Jordan
Intrigued by a slew of online – and thankfully unsuccessful – petitions to extradite Rushdie to Pakistani authorities, I got my hands on a copy of the notorious work, with the help of a few kindred spirits. It began:
‘To be born again,’ sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens, ‘first you have to die. Ho ji! Ho ji! To land upon the bosomy earth, first one needs to fly. Tat-taa! Taka-thun! How to ever smile again, if first you won’t cry? How to win the darling’s love, mister, without a sigh? Baba, if you want to get born again …’ Just before dawn one winter’s morning, New Year’s Day or thereabouts, two real, full-grown, living men fell from a great height, twenty-nine thousand and two feet, towards the English Channel, without benefit of parachutes or wings, out of a clear sky.
To say I was mesmerized is an understatement.
This was the voice of Orpheus emanating from the pages and I was serenaded, lured into a magical interstice between the realms of poetry and prose. I say this as an English major who spent a great chunk of her life in the company of the greats, from Shakespeare to John Milton to George Bernard Shaw to Charles Dickens to Oscar Wilde to James Joyce to William Faulkner to F. Scott Fitzgerald to T. S. Elliot to E. E. Cummings to…
I searched for an offensive passage, but to no avail. And even if I did stumble upon it, nothing a writer may possibly pen down could warrant a death sentence or threat.
Nothing.
* * *
October 7, 2013 – The Other Side of the World
I arrived on Olive Way. The evening was rainless, my favorite city still walkable as ever. Ten minutes of brisk walking and I was in front of Town Hall Seattle. The lines were so long they looped around three sides of the building. Somehow, I still managed to find my friend Nick. We hugged. My enthusiasm must’ve seeped through him.
“You look a little excited,” he said. We laughed.
We managed to find good seats. Many people had to attend standing in the back of the hall. After the presentation and the Q&A, I met the man in the flesh, the man I was taught to hate, only to end up asking for his autograph on my copy of Joseph Anton two decades later.
“Mahmood!” said Rushdie, looking at my name card. “Is that from Pakistan or…?”
“Jordan!” I responded, barely able to contain myself.
“Ah!” he said, as he signed the book with his usual elegance.
How I wished I had more time to let him in on a journey that began in sixth grade, a story that he must’ve heard thousands of times before, with minor differences each time. I looked behind me at a long line of fans waiting for their turn, so I settled for a smile of gratitude and a heartfelt “thank you!”
May 16, 2022
Theocracy Looms in Anti-Abortion Opinions of the Supreme Court
by: I. Rida Mahmood
Subjugating American women is another job that good old conservatives do not want to outsource to immigrants.
Sharia-phobic conservatives, while donning their favorite superhero capes and flying to rescue Afghan and Iraqi women from religious authoritarianism, have been working diligently to formulate and promote homemade policies that are equally authoritarian, misogynistic, and intrusive, with unmistakable religious underpinnings. The leaked US Supreme Court’s initial draft majority opinion targets American women in a way that would thrill the ghosts of Mullah Omar and Ayatollah Khomeini.
Read the full article:
https://themarkaz.org/theocracy-looms...
Subjugating American women is another job that good old conservatives do not want to outsource to immigrants.
Sharia-phobic conservatives, while donning their favorite superhero capes and flying to rescue Afghan and Iraqi women from religious authoritarianism, have been working diligently to formulate and promote homemade policies that are equally authoritarian, misogynistic, and intrusive, with unmistakable religious underpinnings. The leaked US Supreme Court’s initial draft majority opinion targets American women in a way that would thrill the ghosts of Mullah Omar and Ayatollah Khomeini.
Read the full article:
https://themarkaz.org/theocracy-looms...
February 21, 2022
New in Translation: Three Poems by Riyad al-Saleh al-Hussein
Nearly four decades after his death at the age of 28, Riyad al-Saleh al-Hussein’s work remains a vibrant part of the poetic and imaginative landscape of Syria and beyond.
ArabLit contributor Ibtihal Mahmood wrote of his brief life:
Read the full article here.
ArabLit contributor Ibtihal Mahmood wrote of his brief life:
Read the full article here.
January 3, 2022
America’s Freedom Hinges on the Survival of its Democracy
by: I. Rida Mahmood
The whole nation tuned in as he stood at the White House Ellipse on January 6th, 2021, marshalling an angry mob of “Stop the Steal” members, in the final act of throttling democracy. “And we fight,” he said. “We fight like hell, and if you don’t fight like hell, you’re not going to have a country anymore.”
Read the full article here:
https://themarkaz.org/americas-freedo...
The whole nation tuned in as he stood at the White House Ellipse on January 6th, 2021, marshalling an angry mob of “Stop the Steal” members, in the final act of throttling democracy. “And we fight,” he said. “We fight like hell, and if you don’t fight like hell, you’re not going to have a country anymore.”
Read the full article here:
https://themarkaz.org/americas-freedo...
March 26, 2021
Valentine by George Sand: A Review
by: I. Rida Mahmood
Had it not been for picking up a copy of Impromptu, a 1991 British-American film that highlighted the dreamy, fragile musician’s love affair with the powerful woman novelist, I might have never gotten the chance to experience the genius of her work or relish in the details of her vibrant being – her multiple love affairs, her unlawful s’habiller en homme (donning men’s clothing) and smoking in public, to name a few.
Read the full review here.
Had it not been for picking up a copy of Impromptu, a 1991 British-American film that highlighted the dreamy, fragile musician’s love affair with the powerful woman novelist, I might have never gotten the chance to experience the genius of her work or relish in the details of her vibrant being – her multiple love affairs, her unlawful s’habiller en homme (donning men’s clothing) and smoking in public, to name a few.
Read the full review here.
January 14, 2021
On American Democracy and Empire, a Corrective
by: I. Rida Mahmood
The next US Secretary of State Antony Blinken prefers to think of the past four years as an “aberration and not representative of what America is and aspires to be.” However, the riot at the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. and its aftermath might have exposed a deep-seated authoritarian, anti-democratic mindset among Republicans—one that predates Trump.
Read the full article on The Markaz Review here.
The next US Secretary of State Antony Blinken prefers to think of the past four years as an “aberration and not representative of what America is and aspires to be.” However, the riot at the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. and its aftermath might have exposed a deep-seated authoritarian, anti-democratic mindset among Republicans—one that predates Trump.
Read the full article on The Markaz Review here.
November 3, 2020
The Flying Flesh of Amjad Nasser’s ‘Adam’s Kingdom’
by: I. Rida Mahmood
The slender poetry collection مملكة آدم (Adam’s Kingdom) was the last book by the celebrated Jordanian poet, novelist, and travel writer Amjad Nasser (1955-2019).
Read the full review on Arablit.org here.
مملكة آدم
أمجد ناصر
The slender poetry collection مملكة آدم (Adam’s Kingdom) was the last book by the celebrated Jordanian poet, novelist, and travel writer Amjad Nasser (1955-2019).
Read the full review on Arablit.org here.
مملكة آدم
أمجد ناصر
July 20, 2020
6 by Elias Farkouh (1948-2020)
by: ArabLit.org, published on July 16, 2020
Yesterday, Jordanian novelist and publisher Elias Farkouh died of a heart attack at 72:
Farkouh — winner of a wide range of literary awards — wrote and published over the course of five decades. A few of his works have appeared in English translation, most recently in the magazine The Common, where Jordanian writer Hisham Bustani is an editor.
Read more:
https://arablit.org/2020/07/16/6-by-e...
Yesterday, Jordanian novelist and publisher Elias Farkouh died of a heart attack at 72:
Farkouh — winner of a wide range of literary awards — wrote and published over the course of five decades. A few of his works have appeared in English translation, most recently in the magazine The Common, where Jordanian writer Hisham Bustani is an editor.
Read more:
https://arablit.org/2020/07/16/6-by-e...
March 29, 2020
Which 9 Arab Poets Are Featured in the New Two Lines Anthology ‘Home’?
by: Arablit.org
As Ibtihal Mahmood writes in an introduction to poet Riyad al-Salih al-Hussein, “Thirty-five years after his death, at the age of 28, Riyad al-Saleh al-Hussein’s poems remain bold, invincible, and “simple like water, clear like a bullet” — with a breathtaking prophetic trait immersed in blue.” His work has been translated by Mahmood and published on ArabLit.
Read more on ArabLit.org:
https://arablit.org/2020/03/19/which-...
رياض الصالح الحسين
Riad Al-Saleh Al-Hussein
As Ibtihal Mahmood writes in an introduction to poet Riyad al-Salih al-Hussein, “Thirty-five years after his death, at the age of 28, Riyad al-Saleh al-Hussein’s poems remain bold, invincible, and “simple like water, clear like a bullet” — with a breathtaking prophetic trait immersed in blue.” His work has been translated by Mahmood and published on ArabLit.
Read more on ArabLit.org:
https://arablit.org/2020/03/19/which-...
رياض الصالح الحسين
Riad Al-Saleh Al-Hussein
February 11, 2020
Your Early Valentine's Day Poem: Loss is an Old Friend
"Loss is an old friend with holes in her hands." —no one
A wolf with sharp metaphors,
I was brave enough to let you
in
I'll wear my courage like a little red dress
under the Damascene rain
It is too opaque for God's eyes
to penetrate me
//
Mold grows between my breasts
I had a lover who left me for the woman I hid under my tongue
He left his kisses in the ashtray
Four years ----
The lips of war have grown too large.
Posted on allpoetry.com on Feb 11, 2020
A wolf with sharp metaphors,
I was brave enough to let you
in
I'll wear my courage like a little red dress
under the Damascene rain
It is too opaque for God's eyes
to penetrate me
//
Mold grows between my breasts
I had a lover who left me for the woman I hid under my tongue
He left his kisses in the ashtray
Four years ----
The lips of war have grown too large.
Posted on allpoetry.com on Feb 11, 2020
