Posts

Showing posts from December 7, 2008

A Candid Chat with Arab-American Poet Dima Hilal

Dima Hilal, an Arab-american poet creates buzz in media as well as in the literary ambience with her poems, which are the reflection of the humanitarian crisis of Lebanon, Iraq, etc. She is a resident of California now. Her works appear in the publications—San Francisco Chronicle, Orion literary journal, Aramco, The Poetry of Arab Women: A Contemporary Anthology, edited by Nathalie Handal (Interlink Books, 2001) and Scheherazade’s Legacy: Arab and Arab American Women on Writing, edited by Susan Muaddi Darraj (Praeger, 2004). Hilal gives some insights on her works and leverage of dual cultures on her poetic creation in a candid chat.Excerpts from the interview: * Your writing is a form of activism. What is your personal view regarding this? I believe that writing is a very powerful form of activism. Writing can serve to document, record and witness. It has the power to humanize and paint a picture of what would otherwise be forgotten, or worse, remain invisible. It also brings the dialo
Image
Image
Image
Image
Image

Can my Virginity Be Restored?

Though sometimes I am getting bored with daily newspaper stories, yet some news catch my attention. It may be an interview with a litterateur, stories of a sabbatical move, a solar bra, the non-conformists, Big B and Lalu’s blog, personal history of Barrack Obama, etc. When I was going through HT City, 14 June, 08 issue, the photographs of a woman with three buds of lotus caught my attention. Mostly in other days, the front page of HT City is about Bollywood or Hollywood celebrities or perennial stories of Ash and her hubby. It is about a cosmetic surgery namely revirgination or hymenoplasty. The twist line of the story is that ‘ A little cosmetic surgery is how young women are erasing their sexual history before marriage.”(Quote from the story)The news adds more “ Dr Devansh from Max Health Care, an expert in hymenoplasty says that the women who have approached him for the surgery do so for reasons of moral satisfaction. One of the patients who approached him asked, Can my virginity b

Do You Believe in God?

When I came back from my home with a shady heart in February, I met a Delhi University Research Scholar in my train journey. He is doing research on Arsenic Contamination in Ground Water. After friendly discussions, he asked me a traditional question, "Do you believe in God?" He carries a Bible with him and most of the times he was reading it.Most of the times in my life, I face this question. I said him, I do not believe in God, but in an invisible power. My answer is quite puzzling, in the middle juncture, a little God believer or not. He weaved a story to convince me that God creates this world and the Almighty exists. He quoted so many lines from Bible. A line is "A woman who fears to God is to be praised." I told him that I read it several times and familiar to so many similes, images and metaphors. Even I told him that I see supreme God believers who created unlimited infidelity and crime in their life. I said him my mother believes in God and does prayer at h

Autumn Buff

Amidst the dryness of Delhi, I miss the "Autumn Season" of my little village and its new looks, the green paddy field, the blue river Disang, the hills touching the horizon. The Kahua blowing in the bank of the river Yamuna couldn’t cool down my passion. Really it is an ecstasy for me to spend a few days in my little village amidst the magic of autumn season. How is amazing, wonderful, the seasonal delight of the idyllic life??????????? Oh, my little village, still you are in the lapse of nature. No, industrialization, no globalization………….

His memories haunt me

He was the Sun & Samurai. As I tried to forget him, his memories come and create puzzle to my daily life. He was none, but my brave and courageous father. He was extravagant and luxurious. Even in his saddest days he did not leave his originality. He never sacrificed his luxury for well breed of our siblings. He joined Indian Navy in 1957 and took VRS after 15 years. He told us splendidly the amazing days of war, his brave stories of war and exotic tales of war & sea so cleverly that I could not guess whether he supported war or not. He never told me about morality and marriage but said about self-dependency. He was liberal. He welcomed my friends as “Hi comrades”. He was modern, yet never left his roots, social mores and customs. Even he was more modern than my brother who is working in the corporate world. When I fear for something, My Mom says “You are not your father’s daughter. Be brave my little daughter.” He always cried for a lost world. His visit to a town is a metapho

Winter stanza

Winter is dry, yet sensuous Nostalgia wraps me How can I forget The Kingdom of reminiscence?