Jeopardy

Remember on Jeopardy when there would be a catch-all category called “Potpourri”?  That’s this entry.  Lots of things have happened and my mind can’t find some satisfying, unifying theme.  “The answer is: because I’m going to be really busy and might not have time to write this for a few days.” You can provide the question (“why bother to write an entry, then?”).  All of this is to say it’s been beautiful here in Islamabad–huge downpour yesterday and now it feels like northern New Mexico–and I’ve had two workshops at Theatre Wallay that give me all sorts of hope.  I’m going to drop the Jeopardy theme.  Here’s some stuff:

I love this place.  Theatre Wallay is a converted poultry farm that is one of the most creative theater spaces I’ve seen.  They do plays (currently rehearsing a Brecht piece they’ve translated into Urdu), host stand-up comedians, have music nights (both live and karaoke), show classic movies outdoors, create open-air shows about important issues, and–this coming Saturday–will present an all-improvised evening for local audiences.  If today’s rehearsal was any indication (and I believe it was), the show should be strange and hilarious in equal measure.

My dad sold chicken wire to poultry farms.  I like to think he’d be amused that I’ve come full circle. I do wish he were around so I could talk about Pakistan with him. He was adventurous.

Went back to Saeed Book Bank, an incredible bookstore by any standard.  Adeel drove me there (I can’t go out unaccompanied) and waited in the car while I ran around. The selection is huge.  The people I’ve met here talk very casually and knowledgeably about history and philosophy and literature. Don’t want to generalize–the literacy rate outside of Islamabad is low–but I think it says a lot about this (micro?) culture here in the capital that it can support such an exciting “book bank.” The (very successful) Barnes and Noble in my neighborhood closed down two years ago and was replaced by a vicious and unfeeling mini-Target, so I was doubly happy to be in a genuine bookstore.  Here are some of the books I bought (and almost bought):

This book seemed provocative.  And then:

There was a graphic guide to existentialism, but I chose not to buy it and I take responsibility for not doing so.  Not that it mattered.

I love Mohsin Hamid’s books (thanks Barbara Becker for introducing me to them).  Dennis and I watched the movie version of “The Reluctant Fundamentalist” a few months ago and it really didn’t do the book justice. So many of Hamid’s books are about the ambiguous benefits of modern life, about how no stance on any issue is simple or pure (and how “purity” and violence go hand-in-hand), that it was frustrating to watch a movie that couldn’t let the viewer be uncertain. The Pakistan he describes is remote to me because of the restrictions on my movement (and because of my nationality and my non-existent Urdu) (I have learned to say some words in Urdu. More on that later).  And I’ve never set foot in that mini-Target.  Moving on.

Fulbright got me three boxes of these very nice business cards.  I’m happy to have them and wish, for all sorts of reasons, that I could be here long enough to give them all away.  It’s good that the card is honest, too.  I’m doing an improv workshop at a local therapy training center tomorrow; my face is on a poster for it, followed by the words “Head of Fulbright USA.”   This ended up on Facebook.  I’m having trouble saying “yes, and…” to this experience.  I feel more than a little fraudulent.  I spoke to the staff at the training center and they said they’d change my title.  I hope I don’t get promoted to a cabinet position.  Seems like a dubious enterprise, lately.

This was on the table at breakfast:

The apple nectar was surprisingly good.  I suppose it’s too much to expect it to help me emotionally, but the promise made me laugh.  And that’s enough. This guy in the Sunday magazine cracked me up, too:

I can’t get too smug about English translations here.  Today in class I made a reference to an American actress whose last name, when translated into Urdu, means a very specific intimate act.  Good thing I’m not Head of Fulbright USA.

Two more things before I go.  Here’s a sign in the rehearsal space at Theatre Wallay.

Absolutely.  I leave here in 12 days.  Time is going too quickly.  I’m lucky to be here.

Finally, more Joni Mitchell.  She could have written this song last week. Can’t get it out of my head: