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Light at the end of the tunnel
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Shandana Minhas’ debut novel Tunnel Vision captures the personal battles of a modern Pakistani woman
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PHOTO: ANU PUSHKARNA
WORD POWER Shandana Minhas wrote her novel Tunnel Vision in two months
Young Ayesha Siddiqui crashes through the windshield of her green Alto at a busy traffic intersection in Karachi. She drifts into coma. As she sleeps, Ayesha strokes to life the ruffled relationships of her life. The tumultuous, bitter exchanges with
Ammi, Abba – a missing chapter, Adil, the brother and the men whom interested her, Omar and Saad, are re-lived and mulled over.
Pakistani author Shandana Minhas’ debut novel, “Tunnel Vision” published by Roli Books, is about the life of a 31-year-old independent, single, working, Pakistani woman. “The name Ayesha has been an obsession with me,” says Minhas. The narrative in which the protagonist’s coma screens all attempts by the world to connect with her, even as she tunes in to the monologues and dialogues around her, seems to have multi-layered meanings.
“It is often easier to be numb. The coma represents the state of the world. Sometimes, it hurts to be alive,” says Minhas. The author admits the burden of the first novel never bogged her down. “It was not a conscious attempt. I just told a story that came to me,” she says.
“Tunnel Vision” also throws light on the fabric of the Pakistani society. But significantly, Minhas brings out the “missing father figure” in a culture widely believed to be staunchly patriarchal. The absence of a “benevolent protector” seems to be the enduring bruise in a country battered by military coups.
Ayesha’s father mysteriously disappears one morning leaving the family to depend on Ammi’s brothers. It forces Ayesha to grow up faster, and youth and responsibility is intertwined with a souring relationship with Ammi.
“There is always a missing father figure when it comes to Pakistani women. It reflects the absence of a benevolent protector,” explains Minhas. Ask her why the male actors make a late entry in the novel, Minhas is quick to add, “Because, they are not central to the story. ‘Tunnel Vision’ is about the mother and daughter and their difficult bond. Women should be responsible for themselves. The fault-finding and arguments should stop and we should leave behind the baggage we carry,” says Minhas.
According to the author, Ayesha’s love interests, Saad and Omar give her the “quick-fix” solutions, as she is often driven to find a man and “settle down.”
“Women often get married for the wrong reasons,” says Minhas. In between growing up, matrimony and the daily grind, women have little time to come into their own, she adds, pointing out where the flaws lie.
Before long, home, a place of “love and principles”, is reduced to a den of insecurity.
“I am a mother of two and motherhood is the hardest thing,” exclaims Minhas. Apart from issues, the novel is also about Minhas’ love for Karachi. Each chapter begins with an ode to the spirit of the place.
From the witty and bizarre one-liners on the rear of auto-rickshaws and trucks to snippets from folk songs make up the title name of the chapters.
“It is an ode to Karachi. There are a lot of misconceptions about the city. People tend to associate it with terrorism, whereas there is a lot of humour, joy and aspiration here,” says Minhas.
The author confesses there are autobiographical strains in the tale. “The love for Karachi, the anger and the duality is there,” agrees Minhas.
Quiz her on the Emergency and she is profane and profound alternately.
“There will be no impact. I hope there are toilet papers at the international airport,” she quips. But she adds in the same breath, “Creativity thrives in the times of conflict.”
P. ANIMA
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