Salaam, Everybody,
CHOOCHOO ART
My grand-daughter Aliza Amjad, a student of Class Six, has a superb talent for making cute little decoration pieces from cardboard, coloured paper , glue and water colours etc.
The picture shows her latest creation, a gift for my work table . I call her Choochoo, and her creations CHOOCHOO ART : 1 May 2018
Salaam, Everybody,
On this prayerful night let’s pray for each other. May ALLAH grant our prayers.- 1 May 2018
ALHAMDOLILLAH !!!!!
میانوالی کا ایک اور اعزاز ——
My son, Prof Muhammad Akram Ali Malik presented his research paper at a special Conference in the Department of English, Punjab University , Lahore on May 5, 2018.
Dr Aamra Raza, Chairperson, Department of English, Punjab University, organized the Conference. Dr Saeed ur Rahman from University of Lahore presided.
Prof Muhammad Akram Ali belongs to Department of English GCU , Lahore. The picture shows Akram receiving recognition shield from Dr Saeed ur Rahman and Dr Aamra Raza.
7 May 2018
My latest Photo
May 7, 2018
Salaam, Everybody,
Some Phrasal Verbs made from the Verb HOLD :
1. I would have attended the meeting, but illness held me back.
( hold back = prevent / not allow )
2. The match was held off because of rain.
( hold off = postpone / delay )
3. He was not satisfied with his job, but he held on, because he had no choice.
( hold on = stick / remain in a position )
4. The enemy could not hold out against our air force.
( hold out = resist )
5. I got late as the traffic was held up for half an hour.
( hold up = stop / delay )- 8 May 2018
Salaam, Everybody,
The picture shows me with Gulistan Khan, Lehr Niazi, a promising young poet from Mochh. The book in my hand is the first collection of Lehr Niazi’s English poetry. Like me, Lehr Niazi too is a trilingual poet, playwright and story-writer. He writes in English, Urdu as well as Seraiki.
Lehr Niazi’s collection of English poetry is titled Dreams in the Desert. His poetry carries the sweet nostalgic flavour of the celebrated American poet, Robert Frost, Like Frost Lehr Niazi too is a humanist. He is sure to make his mark in this field. 9 May 2018
Salaam, Everybody,
Some idiomatic uses of MAKE :
1. Having said this, he made a beeline for the door.
( make a beeline for = move quickly )
2. He made a clean breast of the fault he had committed.
( make a clean breast of = confess )
3. He left his job to make a quick buck in business.
( make a quick buck = earn money quickly and easily )
4. As he didn’t know how to do that job, he made a muck of it.
( make a muck of = spoil / ruin )-13 May 2018
With my son, Mazhar Ali Imran.
May 13, 9 pm. – 14 May 2018
Salaam, Everybody,
Some Phrasal Verbs made from the Verb LOOK:
1. Look ahead and plan what you would do after passing this examination.
( look ahead = think about the future )
2. Looking back, I realized it was a mistake to trust him.
( look back = recalling / remembering the past )
3. I look forward to a successful career in teaching.
( look forward to = expect )
4. His friends look down on him for his habit of drinking.
( look down on = regard as bad or inferior / hate )
5 , The boat sank into the river as we looked on .
( look on = see something happening )-14 May 2018
Salaam, Everybody,
With the arrival of the Blessed month of Ramazan we shall, as usual slow down, because the time of writing my English posts coincides with Iftar.
During this month I’ll be able to write my English posts once a week, around 4 pm every Sunday.
Those who want to read more are welcome to read from mianwali.org. The website contains about 600 English posts that I wrote over the past 3 years.— 16 May 2018
Salaam, Everybody,
Sorry to have forgotten to write my English post last Sunday, as promised at the start of Ramazan ul Mubarak.
The basic purpose of my posts, as I have repeatedly said earlier, is to give you some good English to read. Good English means English as it is spoken and written today, in England, US , Canada and Australia. All my posts are written in that current style. So, each time you read one of my posts , you learn something about the way to speak and write.
More of this next Sunday, InshaALLAH. 21 May 2018
My Mianwali / My Dawood Khel ————————–
Dawood Khel’s Paratha was not what you eat in breakfast daily – our Paratha was made only in winter season, and that too in the evening —
If you give the flour tree in the shape of bread, you would have put a little jaggery on it, then you would have given another tree in the form of bread and stick it on it and if you would have sesame the grid in pure ghee, then it would have become a very fat, heavy paratha. Cut a small piece (like a watermelon taki) in the middle of it and put melted ghee and a little turmeric in the hole – it was a taste of eating by diping the melted jaggery and ghee – turmeric that’s why They used to say that this is the cure for stiff body pains due to cold. Science also tells us that turmeric is pure iodine.
In some areas, they used to make sweet bread even after getting soaked in milk – but this is a matter of time when the milk used to belong to the cow or buffalo of their home – nowadays, we have to buy milk from the milk sellers, which is not known as milk. Is it or not –
— May the name of Allah remain —– Munawar Ali Malik —– 24 May 2018
COLONIAL BIAS OF HEART OF DARKNESS AND RACIST STREAK IN CONRAD
by Prof Munawar Ali Malik
The almost universal recognition of Joseph Conrad’s novel Heart of Darkness as a masterpiece in modern fiction suffered a stunning blow in the form of a scathing review by Chinua Achebe, the Nobel Laureate West African novelist, published in 1975 under the title “ An Image of Africa : Racism in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness”
Dubbing it “an offensive and deplorable book”, Achebe bursts out into loud protest saying.
“Why is it today the most commonly prescribed
novel in 20th century literature courses in English Departments of American universities?”
He launches his attack on Heart of Darkness ( rather Conrad) with the broad-based argument that it displays the Western desire to set the African backwardness up as a foil to Europe’s boasted about spiritual grace.
Achebe holds that Heart of Darkness projects Africa as the antithesis of Europe and therefore of civilization. He even finds this sinister purpose at work in Conrad’s description of the two rivers, the Thames of Europe and the river Congo of Africa.
He challenges every adjective used by Conrad to describe Africa and the Africans, citing FR Leavis’s remark on Conrad’s “adjectival insistence upon inexpressible and incomprehensible mystery.”
He calls this insistence “under-hand activity” that “raises serious questions of artistic good faith”
Chinua Achebe quotes and analyses the passages about people in Heart of Darkness. He says these are the most interesting and revealing passages in the novel.
Speaking of Conrad’s attitude to the natives of Congo, he remarks with bitter sarcasm on Conrad’s love to see the Africans in their place. He quotes Marlow’s remark
“Fine fellows———-cannibals————in their
place”
The word place, he thinks, is used in a derogatory sense on more than one occasions in Heart of Darkness.
Then Achebe lashes out at Marlow’s remark about the humanity of the black natives :
“What thrilled you, was just the thought of their
humanity — the thought of your remote kinship
with this wild and passionate uproar. Ugly.”
Achebe insinuates that Conrad was actually concerned about the black man laying the claim on that remote kinship which, to him, was intolerable.
In this way, reading more between the lines than in the lines, Achebe goes on piling up incriminating evidence against Conrad to establish that Conrad was “ a thorough- going racist” and the story is purely a product of colonial bias.
But his own adjectives, ironically, betray an equal, if not more violent, parallel racism. Look at the following judgemental remarks, for instance:
* “even those not blinkered like Conrad with xenophobia–.”
* “Conrad is a dream for psychoanalytic critics.”
While reading this review we repeatedly hold our breath in amazement, if not horror, as Achebe pronounces scathing judgements about the book and the author in every other line of the article. Look at one, for instance:
“the question is whether a novel which celebrates this dehumanization, which depersonalizes a portion of human race, can be called a great work of art. My answer is : No, it cannot.”
Achebe’s chagrin against the West is not without reason, it is true. But it goes a bit too far when he refuses to concede due recognition to the literary merit of a work of fiction universally acclaimed a masterpiece. He brushes aside every explanation and excuse offered by other critics. For instance he refuses to believe that the implicit colonial bias comes from Marlow, not Conrad. He also spurns the “layers of insulation” placed by Conrad “between himself and the moral universe of his story.”
Similarly he rejects the argument that it is no concern of fiction to please the people about whom it is written, saying that Heart of Darkness is a story in which the very humanity of black people is called in question.
As already admitted, Achebe has very good reasons to find fault with Heart of Darkness. Being himself an African, he has a right to condemn every attempt to vilify his people. But isn’t it a bit too hard on Conrad to say that he wrote this novel solely to revile the Africans?
Coming from Achebe ( himself a novelist as great as Conrad ) this review has certainly caused some serious damage to Conrad’s reputation. Achebe ignored the fact that most of the critics as well as readers have always admired Heart of Darkness as an indictment of imperialism. The most prominent among them is the renowned critic and teacher (also a Nobel Laureate), Edward Said recognized as the most powerful voice of this age against imperialism.
OFF AND ON – MY MAN-ON-THE-SPOT – MUNAWAR ALI MALIK
Never saw him. Never knew him but by the name. and yet I must write about him. A sort of debt, you know. A debt of gratitude long overdue, alas, because he is no longer there at the receiving end.
Mohammad Idrees was my mentor. It was he who introduced me to The Pakistan Times almost a decade back. Not that he knew who the devil I was. The only communication between us was a letter from me. That letter accompanied a light-vein story by me. Not much of a story, to be honest. Just an amateurish exercise in letters. The letter was not a request to get the thing published. It was a request to read the thing and then let me know what it was worth.
I never got his reply. But he did let me know what he thought of the story. He got it published in the Magazine Section of The Pakistan Times.
“ I never knew you were a writer,” said one of my colleagues.
“Nor did I” was my honest retort.
“you seem to have built up a pretty effective PR with The Pakistan Times,”said another. “will you please tell us who is your man-on-the-spot?”
Don’t know him, but there is one, certainly”, I admitted. “Mohammad Idress is the name. And that is all I know about him.
I intended to make my gratitude known to him through a letter. But I don’t know why I could never write that letter.
And then, months later, I got an occasion to see him at his office. But the occasion was all I got, because he was not there. He was away somewhere, they told me, attending a sort of refresher course “ though he is far ahead of such professional grooming”, said Mohammad Saleem-ur-Rehman with a smile.
About a year later I made my second call. Again to no purpose, for he was not in his office.
“Does he come here only off and on?” I asked one of his colleagues.
“No.sir, your own visits are too few and far between,” he said.
Yes, I want to blame, I now realize.
His appointment as Chief Editor of The Pakistan Times was, I felt, the happiest development in the changeful affairs of the newspaper.
“Happy news, isn’t it?” I wrote to the magazine editor.
“Yes”,he wrote back, “For the first time in my career feel at home where I am.”
This time I can’t miss him. I surmised, thinking of my next visit to Lahore.A Chief Editor is too busy in his office to go gallivanting about the city.So this time I am sure to find him there.
“well”, said Fate with an ugly lee,”but I know what I know”
And so, one morning, they told me I’ll never see him. It was a shock too strong for words. Inspite of my distaste for Shelly some of the lines in his Adonais seemed very relevant to my sorrow. I wished I could write something of that sort. But I never could.
I know his death should have come as a personal loss to all who knew him intimately—his PT colleagues and Tea House cronies in particular. But was the loss mourned as it ought to have been?
Curt obituaries appearing in newspapers are nothing deeper than a matter of form. The writer community was never so shock-proof as it is these days. Apity, isn’t it? Sahir’s death went unnoticed. Siraj Munir was disposed of with a barely audible groan. The grudging notice Idrees got was hardly commensurate with his merit.
Few people know that a book of Tea House columns by Idrees was published last year by a friend of his. The only notice it was allowed to receive was a restricted opening ceremony in the premises of The Pakistan Times.the book, Night Was not Loveless, was then given such loveless treatment that it was neither offered for review to newspapers nor was it put on the stalls for sale. On that occasion, it was offered to buyers on the spot on payment of Rs.375 per copy.
Mohammad Idrees was never a pennywise man. Had he published the book, It would have been given away to quite a few people who knew him. But his friend who published the book offered it only at full price and only through few conduits. This is like stifling a voice that was ever strong, bantering and rang with laughter. The killing of the book, for a price, was hardly the tribute to a man whose voice rang loud and clear, minced no words, and hid no rancour.
OFF AND ON – MY MAN-ON-THE-SPOT – MUNAWAR ALI MALIK
Never saw him. Never knew him but by the name. and yet I must write about him. A sort of debt, you know. A debt of gratitude long overdue, alas, because he is no longer there at the receiving end.
Mohammad Idrees was my mentor. It was he who introduced me to The Pakistan Times almost a decade back. Not that he knew who the devil I was. The only communication between us was a letter from me. That letter accompanied a light-vein story by me. Not much of a story, to be honest. Just an amateurish exercise in letters. The letter was not a request to get the thing published. It was a request to read the thing and then let me know what it was worth.
I never got his reply. But he did let me know what he thought of the story. He got it published in the Magazine Section of The Pakistan Times.
“ I never knew you were a writer,” said one of my colleagues.
“Nor did I” was my honest retort.
“you seem to have built up a pretty effective PR with The Pakistan Times,”said another. “will you please tell us who is your man-on-the-spot?”
Don’t know him, but there is one, certainly”, I admitted. “Mohammad Idress is the name. And that is all I know about him.
I intended to make my gratitude known to him through a letter. But I don’t know why I could never write that letter.
And then, months later, I got an occasion to see him at his office. But the occasion was all I got, because he was not there. He was away somewhere, they told me, attending a sort of refresher course “ though he is far ahead of such professional grooming”, said Mohammad Saleem-ur-Rehman with a smile.
About a year later I made my second call. Again to no purpose, for he was not in his office.
“Does he come here only off and on?” I asked one of his colleagues.
“No.sir, your own visits are too few and far between,” he said.
Yes, I want to blame, I now realize.
His appointment as Chief Editor of The Pakistan Times was, I felt, the happiest development in the changeful affairs of the newspaper.
“Happy news, isn’t it?” I wrote to the magazine editor.
“Yes”,he wrote back, “For the first time in my career feel at home where I am.”
This time I can’t miss him. I surmised, thinking of my next visit to Lahore.A Chief Editor is too busy in his office to go gallivanting about the city.So this time I am sure to find him there.
“well”, said Fate with an ugly lee,”but I know what I know”
And so, one morning, they told me I’ll never see him. It was a shock too strong for words. Inspite of my distaste for Shelly some of the lines in his Adonais seemed very relevant to my sorrow. I wished I could write something of that sort. But I never could.
I know his death should have come as a personal loss to all who knew him intimately—his PT colleagues and Tea House cronies in particular. But was the loss mourned as it ought to have been?
Curt obituaries appearing in newspapers are nothing deeper than a matter of form. The writer community was never so shock-proof as it is these days. Apity, isn’t it? Sahir’s death went unnoticed. Siraj Munir was disposed of with a barely audible groan. The grudging notice Idrees got was hardly commensurate with his merit.
Few people know that a book of Tea House columns by Idrees was published last year by a friend of his. The only notice it was allowed to receive was a restricted opening ceremony in the premises of The Pakistan Times.the book, Night Was not Loveless, was then given such loveless treatment that it was neither offered for review to newspapers nor was it put on the stalls for sale. On that occasion, it was offered to buyers on the spot on payment of Rs.375 per copy.
Mohammad Idrees was never a pennywise man. Had he published the book, It would have been given away to quite a few people who knew him. But his friend who published the book offered it only at full price and only through few conduits. This is like stifling a voice that was ever strong, bantering and rang with laughter. The killing of the book, for a price, was hardly the tribute to a man whose voice rang loud and clear, minced no words, and hid no rancour.
