Soulful Dialogues
- 7 hours ago
- 11 min read
Daniela Ordnung
Excerpt from a poetic, epistolatory exchange between two Pakistanis, author Taha Kehar and poet Fatima Ijaz, published as part of Story Circle: Letters on Creativity & Friendship (Liberty Publishing, 2025); followed by a review by Daniela Ordnung.
Hey Fatima,
Musical notes are the lesser-known winged creatures; they allow us to travel back to moments of joy and sadness. At times, the lyrics of a song can sow the seeds of a fantasy we construct to placate our restless souls. However, I've always found comfort in lyrics rooted in realistic struggles.
عجیب داستاں ہے یہ
کہاں شروع، کہاں ختم
یہ منزلیں ہیں کون سی
نہ وہ سمجھ سکے، نہ ہم
This is an unusual tale
Who knows where it begins, where it ends?
What strange destinations are these?
Neither they could understand, nor did we.
These words swirl through my mind as an ever-present reminder of how real-life stories don't have destinations and are, at best, beyond comprehension.
These days, I've been enthralled by the opening lines of Salaam-e-Ishq Meri Jaan, which I've reproduced below:
عشق والوں سے نہ پوچھو
کہ ان کی رات کا عالم
تنہا کیسے گزرتا ہے
جدا ہو ہمسفر جس کا
وہ اس کو یاد کرتا ہے
نہ ہو جس کا کوئی وہ
ملنے کی فریاد کرتا ہے
Do not ask lovers
How their nights
Pass in isolation.
Those whose beloved has departed
Are consumed by their memory,
And those who have no one at all
Pray to meet someone.
Laced with the spirit of desire and longing, these lyrics have led me to believe that the pursuit of love is solitary. Immersed in their own thoughts and memories about their beloved, lovers are incapable of explaining their plight to anyone around them. Such helplessness, vulnerability and unease are frightening. In all earnest, I'm now terrified of being rendered tongue-tied in love and would prefer a more practical approach to the matter. This is why I've developed an aversion to Bollywood and Hollywood films that have polluted our minds with self-effacing tales of romance. Can we truly be expected to decimate ourselves for love? I recall the opening lyrics of a Vital Signs song that effectively convey my concerns:
تم دور تھے تو کیا ہوا
تم مل گئے تو کیا ہوا
ویرانیاں کم نہ ہوئیں
تنہا تھا میں، تنہا رہا
So what if you were far from me?
So what if you have returned?
The emptiness remains;
I was lonely, and I remain lonely.
The Spanish woman seems to have made an interesting observation. However, I'm too conscious to permit people to act as spectators while I sort matters out in my mind. (An audience is unreliable, judgmental and untrustworthy.) Lately, I've started switching off my WiFi and data, opening any WhatsApp chat and recording a long voice note that I don't send ahead. This practice has given me the opportunity to expunge all negative thoughts from my mind. I've also started following another peculiar ritual: I switch off the lights in my room and have private conversations with God. These conversations go on for hours until I've found an appropriate solution to my dilemma or exhausted myself into a dreamless sleep.
Since the letter has meandered into the realm of religion, I'd like to tell you about my spiritual experiences. (I realize now that there were two instances I wish to discuss.)
Some weeks ago, I was having trouble dealing with commitments that demanded more time from me than I could offer. Overwhelmed with these incessant requests, I desperately desired an escape. Unfortunately, I couldn't set clear boundaries as I fear a reprisal from people who expect me to fulfil their expectations.
I've been fascinated with the story of the People of the Cave, which is mentioned in Surah Kahf in the Holy Quran. As per this story, a group of Christian youths sought refuge in a cave to escape persecution and fell into a deep slumber for 309 years. Ever since I've heard this tale, I've secretly yearned for a golden opportunity to hide in a cave of my own. Driven by the desire to find some semblance of seclusion, I began reading Arabic recitations of Ayat 10 of Surah Kahf, which states:
“Remember when those youths took refuge in the cave, and said, “Our Lord! Grant us mercy from Yourself and guide us rightly through our ordeal.”
I don't recall how many times I read it. Some hours later, my phone slipped out of my hand and malfunctioned. I had no contact with anyone until my phone was repaired six hours later. When I look back at this incident, I wonder if I was temporarily given a taste of a cave-like existence. In retrospect, I was possibly being told that anything—be it circumstances or relationships—that breaks will eventually be fixed.
The second instance is even more puzzling. Assailed by the parasitic energy that has laid siege to my life, I opened a copy of the holy book a few days ago in the hope of finding some spiritual remedy to my personal quagmires. The first I that caught my attention was Ayat 78 of Surah Taha (a coincidence, indeed), which states:
"Then Pharaoh pursued them with his soldiers—but how overwhelming were the waters that submerged them!”
Pharaoh doesn't have a cameo appearance in the holy text. On the contrary, he is perceived as the epitome of evil and his example is invoked at regular intervals. I read these words with an amazing prescience, wondering if a higher power was reassuring me that the ‘waters’ will do away with all my challenges. Hours later, it rained when I was on my way to dealing, albeit half-heartedly, with a pressing matter. I struggled to see through a windshield blurred by the heavy curtain of rain. As I rode down a dark street in Defence, a tree almost fell on my car. In retrospect, I wonder why I was being “submerged” in water. Am I being told not to be pharaoh-like and self-centered? I'm curious to know what you think.
Motherhood is a frustrating experience. We've glorified it because of our pro-life persuasions. (Have you read Annie Ernaux's Happening? It’s a short memoir on her experience of having an abortion at a time when it was illegal in France.)
Some of us fail to see how children can rob parents of our independence and bind them to restrictive duties for at least eighteen years. (Though, I must admit, I'm keen on becoming a parent.) Mothers (and fathers) need to be mentally prepared for these challenges. They must consensually enter this phase of their lives.
It breaks my heart that the couple in your story decide to part ways over the woman's reluctance to have children. I wonder if such stories will ever have an optimistic conclusion.
You wrote about human perceptions of animals in a previous letter. I have grown up with the notion that animals do not appreciate my presence. As a result, I've maintained a quiet distance from them. It has been brought to my attention by a friend that the domesticated animals I've interacted with over the years weren't adequately 'socialized'. Their owners, I've been told, should have done more to build bridges between me and their pets. I wonder what you think about this observation.
Best,
Taha
Hey Taha,
Her name was Isabella...she could say such things! Her husband was an artist, and she once described to me how she would take her coffee and slip into his studio in the days they were in love, and just observe him painting for hours. Not saying a word. There was something confessional about this intimacy, and yet it was just between them no matter how spoken it was. It’s been years since I've seen her, yet the stories of those times (early 2000s) are still with me.
You are right, of course, in your observation about people, and I suffered eventually for being like ‘an open book’ back in those days. Someone very close to me even told me with a faraway look in his eyes: “Things which are very close to us, we shouldn’t tell just anyone.” But I had some sort of genuine belief, especially in my childhood friends. I just grew up knowing them and loving them. Trust was child-like and eternal. A teacher who observed my after-the-event despondency, remarked “They weren’t as deep, Fatima”. I interjected but he said, “I would have fathomed”. His presence and words helped me survive a very bitter period of my life. But I’ve never really recovered and repercussions follow me like a bad dream up to this day.
By the haunting principle, sometimes we look for our first inclinations in other people, contacts, loves. We have never really recovered from that first condition. I think this kept happening for a while, I looked for older friends in new friends—which was unfair to both them and me. But I didn’t do this consciously. So, it all became a divine and devastating irony. My first American roommate had the word ‘irony’ tattooed on her back. The first day I met her, she told me this is what she believed in—above all. The word ‘irony’ had growing vines surrounding it, and it was quite the first time I had seen such a thing.
Music takes on strange and overpowering dimensions in intense times. And yes—we return to art, literature, music, books, our own creativity—as a life line itself, for they have saving grace.
After I read your letter, I opened the Quran and this verse came to prominence:
“But a void opened up
In the heart of Moses’ mother,
Who might have disclosed his plight,
had We not strengthened her heart,
to make her a believer.” – 10, Al-Qasas (The Story)
It’s strange because I have been thinking about ‘the story’ a lot. The difference between a poet and a storyteller, to be specific. I’m thinking now that poetry is perhaps better situated to keep secrets. I also noticed that it opened to the story of Pharaoh and Moses. You had mentioned “the waters that submerged them”—perhaps our experience from the book could be so specific as only to be revealed in our heart of hearts.
Of late, I’m realizing that the answer is in ‘writing.’ Last night I wrote a story about a girl who vanishes. In three years no one has heard from/of her. When I feel the pressure of intrusion, I try to seek out the ‘cave’ as well. This is making me develop almost a double life. I fell in love with Double Life of Veronique in which Weronika can ‘feel’ the presence of an ‘other’ who is like her. Perhaps it was a prophetic inclination to like that movie so much.
I know some situations in life are very complicated, but I hope that you will be able to convey to this individual what's on your mind in a way that is easy.
On a funny note, one of the first crushes I had was on Tom Sawyer. There’s a specific scene in which he and Becky are in a cave. It’s so dark that he lights a match for her. There was a picture of the two of them in the cave that I saw as a child.
The music and intensity of love can sweep one away. To be practical in such matters is very difficult!
My first and only pet was a dog. I played with him when he was a tiny puppy, but as he grew older and his growl became significant, I got scared to be with him alone. I’d often call out to him from behind a jaali and we’d sit together for a long time with this artificial curtain between us. In Native Indian Religion, animals appeared to me more as dream symbols than actual encounters. They say you have a ‘totem animal’ which is a life totem and will be your guiding friend through all your highs and lows. Then, if an animal appears in a dream, it is approaching you to be your friend and convey some truth to you. I once had a dream of a white tiger, and below it the line: “The face of the white tiger/the face of truth.” I love to navigate such dreams or meditations. I think, just like people and love, animals too will come to you at some point in which you won’t be able to escape that love. I’d say trust the divine and time. Of course, this could occur in dreams or meditations!
Btw, we have to leave for a social event. So I think you’ll get my next letter after we have returned.
Best,
Fatima
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Daniela’s Review:
Navigating the Intersecting Realms of the Human, Psychological, and Spiritual in Fatima's Writing
I am continuously fascinated by the way in which writers are able to weave together the intricacies of the human experience, the nuances of the inner psyche, and the complexities of the spiritual realm. In the evocative epistolary writing of Fatima, we bear witness to a masterful interplay of these distinct yet intertwined universes, creating a tapestry of remarkable depth and insight.
Fatima's letter to Taha is a testament to her ability to seamlessly blend the personal and the universal, the tangible and the ineffable. From the intimate recollections of her friend Isabella's quiet moments observing her artist husband, to the profound reflections on the nature of trust, love, and the bitter lessons of life's disappointments, the author lays bare the vulnerabilities and complexities of the human condition.
Yet, Fatima's exploration of the human experience is not confined to the merely physical or social realms. Interwoven throughout her narrative are profound forays into the psychological landscape, as she delves into the lingering impact of childhood experiences, the insidious power of unfulfilled expectations, and the elusive nature of identity.
In one particularly striking passage, Fatima observes how she "looked for older friends in new friends," an unconscious attempt to recapture the innocence and trust of her past, only to be met with the "divine and devastating irony" of such a pursuit. This keen understanding of the subconscious drivers that shape our interpersonal relationships speaks to Fatima's astute psychological acumen.
But it is in the realm of the spiritual that Fatima's writing truly transcends the boundaries of the purely human and psychological. Her references to the Quran, her musings on the symbolism of dreams and animals, and her embrace of the ‘divine’ as a guiding force in navigating life's challenges, all point to a profound engagement with the metaphysical and the transcendent.
The author's description of the verse from Surah Al-Qasas, with its imagery of the "void" in Moses' mother's heart and the need for divine "strengthening," is a poignant example of how Fatima seamlessly weaves the spiritual into the fabric of her personal narrative. It is as if the very words of the sacred text become a living, breathing entity, illuminating the mysteries of the human experience.
Moreover, Fatima's exploration of the differences between poetry and storytelling, and her suggestion that "poetry is perhaps better situated to keep secrets," underscores a deep understanding of the power of language to both reveal and conceal the deeper truths of the human condition. In this sense, her writing becomes a bridge between the material and the ethereal, the knowable and the unknowable.
Ultimately, what emerges from Fatima's epistolary journey is a profound and multifaceted exploration of the human experience, one that refuses to be confined to a single dimension. By masterfully juxtaposing the personal, the psychological, and the spiritual, she invites the reader to engage in a transformative exploration of the very essence of what it means to be human, to grapple with the mysteries of the mind, and to seek solace in the transcendent.
About the Writers:
Daniela Ordnung has worked as a Romanian-Spanish, English-Spanish translator at the Romanian Embassy in Buenos Aires and held positions at the World Bank and the United Nations FAO (Food and Agriculture Organization). She has translated some articles by Maria Kodama and served as her interpreter at various conferences in 1995, including the Psychology Congress at the San Martin Theatre in Buenos Aires. In addition, she translated the writings of Romanian author Mircea Eliade for the Translation program at Law University in Buenos Aires. She also contributed to PROA, the magazine founded by Borges, translating articles by several Argentine writers after Borges' passing. Currently, she resides in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where she reads literature and continues her translation work.
Fatima Ijaz is a New York-based writer, educator, and performance artist. She holds an MA in English and Media Studies from Rutgers University and has trained in Performance Studies at NYU and Acting at the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama. She is the co-author of Story Circle (2025), author of the chapbook Last of the Letters (2024), and the collection Shade of Longing (2021). Previously, she taught at Rutgers University and IBA, Karachi. In 2025, she co-wrote and performed in the bilingual play Fire Morning. She writes a monthly poetry column for Tales from Karachi.
Taha Kehar is a novelist and literary critic. A law graduate from SOAS, London, Kehar is the author of the critically acclaimed novels, No Funeral for Nazia (Neem Tree Press, 2023) and Typically Tanya (HarperCollins India, 2018). No Funeral for Nazia has been translated into Russian. Kehar is the co-editor of The Stained-Glass Window: Stories of the Pandemic from Pakistan. Kehar’s first short story collection, Matchmaker and Other Stories, will be released this year.
About the Artist:
Nazar ul Islam has been trained from Art Council Institute of Art & Craft, Karachi. Currently he is a faculty member there. Art runs in his blood: his grandfather, Ustad Shaikh Shuja Ullah, was associated with NCA, National Council of Arts Lahore as a miniature artist for more than 10 years. (His painting, shown above, is available at Ejaz Art Gallery, Lahore.)
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