PATEL: Why did you start writing? HAMID: As a kid, I was a dreamer. I “read” atlases and almanacs, copied out maps and wrote imaginary histories. Later, in the States, I wrote because I missed home.
Why is there so much history in “Moth Smoke”? A reference to Mughal history is integral to my plot, and it offers enjoyment at a deeper level. In 17th-century India, the Emperor Shahjahan’s eldest son, Darashikoh, a cosmopolitan, wine-drinking poet, was heir to the throne. But he was killed by his brother, Aurangzeb, a general with orthodox Islamic views. That conflict over succession took Mughal India in a direction that was not sustainable. The rigidity of Aurangzeb’s puritanical fundamentalism could not contain the diversity of India.
How is this relevant to your novel? My story posits that Pakistan faces a similar choice today. But my Aurangzeb represents the entrenched elite–an impediment to the country’s development. Darashikoh in my story is his opposite, the violent backlash to that system. He’s secular, but his angry reaction stands for Pakistan’s religious movements, its violent crime.
Do you see Pakistan at a crossroads? Neither the present system nor the violent backlash to it represent a way forward. Moving in new directions, departing from long-held views, is the only way forward. My book is a call to arms.
Is your heroine a queen of love like the Empress Mumtaz whom Shahjahan enshrined in the Taj Mahal? That Mumtaz is remembered for a building built to commemorate her; my Mumtaz is the architect of her own vision. She follows a direction that’s painful. The steps she takes are the only positive ones taken in the book.
She explodes Pakistani gender stereotypes. I grew up with reversed gender roles, with strong women. My mother has seven sisters; they’re all professionals. When I was growing up, my father was at home, working on his Ph.D., my mother was out working. My grandmother was a feminist.
So Mumtaz is a role model? She’s self-critical, strong, honest and fearless–qualities I see as a way forward. Meaningful change comes from honest self-criticism. She abandons what’s not working. Many approaches to running a country can be flawed. Social class in Pakistan, for example, or our schools–they don’t work. Less than half our population is literate.
Do you see your book as a political novel? Yes, but I don’t claim to know the answers–I paint a picture as I see it. I hope it’s provocative enough to create meaningful responses.
Your Lahore is rich, hip, jet-setting, not poor. There is a relatively rich elite in Pakistan’s big cities. It’s a community I know firsthand and one that gets ignored by outsiders looking in. I don’t know the experience of a poor illiterate villager. I’m in no position to write about it.
How pervasive is Pakistan’s drug culture? There’s a significant heroin problem. Heroin was used to finance the Afghan war; we’re still living with the aftermath. Hashish is freely available, alcohol is illegal. The young rich dabble seriously in drugs, but they’re only one end of the spectrum.
Your characters are based on real people? No, but there’s a lot of me in all of them. The feelings that go into each character are mine. I inhabit other lives.
What is your hope for the future? Democracy is the only legitimate way to run a country. Allowing the situation with India to worsen is a disservice to Pakistanis who can’t make ends meet. My family is part Kashmiri, but I feel the conflict over Kashmir is wrong. Mumtaz–whose surname is “Kashmiri” because the feuding “brothers” fight over her just as India and Pakistan do over Kashmir–walks away from them.
Last year the military dismissed Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif and took over the government. Are you depressed about that? Depression implies surrender; one has to be hopeful. There’s an impetus for change–without change, the situation will become explosive, as it did in Iran. The rise of democracy and free expression in Iran is the first indigenously generated democratic form outside the Western model. It’s sustainable, organic. We need to evolve our own form of democracy. Withdrawal from the system is Pakistan’s biggest problem.
Will you go back? I’ll go back often. My job allows me to take three months off to recharge and write. My employers have been most supportive; they want people who add value to the workplace to feel fulfilled.
