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An International Refereed e-Journal of Literary Explorations
August, 2014Vol. 2 Issue III
colours in the rainbow and the butterfly. Narjis, in her defiance of death and refusal to surrender
to fear, has created beauty all around her –in the beautiful bond that she has created with her son,
with the other inmates who become calm and silent but are violent and quarrelling otherwise, in
her life, which though is going to end but will resurrect in her son, in her flight for freedom, in
her search for Haseen, her husband, who too died fearlessly, and in the search for the butterfly of
freedom. Even in her final moments when she is about to be executed, she sees beauty around
her- in the son, who is probably playing with the fairies in his sleep, and in the cool dawn of
May; and as the sun rises her release into another world of freedom and eternity and her
resurrection into life eternal.
The other story, “Neither Night Nor Day”, written by Sabyn Javeri-Jillani, grapples with
issues that forms the core of a consciousness that is at the cross-roads of culture hence the crisis
of identity and spaces become predominant. The protagonist, born in Pakistan, living in London,
is unable to decide what her identity is, “East, West, Pakistan, Britain, Paki, Paki-British, British-
Paki, British?”[Jalil, p 60]. She is aware that she is at an intersection. Like the clothes that she
wears- her jeans, jacket and her high-heeled boots pronounce her preferences clearly but the
smell of the curry clings to her, and she swears by Bollywood films and songs. She cannot
comprehend or participate in the causes or issues like wars in Palestine or Iraq that engage other
Muslims. She would neither wear the hijab or the chador that proclaim the modesty of other
Muslim women and also becomes a symbol of their identity as they insist on wearing it to protest
against the white insistence on removing it. The white who asks her if she is lost actually poses a
valid question to her. The trip to the Tooting neighbourhood is a walk into the past that still
clings to her in her refusal to throw the paper with the name of Allah into the trash can because
the mother’s insistent voice told her so, in the smells of Biryani and mangoes that cling to her
against the “odourless, grey landscape” [62] of London, and of her present.
Like London at that point of the day when it is neither night nor day she also does not
want to compartmentalize her life and announce her nationality or her cultural identity loudly.
She wants to stick to her roots and also subsist on her new identity, “Why can’t I be both” [60]
she even says that she would refuse to choose one over the other. This is something that most of
her compatriots would never understand because they confirm to their racial identities, national
selves and unabashedly proclaim that. Even her British husband, Jack, who is more tolerant than
others towards South Asian and appreciates Iranian cinema, Rushdie and Naipaul is quite
confused about her. He cannot understand why she is still fascinated by the royal family and
such colonial signposts of the past, or the manner in which her roots re-live in her, “Jack doesn’t
understand why I don’t want to live in my country but bring back all kinds of smells and tastes to
recreate the memories I have left behind.” [65]. She confesses that she is not obsessed with
questions of identity or preoccupied with the idea of seeking the self. She feels free like a bird
that flies anywhere and builds a home and is not rooted to a place and so she has found a home in
London and her living is not consumed by the compulsive desire to profess her identity or fight
to establish her space. Her home is as much London as it is Pakistan. She is happy to be in
London, her home, where the sun and the moon can co-exist and shine together, where it is
neither day nor day.
Thus all the three stories are engaged with the lives of the ordinary people and their
ordinary tales of love, sorrow, misery and wants. Their small acts of courage and bravery add to
the charm of the story and makes reading them worthwhile.