Category: self-authored

more sevilla


more sevilla. so the city was a major center in al-andalus under muslim rule from 711 to 1248 CE. hence the gorgeous tiles and mosaics, arches and minarets, courtyards and fountains. the excessive catholic presence in every bit of the old city seems to be pushback against this history. some of it is quite literal, e. g. the almohad mosque was converted into the seville cathedral – its bell tower (the giralda) used to be the minaret of the old mosque. i felt this pushback in portugal too, where i was told by a well-read guide that the arab history portugal claims has nothing to do with present day arabs (they are the descendants of the same arabs he so admires of course) and where a younger guide who took me to sintra and cascais couldn’t stop fawning over the knights templar because they saved portugal (by massacring muslims). feels like a bizarre fragmentation of collective identity

hola sevilla!


didn’t sleep a wink last night (not an exaggeration) so was up nice and early and ready for our train trip. got to madrid-puerta de atocha-almudena grandes about an hour before our departure and was horrified to see the entrance to the station jam-packed with throngs and throngs of people waiting, like 10,000 of them. apparently signaling cables were stolen over the weekend which led to massive delays on high speed trains. we had to stand outside the building for an hour or more as countless journalists and their crews interviewed frustrated travelers. finally made it to our destination although two hours later.

hola sevilla, u flamboyant one. the tiles u see are all located within 1-2 meters, just around the threshold of our room

goya at the prado museum

we hadn’t set an alarm and were shocked to wake up at 1pm today (jet lag and all that). late start to the day so dashed off to the prado museum – the met of madrid. too huge to see their entire collection/ exhibitions in detail but was completely floored by goya’s black paintings. these were painted between 1820-23 on the walls of goya’s two-storey house (quinta del sordo) on the outskirts of madrid when he was already in his 70s. the paintings reflect goya’s despair and cynicism and were never meant for public consumption. ‘saturn devouring his son’ is disturbingly violent but tbh the images and stories coming out of gaza are no less terrible and seem to be within the scope of human barbarity. ‘asmodea’ with the two figures floating over a landscape is so modern in its proportions and composition that it took my breath away. ‘the fates’ has some of the same energy. ‘the dog’ is equally incredible in how it’s composed and the layers of dark burnished gold that form its background. this series of 14 murals/ paintings is irresistible, magnetic, mysterious. also love el greco. the symbolism and elongated figures with the endlessly long fingers and lean muscles remind me of sadequain. another thing that jumped out at me was the use of a beautiful green one doesn’t find in too many other paintings from the same period. while i reveled in art, my daughter explored vintage stores and was not disappointed. we had lunch/ dinner on the rooftop of a restaurant covered in ivy (el viajero) and some dessert at be beirut which is owned by a palestinian family

peacocks at el retiro


even though we got here today and took a small nap before going out, we walked a lot – around the royal palace, along the gran via (known as the spanish broadway), in the atocha neighborhood where we are based, and finally in el retiro park which belonged to the spanish monarchy until 1868 and where everything is blooming. stunning architecture everywhere, tons of greenery and open community spaces, perfect weather and good food, but what i loved most were the peacocks at el retiro. i’ve seen gorgeous peacocks before (most memorably in choa saidan shah in pakistan and at jardim da estrela in lisbon), but this was something else. a full-on soap opera with screeching matches between male peacocks vying for the same female and some surprisingly aggressive shaking of feathers and hot pursuit. nature is bizarre and remarkable at the same time. found these secondhand booksellers close to el retiro and one of them talked at length with my daughter in spanish (so proud!). for dinner went to KA restaurant 6 min’s walk from our hotel for some reliable thai – the food was next level delish. it was a good day 🙂

the final cut is done!


the final cut for ‘the injured body’ is done folx! this is literally all i have done, day and night (slept at 5am many many times) for the last few months especially march and april, ever since i got back from pakistan. i am exhausted but oh so happy, so very happy. i cannot express in words what this project means to me. filmmaking is teamwork, its v nature is collaborative, and i love all the people in this film plus all the artists who have made this film possible. what a unique, diverse, strong and beautiful community we are! the film is off to don casper, brilliant filmmaker and film prof, for post production soon but here is a behind the scenes peek at what my life has been for a while now. me and adobe premiere pro. it’s a good match 🙂

that’s amanda chestnut on the screen – the first interview in the film

Book readings at the Xenana in Brooklyn


What an amazing evening at Pyaari Azaadi’s Xenana where Mona Eltahawy, @brooklynstani, and Yashica Dutt read from their books

Mona has put together an anthology of essays and stories about menopause (Bloody Hell!: Adventures in Menopause From Around the World), Roohi has written an important novel called Outside Women (“Combining the reach of a historical saga with the propulsion of a mystery, Roohi Choudhry’s tightly woven debut illustrates the power of sisterhood, legacy, and solidarity through the unforgettable stories of two defiant women living a century apart”) and Yashica read from her powerful memoir, Coming Out as Dalit: A Memoir of Surviving India’s Caste System
There was a lot of talk about being feminists so I asked a question about white feminism and the use of the English word ‘feminism’ in a Muslim, South Asian, Dalit context

Mona talked about niswiyya in Arabic as being a word she likes but how she’s comfortable using ‘feminism’ in English, Roohi spoke about reclaiming the word, and Yashica talked about how the word feminism is inaccessible to Dalits in India, how it is housed in circles with upper caste women who wear khadi and chunky jewelry and spout off feminist theories. Her own mother wouldn’t identify herself as a feminist but embodies the essence of what feminism is supposed to be. I loved this idea of embodiment vs western/ upper caste-centric language. The upper caste feminists Yashica described are very familiar to me and occupy a similar position of privilege in Pakistan. Yashica said she is more comfortable talking about being part of the movement for Dalit women’s rights and Dalit rights in general. That is my preference too – I see myself as an activist invested in community and the fight for social justice

I met the wonderful @mariam.rauf at this event and was talking to her about using the word feminism in the plural which makes it more palatable I think. There is no one struggle, no one path, no one feminism. The instinct to corral diverse movements, realities and histories under one universal term/ approach/ syntax/ even ‘look’ is very much a colonial imperative that we must resist

Thank u @safia and pyaari <3

happy birthday ammi


growing up, my mom was always the cool mom. she played sports with us, took us on hikes in islamabad, climbed trees with us in ziarat, anchored us when we were little in brussels, listened to/supported us as we navigated teenage life in pakistan, and then young adulthood in the US. our love of literature and film, our drive to excel and do the right thing, even our ability to connect to others and brush off borders – much of it comes directly from my mother. i can write books about decisive moments in my life that shaped me and how my mother was always right there behind me, making me feel safe and loved. she believed in me more than i believed in myself. what a prodigious gift that is for any child. thank u ammi and happy birthday <3

[this is a picture of my mom as a child recreated as a painting by sam sam]

Rough cut for The Injured Body


I finished the rough cut for The Injured Body last night!!! A film about racism in America inspired by Claudia Rankine’s book, Citizen: An American Lyric, with her permission to use her words.

Interviews and convos with 17 women of color, each breathtakingly brilliant and beautiful. 10 gorgeous dancers, 3 choreographers and one photographer – all women.

Stunning cinematography by Rajesh Barnabas, inventive choreography and costume design by Mariko Yamada, and unique musical compositions by Tom Davis

We shot the first interview for this film in 2018. Much has changed in the country (and in the world) since then and much has remained the same. What the film has to share is as important as ever, perhaps critical now.

It took me a while to get here but as I began to stitch the story together on my computer, I realized how much work I had already done over the years – the many transcriptions, notes, timelines, organization and reorganization of material, the consistent editing (interview by interview) to highlight ideas and create video clips in countless sequences and much more.

We finished shooting in 2020 and for the last 5 years the film has been with me, close to me, a part of me. Emotions took over as I watched the entire rough cut – for the enormity of what we have all accomplished together but also for the love and solidarity I feel for all the women in this film. I love what I do – how profoundly it’s connected to other people, and what it allows me to think and feel. A little bit of beauty in the surreal horrors of this world.

The film will premiere on Friday November 14th at Cinema Arts Centre in Huntington, NY. It will come to Rochester in 2026 inshallah!

[Photo taken by me of María José Rodríguez-Torrado in the opening dance sequence for the film]

my review: emilia perez

about emilia perez and zoe saldana’s comments (i don’t care about the oscars but i do care about mainstream culture – i am a filmmaker – and i care about representation)

the film is not about universal women (wtf is that??? when u casually toss together israeli women and women from gaza, u are basically puncturing ur own ridiculous argument about universal feminism)

the film is about mexico – its fingerprints are all over intimate socio-political issues and tragedies which the west facilitates via its war on drugs and miscellaneous trade and political finagling and by which it then proceeds to mark and measure mexico

that the film was shot in a studio in paris, that its spanish dialogue sounds like it was spewed by google translate, that its protagonists are not mexican for the most part, that this is a big budget film by a european filmmaking giant who could have hired a couple of consultants, and that this orientalist representation (which comes from a place of arrogance, entitlement and power) is happening today in 2025, all seem incredible frankly. that there is tone deaf pushback against valid critiques made by mexican journalists, culture-makers and people is also stunning – u make films about us but we’re not supposed to have opinions about them?

trans activists have written extensively about how trans representation in this film is a step backwards, not forward, so there’s that. finally, the entire carla sofia gascon twitter blowup only shows how whiteness (and european christian supremacy) can transcend everything – including transness and questions of sex and gender

a knock on the roof

saw this amazing one-woman play off broadway last night. written and performed by khawla ibraheem, a playwright, actor and director from majdal shams, in the occupied golan heights, the play tells the story of a woman and her family trying to survive a war. although written in 2017 about another war in gaza (there have been countless), resonance with the present genocide charges the play with so much more meaning and emotion. the story starts with everyday life, which continues even as bombings form a kind of unhinged backdrop, but builds up to something obsessive and paranoid. how to plan an escape after the first “knock on the roof,” when smaller bombs are dropped on one’s building to indicate upcoming annihilation. one has 5-15 minutes to assemble loved ones, pick up the bare necessities, rush down the stairs (no electricity), and sprint as far away from the building as possible. 5-15 minutes. madness. what does one pack, how does one wake up a drowsy child and aging mother and ready them for escape, how fast and far can one run while holding on to the most precious possessions of one’s life? as mariam dedicates every passing hour to practicing and mastering the perfect escape, we see snippets of her childhood, her marriage to omar who is finishing his master’s degree abroad, her childhood dreams, and adult frustrations. the play becomes darker as tension builds to a crescendo and mariam begins to disintegrate. the end takes one’s breath away. there were audible reactions in the audience – people wept as the lights came back on. a stunning physical and emotional feat. at new york theatre workshop until february 16, 2025.

my review: conclave

so about the film ‘conclave,’ which is generating oscar buzz. i was excited to see it when it came out because of the cast – ralph fiennes, isabella rossellini, stanley tucci, john lithgow – all actors i like. the setting of the film is interesting. most of the action happens during a conclave – an assembly of cardinals who self-segregate until they’ve appointed a new pope. remember the smoke rising from the sistine chapel, signaling that the next pope has been elected? that selection comes out of a conclave.

as i’m watching the film, i’m thinking to myself how wonderful it is to see this thriller with these masterful actors set in a completely different context, constructed with meticulous replicas of the vatican and full of elaborate costumes and rituals. v catholic of course.

towards the end of the film, there is an explosion in the midst of the conclave. there’s a hole in the building where the voting is taking place, with debris and pulverized dust everywhere. the camera begins to shoot at an angle, ralph fiennes is hurt, we feel disoriented.

my first thought is: it’s a dream. fiennes is under stress so he’s imagining the end of days. no such luck. this is actually happening. we soon find out that this is a terrorist attack – a suicide bombing to be more exact – which triggers a disgusting islamophobic rant from one of the cardinals: “we can never work with muslims, they are animals.”

at this point i say to myself: “this can’t be. they will probably reveal that the attack was the work of some christian sect or extremist group. they’ll flip it.” nope. the bombing is immediately assumed to be a muslim thing and that gut reaction is proven to be right.

now i’m thinking: “there will be strong pushback, this cannot be allowed to pass.” in fact, there is some pushback by one of the cardinals, but it’s not political. it’s simply meaningless generalities about not hating anyone (even suicide bombers).

for a film about catholics, taking place in the vatican, where the central theme is the election of a pope, this bit of last minute anti-muslim racism is so arbitrary. or is it? in the midst of a live streamed genocide of mostly muslim people, with propaganda deployed to invert reality and turn the killers into victims, perhaps every film that comes out has to fulfill a certain quota of islamophobia, even if it’s a side story randomly added at the end. my husband and i paid $20 per person to see this bs at a movie theater. it’s hard to tell what’s what when we are picking films. there are racist traps embedded in every bit of western culture.

new year’s eve 2024

as we step into 2025 (an arbitrary threshold with just one meaning at this moment – the shattering reality that a holocaust has been enabled and supported for more than a year in full view of the world), i feel unsettled. the cognitive dissonance that many of us have experienced since october 2023 (or since forever) seems heavy. on the one hand, i am thankful for my family and friends and the fact that we live in relative security, on the other, i am intensely aware of the suicidal gluttony, violence and vulgarity that underpin all systems promising safety in exchange for genocide. the brutal murder of robert brooks in a graphic video that’s impossible to watch, reminds me of the bodies being starved, exploded, pulverized, and piled into mass graves in gaza. i want to write something about the racial dynamics of it. the word ‘dehumanization’ is so overused, it’s lost all meaning. what is truly happening when the black or brown body is savagely penetrated, its skin broken, its borders breached? the mind boggles at the viciousness embedded in white supremacist colonial ideologies, and the widespread silence, convoluted justifications, and hardcore denial they entail. i have no faith in any of these systems – capitalism, the nation state, settler colonial logics, imperial bs, or international ‘rules’ and pompous political rhetoric. the only thing that makes sense is community, resistance, and indigenous/ palestinian ways of living in concert with the land and its inhabitants, with respect and generosity. may 2025 be a year of peace and connection. may 2025 be the year we celebrate palestinian freedom.

Elizabeth Catlett’s work at the Brooklyn Museum

A couple of weeks ago I saw Elizabeth Catlett’s work at the Brooklyn Museum. I had already seen ‘Target’ as part of the exhibition ‘We Wanted a Revolution: Black Radical Women, 1965–85’ in Buffalo, in 2018. It’s a beautiful bronze bust of a Black man, his distinguished face seen through the crosshairs of a rifle scope made of metal and drilled roughly into the wood block that holds the sculpture. Fierce.

‘Elizabeth Catlett (1915-2012) was an avowed feminist, a lifelong activist, and an astutely observant artist. Spanning 75 years of diverse production, Catlett’s career was guided by her bold creative artistry, rigorous practice, and deep commitment to social justice and political activism.’

The first thing one sees in Brooklyn, as one enters the exhibition, is an exquisite terra cotta sculpture of a woman’s head. I was completely overcome by the delicate beauty of the piece.

In 1946, Catlett moved to Mexico as a guest artist at the printmaking collective, Taller de Grafica Popular. It was in Mexico City that she learned the terra cotta technique she later employed in her work (building a hollow shape from coils of clay) from the artist Francisco Zuniga. This indigenous technique, which allows the gentle definition of features, was in use long before the Spanish invaded and colonized. ‘Tired’ which depicts a physically depleted Black woman claiming a moment of respite and ‘Mother and Child,’ a smaller piece which brims with tenderness and the sense of safety we should all be allowed to feel in our parent’s arms, are stunning. The mother’s muscular legs seem to be rooted in the soil beneath her and reminded me of Soviet monuments and Diego Rivera’s murals.

‘While ultimately becoming a Mexican citizen, Catlett never lost sight of the Black liberation struggle in the United States. She embraced a political radicalism that merged the goals of the Black Left in the United States with the lessons of the Mexican Revolution and international feminist movements. Her transnational identity fueled a critical understanding that Black Americans and Mexicans were linked with other oppressed people around the world in a struggle against poverty, racism, and imperialism. As a result, she developed a rich visual language through which she articulated her solidarity politics across various media.’

Her sketches, lithographs, woodcuts, lino prints, watercolors, and sculptures bridge the gap between aesthetics and politics.

Catlett’s work will be on display at the Brooklyn Museum until Jan 19, 2025.

Bapsi Sidhwa (1938 – 2024)

Bapsi Sidhwa has passed away. She was a national treasure. I read ‘The Crow Eaters’ when I was in college. My friend Najeeb had just finished reading the book and was kind enough to lend me his copy, with much enthusiasm. What I loved most about the book was its location – the vibrant, bustling, mythical city of Lahore, the city of my birth. The story took place during British colonial rule and focused on the Parsi community, a Zoroastrian community settled in the Indian subcontinent since the 7th century. The writing, in English, was sharp, colorful, bawdy. I had never read anything like it before, least of all from a Pakistani woman novelist. The bright intensity and earthiness of her work stayed with me. I read ‘An American Brat’ soon after I moved to the US in my 20s, and it spoke to me loudly – as an immigrant trying to find an emotional anchor to a new home and a young woman configuring and reconfiguring the various pieces of her identity. Later I read ‘Ice Candy Man,’ the book about the partition of India that inspired Deepa Mehta’s film, Earth. Many consider Sidhwa’s book to be an important intervention in the telling of the partition story. Countless papers have been written about its decolonial approach, its feminist lens, its centering of minorities, its understanding of spatiality, its hyphenated perspectives, and polyphonic narrative experiences. It’s a book that’s semi-autobiographical and shows how the violent tear of the partition was multi-tiered and enduring. Sidhwa had been living in the US since the 1980s. A true pioneer. May she rest in peace.

my khala, dureshewar aziz khan, passes away

our dear khalajaani, dureshewar aziz khan, has passed away. named after the beautiful princess durrusehvar sultan, daughter of the ottoman caliph abdulmejid, my khala was the star of a family of extraordinary people – writers, speakers, political activists, athletes, linguists, lovers of art and poetry but also sports and outdoor life. khalajaani excelled at her studies from early on. she graduated from medical school, became an OBGYN, and worked as a doctor for the pakistan army, attaining the rank of captain. this was back in the 1960s when women all over the world had not yet won some of the rights (however tenuous they might be) that we take for granted now. she married a dashing air force officer and lived an adventurous life, spending years in libya where her husband was posted and going on ski vacations at a PAF resort in the karakoram, the second-highest mountain range on earth. i still remember how their home in rawalpindi was filled with classical music and expressionist art. after we moved from brussels to islamabad, my mom and khala organized many fun excursions together. we would have picnics at lotus lake and climb trees that seemed as tall as hills. our moms were young, sporty, vibrant. the trips ended abruptly when khalajaani had to deal with a heartbreaking family tragedy. she did it with a reserve of strength, positivity, and intelligence that was nothing short of heroic. in middle age she became a psychiatrist perhaps to better heal herself and those around her. she wrote a book on the subject. in their 70s, my khala and khaloo made the courageous decision to move to the US, to be close to their only son. he was everything to them, and later his children became the heart of their existence. some years ago i remember khalajaani calling my mom. i picked up the phone and we began to talk. she asked me about my political and film work. i tried to be brief so as not to bore her but she asked a lot of questions. she shared her own ideas and then asked me what i thought. she considered my opinions carefully and even changed her mind at times. she was already ill and bedridden in those days, but her mind could still be as sharp as a tack. there was a lifetime of brilliance and intellectual curiosity to sustain it after all. may she rest in power. inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.

[my khaloo is on the left, next to him is his friend, my attique mamoon, my khala is the beautiful young woman on the right, the one without glasses]