“Writing is about relieving myself of many burdens” | Interviews
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Faryal Ali Gohar is a culture heritage manager, writer, filmmaker, actor and teachers, who are primarily associated with the theory and practice of history and theory of film and political economy. His work is described as a visual, poetic and song- a scream of these topics that he is astonishing and disturbing, which is the basis of his concerns as a human and animal rights lawyer. Its first novel in August (Penguin 2002) was based on a scent of wet Earth (Penguin 2002), its second feature film (Tabi Gly, 1997), focusing on the lives of the residents of the royal Mohala in Lahore. In further burial (2007) for nine places, it creates a clear scene of beauty in the war -torn Afghanistan and those who have forgotten with the characters who are struggling against frustration and neglect, which reaches the heights of flexibility. Its recent novel, the abundance of wild roses (Kenngit, 2024), connects the spirits of victims to men and women who strive to avoid hunters that are only in their minds. This novel and Faryal as author is being presented at this year’s Oxford Literary Festival in Oxford, Oxford, UK.
In an interview to The News on Sunday, she considers writing as a resistance process, the power of telling the story connected in life experience and her mother’s life and values continue to be aware of her work. Excerpt:
tThey reported on Sunday: Do you see writing as a sculpture – unless a shape appears – or removing the content like knitting, where your work as well as the sample becomes slowly?
fryal ali-gauhar: It’s like architecture for me. Not made, because there is a lot of two -dimensional made. Wide and length. The architecture is three -dimensional, and time and space are dimensions that are very difficult to handle in writing. I was trained as a filmmaker. I never studied literature. I was never taught the skill of writing. So I’m like wood through it. But I know that you have created the story from something you thought about, which shapes like a building in the ground and below. Back stories below the ground are the foundations on which you are telling the story. But the architecture I subscribe is an endless form-this is not a complete building.
I have no action because I don’t think about it. This is not an intellectual exercise for me. It’s not about craft. This is not about fashion. It is about to save yourself from many, many burdens.
TNS: Like catheters?
FG: This is not. This is even more unauthorized. If you use the woven as a resemblance, it is like opening the carpet. You know, like to separate it, separate all threads. Instead of keeping them together.
TNS: And then put them back as a story?
FG: Yes, as a story. And this is not just a story. Because, I mean, in childhood, I used to [do this] It was a night ritual before going to bed. You saw that it was so calm in the 60s that you could hear the lion roaring at the Lahore Zoo. I imagined that the lion was roaring with loneliness. And it seemed that it was disturbing to me. Then, if a car goes in the past, the lights go across the walls in these large bedrooms. And I, it was a baby, 6 or 7, listening to the lion’s loneliness and watching the light that hit the walls and then moving. It was as if I was in a cubicle with his own will. So, in my childhood, that room, my bedroom, my circus. It was my field. I imagined all the stories that walked because of the walls, and I saw shapes in the plaster of the wall. The house in which I was born was grown up, and maybe he would die, now is about 200 years old. It had these uneven levels of plaster. So when these levels are light, the shadows will be added. And I considered them like animals inside the plaster, all tell their stories. I will talk I was alone in childhood, and I am still. And for me, the process of writing, in my view, only comes from this very clear imagination.
You make this story from something you thought about, which shapes the ground and downstreams of the ground.
TNS: When did you realize that language is more than just communication?
FG: When I read the writings of my late mother, Khadija Marsina Ibrahim, I must have realized it. She was a wonderful author, but unfortunately, this country never recognized it. His novel was published during his life. I want to reproduce it. She used to write poetry. I found a collection of poems after he died because he never shared them with them. He had a beautiful voice. And it was smooth: his speech, his conversation.
TNS: You also dedicate the abundance of wild roses to your late mother. Tell us something else about its influence on your work.
FG: She was born in Gujarati Muslim parents in Cape Town and was educated at Kinnaird College in Lahore, and London School of Economics, London. She was an extraordinary woman who lived according to her principles – she denied wealth, encouraged learning, compassion, sharing and integrity. And she lived with them all.
While choosing to get out of the life of privilege, he established a house in the scardu almost fifty years ago, when hardly any roads went to remote villages where they climbed to meet women and children living in poverty. She was very well read, highly developed, highly developed and extremely sympathetic. These are the values I have in high respect. Through this book, I pay tribute to their efforts to help them that have left others behind.
TNS: Your female characters often suffer from previous generations. What do you mean by writing about the grief that is inherited?
FG: In fact, I chose not to have a baby – when I was still able to make a conscious decision after that, and then I decided that this generation was a very trend of trauma and how it makes us nervous and how neurosis does not stop us. It has been transferred to the children we bring into the world. And I just wanted to stop it.
[For example] When a parent does not have a healthy or loving conversation it becomes a quite nervous relationship [with each other]And children choose it. Therefore, they do not know how to develop a loving interaction in youth. And it continues. They bring children into the world who do not even learn how easy it is to be careful and kind – because neurosis is needed to release anger and sadness. So the tragedy of the generation is something I was very familiar with. To me, it is almost visible when I see people, when I meet people and I see their dynamics in a big setting.
A long version of the interview is available online
The interviewer is a member of the staff
