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Working with narrative, culture, and the meanings in between✨
Creative Direction & Strategy @metaphorlucknowlitfest

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beautiful for whom?That one question changed everything. It gave us Manto writing about partition with surgical brutality because someone had to. Ismat naming what women actually felt in rooms they were never supposed to speak in. Faiz finding a way to make revolution sound like longing, which is the only way revolution survives a long winter. Sahir putting marxism in film songs so it could sneak past the people who would have banned it otherwise. A whole generation of writers who understood that ornament without truth is just jewellery on a corpse✨It started here. Lucknow. April 10, 1936. In a hall the nawabs built specifically because the british wouldn’t let Indians into their clubs, Rifah-e-Aam, happiness for the common man — which then hosted the Lucknow Pact, Gandhi, Nehru, and eventually Premchand standing at a podium telling a room containing the future-Faiz that literature owes the world something, The british spent 200 years trying to silence this subcontinent and we responded by accidentally inventing one of the greatest literary movements in its history in a building built out of spite. very us.Today that building has an abandoned wing, a courtyard that functions as a garbage dump, and a parking lot where the revolution used to be. Which is, depending on your disposition, either a metaphor so on the nose it would be rejected from a creative writing workshop, or simply what happens when a city decides its heritage is someone else’s problem. i think about this a lot.swipe through. ( references - lots of websites for content, lots of Instagram accs for photographs)#progressivewritersassociation #angarey #literature #lucknow rifaheaam by @myshasnazm

497

4 months ago

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As a prank on April Fool’s Day in 1899, Ruswa quietly released a sequel to Umrao Jaan Ada, titled Junun-e-Intezar.In this novella, Umrao avenges herself on her creator Ruswa, by narrating the story of his life. It's a revenge story that becomes a brilliant exercise in narrative inversion. Told through a series of letters and conversations between Ruswa and Sofia, the novella feels less like a work of fiction and more like a diary stolen from a locked drawer. Through Umrao's gaze, readers glimpse the private life of Ruswa, his personal affairs laid bare with the same unsparing honesty he had used when telling her story. The novella cleverly weaves in nods to Ruswa's earlier writings like Ishq-e-Tază and Nala'-e Ruswä. Junun-e-Intezar may have been dismissed as a curious footnote to Umrao Jaan Ada, but it deserves far more attention. And in the end, we come back to the most common question: Did Umrao ever exist? Well, to fixate on whether she was a real person is, in many ways, to miss the essence of her story. It is entirely possible that the character drew inspiration from real lives, perhaps fragments of many women who once sang, wrote and loved behind the veil of societal spectacle. But the search for a definitive historical figure, a poet with a traceable past, a documented life, it all remains futile. And perhaps, it need not matter. At last, whether she existed in flesh and blood is less important than the fact that she exists in imagination and feeling. Her truth never lied in records but in resonance. And in that, she has always been real (Mysha 40). Thanks to Krupa Shandilya for finding this forgotten sequel during her research, first a scanned copy on a digital library and then the original document, which was housed at the Sālār Jang Museum in Hyderabad, India. Krupa Shandilya and Taimoor Shahid published the first English Translation of Junun-e-Intezar: The Madness of Waiting in 2013. This book contains both the Urdu text and its translation.#umraojaanada #umraojaan #indianliterature #urduliterature #lucknow by @myshasnazm

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a year ago

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At the book fair, The Woman in White caught my eye, not for its title, but for its old, creased cover and worn edges. I flipped through the pages and saw something tucked inside. At first, I thought it was just a forgotten bookmark, but as I unfolded it, I realized it was much more. Addressed from someone in Bristol to a “Hen” in Nottingham, it was a painfully intimate letter, meant for different hands but now resting in mine.It’s achingly beautiful, isn’t it? The twist of fate.How life sometimes leaves fragments of itself in our hands without warning. What if this letter never reached Hen? What if the writer who once penned it has passed away, and the book was donated in their memory? A thousand quiet possibilities linger. Suddenly, it feels as if the letter itself is waiting to be remembered by anyone willing to listen to the heartache it carries.3 Woodstock AvenueRedlandBristol BS6 6EWDearest Hen,It was lovely to see you the other night. I'm glad you're having a great time in Nottingham. I got the impression that you were trying to convince me that your life is going somewhere and that although you like to have a good munch, you have it under control and are happy. I'm very proud of you and everything you have achieved to get where you are, despite all the setbacks. I'm sure you know what you're doing - you deserve to be happy. Just make sure that you come back to me in one piece at the end of every term?The contents of the letter continue in the comments✨In some way, this letter reminded me of Connell and Marianne from Normal People. "It was like they had been alone in this together, and she had left him behind." A mix of longing and loss.#literature #classicliterature #thewomaninwhite #letter #forgottenletter #nottingham #bristol #vintage #literary #books #story #forgottenstories #novels #loveandloss #normalpeople #writing #quotes #nostalgia #heartbreak #tragedy #postcards #handletters #bookfair by @myshasnazm

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2 years ago

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Some conversations begin with a book and end up revealing an entire generation.At the 13th edition of Metaphor Lucknow Litfest, writer, actor, and digital storyteller Ahsan Vazir joined Mysha Akhtar, Editor of Metaphor Lucknow Litfest & Creative Director at Viol Media, for a thoughtful conversation on vulnerability, artistic identity, and the emotional realities of growing up in a hyper-visible world.Known for his bestselling book Tum Ek Kavita Thi and a digital voice that resonates deeply with young audiences, Ahsan spoke about writing not as performance, but as a way of making sense of emotion, memory, heartbreak, and selfhood. The discussion moved fluidly through poetry, contemporary storytelling, the journey of young writers, creative uncertainty, and what it truly means to pursue art honestly in a time that constantly demands certainty.Honest without excess and reflective without pretence, the dialogue felt less like a formal session and more like a page from a diary being read out loud.#ahsanvazir #literature #metaphorlucknowlitfest #author #poetry by @myshasnazm

734

2 months ago

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A woman may be unforgettable, but only if she is also destroyed. She may be brilliant, but the brilliance must curve, eventually, toward ruin. She may want, …god, she may want extraordinarily, but the wanting must cost her everything, and the everything must be shown beautifully, so that we feel the tragedy of her loss without ever having to question the system that produced it.Anna karenina throws herself under a train. Emma Bovary swallows arsenic. Lady Macbeth sleepwalks into madness. Desdemona is murdered in her bed. Umrao Jaan watches every door close, one by one. We call them immortal. We write dissertations about them.We do not ask why the women we remember best are almost always the ones who were broken.We have spent two thousand years calling it great literature. what it actually is, is a very elegant instruction manual.Two thousand years of literary history, six traditions, and one very consistent verdict about women, unpacked slide by slide. Fair warning: this is the abridged version. the full essay is on substack, where i had the space to be properly obsessive about it. link in story soon.#literature #tragicliterature #englishliterature #feministliterature #essay by @myshasnazm

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3 months ago

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Poe was born on January 19, 1809 and lived a life that the world neither fully understood nor appreciated.In his stories, guilt is a heartbeat that will not be silenced, and madness is a mirror that cracks the soul in two. He gave us Dupin, the detective whose sharp reasoning paved the way for Sherlock Holmes and every sleuth that followed. Holmes exists because Dupin walked first. During his lifetime, Poe’s genius was overshadowed by misunderstanding and ridicule. His contemporaries dismissed him as a madman, labelling his works grotesque and eccentric, unworthy of serious applause. An orphan haunted by poverty, personal loss, and the spectre of death, Poe lived on society's fringes. His life, like his tales, was a tragedy.Today, the world views Poe differently. He has become a pop culture phenomenon, his name synonymous with the gothic and the macabre. Directors like Tim Burton have crafted entire visual languages from the gothic palette Poe created. Mike Flanagan reinterpreted his works for modern audiences. Flanagan’s The Fall of the House of Usher does not simply adapt Poe; it breathes new life into his themes of grief, madness, and legacy. Poe’s image now graces Halloween masks, and his birthday is celebrated as the International Goth Holiday. Well, how small the applause must feel when it comes too late. He left us with works that dare us to confront the darkness we often pretend isn’t there. He knew, as few ever have, the fragile architecture of the human mind, and used his art to lay bare its very breaking points.Happy birthday, Poe. Literature is your indebted mourner. by @myshasnazm

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2 years ago

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2 years ago

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august consecratedauguryrain, sunlight, thunder, rain, sunlight, thunder, rain.september has arrived.the clock's leaning left,the wind isn't docile.your heart is in my hands,my head, in foreign lands.what do you begin with and what do you end up with?a long poem is simply a flat contradiction in terms. by @myshasnazm

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2 years ago

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While it may seem unconventional to juxtapose a Yeats poem with La La Land, both of these works of art interplay with the delicacy of dreams and one's vulnerability. No like just picture a deeply moving scene from a movie or maybe La La Land, where a character, lacking extravagant gifts offers nothing but their unguarded, unfiltered heart and dreams. In La La Land, the characters Mia and Sebastian both have their dreams and ambitions. Mia aspires to be a successful actress and Sebastian dreams of opening his jazz club. In the poem now, relating to this, Aedh, the poem's speaker reveals his vulnerability and poverty, admitting that he has nothing except for his dear dreams to offer, further emphasizing the fragile state he's in, much like the situation with both the characters. My man Yeats captures it all, these eight lines feel anything but accidental; it is as though the poem was destined to be written. From love to vulnerability, and the confession of dreams, Aedh’s plea, "Tread softly because you tread on my dreams," parallels the film's idea of empathy, urging us to handle each other's dreams, the vulnerable versions of us with care. In contrast to the film’s conclusion, which embraces the bittersweet acceptance of choices and paths taken, the poem refrains from offering a resolution. Instead, it extends an admonition to cherish and respect the delicate dreams of oneself and others.so random ( my fav poem )✨#wbyeats #yeats #poetry #poetsoninstagram #literature#classicliterature #englishmajorproblems #quotes #fyp#fypシ #poems #dreams #literaturelovers #aesthetic #lalaland #lalalandquotes by @myshasnazm

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2 years ago

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$Ozymandias⏳ In an endless desert, a traveller stumbles upon the remnants of a once mighty empire. The grandness of its past is now reduced to barren sand, epitomized by a fractured statue half-buried in the deserted land. An inscription on the shattered pedestal declares, "I am Ozymandias, king of kings. Look at my achievements, O mighty one, and despair." The traveller reads and looks around, no traces of the empire's glory are found but only a scene of vast emptiness. Rip Percy Bysshe Shelley, you would've loved this episode. #breakingbad #heisenberg #ozymandias #percybyssheshelley #marryshelley #walterwhite#percybyssheshelleypoem #poetry by @myshasnazm$

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2 years ago

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At first, I hesitated to share this because it didn't meet my standards of perfection. But then I thought: what truly defines perfection, and why do we confine ourselves to showcasing only the so-called flawless stuff on Instagram? So, here it is - an impromptu, raw take on calligraphy, along with a rough translation of Jaun Elia's 'Ramz':tum jab aaogī to khoyā huā pāogī mujhe •When you'll come, you'll find me lost somewhere,merī tanhā.ī meñ ḳhvāboñ ke sivā kuchh bhī nahīñ •In my solitude, there is nothing except my dreams.mere kamre ko sajāne kī tamannā hai tumheñ •You long to adorn my room, it's true,mere kamre meñ kitāboñ ke sivā kuchh bhī nahīñ •But there's nothing in my room but books in view.in kitāboñ ne baḌā zulm kiyā hai mujh par •These books have wrought torment and have pined,in meñ ik ramz hai jis ramz kā maarā huā zehn •With secrets in them that weigh heavy on my mind.muzhda-e-ishrat-e-anjām nahīñ pā saktā •A promise of joy I cannot embrace,zindagī meñ kabhī ārām nahīñ pā saktā •In this life, I’ll never find peace or grace.(zulm: injustice; ramz: innuendo, insinuation, secret; zehn: intellect; muzhda: good tidings; ishrat: pleasure; anjaam: completion; aaraam: rest)This is simply my rough translation and interpretation✨ by @myshasnazm

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2 years ago

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“And so I ask myself: 'Where are your dreams?' And I shake my head and mutter: 'How the years go by!' And I ask myself again: 'What have you done with those years? Where have you buried your best moments? Have you really lived? Look,' I say to myself, 'how cold it is becoming all over the world!' And more years will pass and behind them will creep grim isolation. Tottering senility will come hobbling, leaning on a crutch, and behind these will come unrelieved boredom and despair. The world of fancies will fade, dreams will wilt and die and fall like autumn leaves from the trees...” Someone said, "you think you know love and then you read White Nights" and well, they were right.That's the thing about Dostoevsky; he's brutally honest. He doesn’t try to conceal the pain, sorrow, or the oppressive weight of unmet aspirations. He unveils these wounds upon the page, beckoning us to partake in the agony.[My God, a moment of bliss. Why, isn't that enough for a whole lifetime?] by @myshasnazm

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2 years ago

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Mysha Akhtar

@myshasnazm

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