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Karachi, You're Killing Me!
Ayesha is a twenty-something reporter in one of the world's most dangerous cities. Her assignments range from showing up at bomb sites and picking her way through scattered body parts to interviewing her boss's niece, the couture-cupcake designer. In between dicing with death and absurdity, Ayesha despairs over ever meeting a nice guy, someone like her old friend Saad, whose shoulder she cries on after every romantic misadventure. Her choices seem limited to narcissistic, adrenaline-chasing reporters who'll do anything to get their next story - to the spoilt offspring of the Karachi elite who'll do anything to cure their boredom. Her more pressing problem, however, is how to straighten her hair during the chronic power outages.
Karachi, You're Killing Me! is Bridget Jones's Diary meets The Diary of a Social Butterfly - a comedy of manners in a city with none.
Karachi, You're Killing Me! is Bridget Jones's Diary meets The Diary of a Social Butterfly - a comedy of manners in a city with none.
272 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 2014
62 people are currently reading
1268 people want to read
About the author
Saba Imtiaz
5 books235 followersSaba Imtiaz is a freelance journalist in Pakistan. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, the Guardian and the Christian Science Monitor. She reports on religious movements, culture and politics in Pakistan. She is the author of Karachi, You're Killing Me! (Random House India, 2014) and No Team of Angels (First Draft Publishing, forthcoming).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 239 reviews
March 8, 2014
After reading Karachi You’re Killing Me, I walked away with two things;
1) Ample and I mean ample mention of alcohol of various types. Beer, vodka, tequila, scotch and wine – you name it. This novel makes you feel that alcohol prohibition in Pakistan is nothing but a joke. It also makes you feel that drinking is rampant in the society, or to narrow it down, it is common within the journalistic community.
2) There is basically no plot per se. The story, narrated in first person, is about restless days and nights in the life of a Karachi based journalist. She is desperately trying to seek a good match as well as make progress professionally. Fair enough! Now most fiction stories have love story of some sort. This novel has one as well but the problem is that it is extremely trite. If you are an Indian movie buff, or like watching Hollywood romcoms, you’d instantly get what I’m saying. Two best, platonic friends forever (of course a boy and a girl) turned into a couple in the end because one of them somehow considers the other person more than a friend. Does this ring a bell? Even the end of the novel is Bollywood-esque at its best. The protagonist making it to airport in the nick of time to patch things up with her BFF before he departs for Dubai and there he confesses his love for her not as a friend but as a lover.
Other than the very predictive love story, the novel makes a dig at the lawn sale, and talks about events such as the Karachi Literary Festival and the Karachi Fashion Week, not being paid on time by the newspaper she works for, as well as references to the gang wars that the protagonist had covered in her career. That was like reading a blog really!
For me there were only a couple of things that stood out such as the protagonist’s visit to Larkana – and a few lines here and there, that I truly found hilarious.
I would’ve liked to give 1 ½ stars – but there is no such option I reckon.
1) Ample and I mean ample mention of alcohol of various types. Beer, vodka, tequila, scotch and wine – you name it. This novel makes you feel that alcohol prohibition in Pakistan is nothing but a joke. It also makes you feel that drinking is rampant in the society, or to narrow it down, it is common within the journalistic community.
2) There is basically no plot per se. The story, narrated in first person, is about restless days and nights in the life of a Karachi based journalist. She is desperately trying to seek a good match as well as make progress professionally. Fair enough! Now most fiction stories have love story of some sort. This novel has one as well but the problem is that it is extremely trite. If you are an Indian movie buff, or like watching Hollywood romcoms, you’d instantly get what I’m saying. Two best, platonic friends forever (of course a boy and a girl) turned into a couple in the end because one of them somehow considers the other person more than a friend. Does this ring a bell? Even the end of the novel is Bollywood-esque at its best. The protagonist making it to airport in the nick of time to patch things up with her BFF before he departs for Dubai and there he confesses his love for her not as a friend but as a lover.
Other than the very predictive love story, the novel makes a dig at the lawn sale, and talks about events such as the Karachi Literary Festival and the Karachi Fashion Week, not being paid on time by the newspaper she works for, as well as references to the gang wars that the protagonist had covered in her career. That was like reading a blog really!
For me there were only a couple of things that stood out such as the protagonist’s visit to Larkana – and a few lines here and there, that I truly found hilarious.
I would’ve liked to give 1 ½ stars – but there is no such option I reckon.
September 16, 2020
The title intrigued me.It's about Karachi that violent,dangerous city where killings are routine.It even has a gun on the cover.Could this be something like a thriller ?
And then I saw those one star reviews.My expectations were quickly dashed.Still,I wanted to give this a try. But it didn't take me too long to conclude that this book was pretty bad.
It's supposed to be a Pakistani version of Bridget Jones' Diary. It's more like a badly written blog post. I read enough to see that it's about drink,drugs and parties.
There's no story,it's like a nonstop rant. My patience soon ran out.It's full of swearing and expletives. In fact,it was so bad that I was tempted to curse and use a few expletives myself. If this were a paper book,I would have hurled a long way away.
One good line though : "Pakistani talk shows are oddly compelling,just like Jerry Springer".
Abandoned.
And then I saw those one star reviews.My expectations were quickly dashed.Still,I wanted to give this a try. But it didn't take me too long to conclude that this book was pretty bad.
It's supposed to be a Pakistani version of Bridget Jones' Diary. It's more like a badly written blog post. I read enough to see that it's about drink,drugs and parties.
There's no story,it's like a nonstop rant. My patience soon ran out.It's full of swearing and expletives. In fact,it was so bad that I was tempted to curse and use a few expletives myself. If this were a paper book,I would have hurled a long way away.
One good line though : "Pakistani talk shows are oddly compelling,just like Jerry Springer".
Abandoned.
March 13, 2014
Half way through and I'm putting this book down, hopefully for good. I had put it down earlier, just to pick it up with hopes that it might get better ... but WALLAHI I can not bear it any more. It is KILLING me and my interest in reading. It could have been a much better book if it had focused more on story than on alcohol, smoking and partying. What I mean is, it's feeling like I'm reading a long, long, long, long, long blog by a girl who's a journalist but keeps going on and on and on and on with her rant. The story doesn't seem bad, in fact it has a tinge of being good (hence giving me motivation to keep carrying on and giving the author a chance) but the ranty tone simply puts me off. I'd give it 1/5 were it not for the story giving a feel of being good. But rants, that I simply CAN NOT tolerate. Specially coming from someone (character) whose worst worries seem to be proper bootleggers, and getting out of a shithole of a city where apparently she has no restriction on anything to complain so much about.... were it not for a ranty tone.... maybe, just maybe......
In fact, I'll CHANGE from 2 stars to 1, why? it cost me some good money which could have bought me some good book? Or maybe some of that Murree Beer..... -_-
racey pacey and fun filled ??? It didn't give me a single chuckle, laughing is far off radar... I felt more like groaning ...
In fact, I'll CHANGE from 2 stars to 1, why? it cost me some good money which could have bought me some good book? Or maybe some of that Murree Beer..... -_-
racey pacey and fun filled ??? It didn't give me a single chuckle, laughing is far off radar... I felt more like groaning ...
March 25, 2014
Like almost everyone else, even I was really excited about reading this book as well. But honestly speaking, it felt like I was reading someone's diary with never-ending rants. Except for a few hilarious lines here and there, this book is a complete waste of time and money. And the VERY Bollywood type ending actually made me LOL. Can't believe I read the whole book. *stabs self*
January 14, 2015
A pointless jumble of words at worst, an elevated blog post in Cliftonian English at best - it turned out to be an utter waste of time - and money. I don't understand how such books even get published. It's not even good gossip, such as in Shobha De mode. I keep up my hopes high for Pakistani English fiction to mature up but I suppose it will be a long time before Pakistan produces something solid and universal in English.
A novel without a story, without an idea to hold it together, without characters except cardboard cliches that looked so much alike that their only distinguishable features are their names.
A novel without a story, without an idea to hold it together, without characters except cardboard cliches that looked so much alike that their only distinguishable features are their names.
February 11, 2015
It is exciting that the scope of Pakistani fiction in English has widened in recent years to include not just highbrow, politically-engaged literary fiction but also more fast-paced and lighter genre fiction. This includes crime thrillers (the recently published The Prisoner by Omar Shahid Hamid) and now with the arrival of Karachi, You’re Killing Me! by Saba Imtiaz, smart, well-written chick lit.
Although the term ‘chick lit’ is problematic and more than a little demeaning, the genre itself, which focuses on the relationships and career woes of the modern woman in a light-hearted and humourous way, has been flourishing in English fiction since the 1990s. Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones’s Diary is considered the first quintessential chick lit novel, so it is only fitting that Imtiaz quotes a passage from it as an epigraph to her book, setting the stage for what is definitely one of the better chick lit novels out there.
Karachi, You’re Killing Me! recounts the life and adventures of Ayesha, a twenty-year-old journalist trying to juggle love, friendships and partying with her career reporting on the many absurd and tragic things happening in Karachi on a daily basis. Surrounding Ayesha are many colourful characters, from her crazy, unreasonable editor Kamran to her feisty friend and fellow journalist Zara and her best friend Saad, a playboy with a heart of gold. Ayesha’s job entails reporting on everything, from a Sipah-e-Sahaba protest rally, where young men shout slogans like ‘Death to Shias!” yet refuse to meet Ayesha’s eyes because she’s a woman, to Pakistan’s Fashion Week, where male models trot out dressed as suicide bombers to standing ovations and general applause. Ayesha’s crazy life is further complicated by the arrival of Jamie, an attractive gora correspondent for CNN with whom she feels an immediate connection.
The problem with this genre is that the funny and light tone of many of these books can easily veer off into the silly and irritating. Thankfully, Karahi, You’re Killing Me! manages to remain witty and entertaining throughout, mainly because Imtiaz has made in Ayesha an immediately likeable character, smart and genuinely funny in her observations. Humour is the greatest strength of the novel. Ayesha’s disdain of the inanity that surrounds her comes through in her irreverent and snarky narration and it’s easy to root for her in her quests to rise above her dead-end job by finding an exciting scoop of a story, or in her attempts to find love in a place “where it’s easier to hire an assassin than meet an attractive, intelligent, normal man.” Ayesha’s journalistic escapades – presumably taken from Imtiaz’s own career as a journalist – are hilarious, as are her barbs aimed towards everything from the pseudo-intellectual talk that is commonly heard at the Karachi Literature Festival (“If there is ever anything you can count on at Pakistani cultural events, it’s that Zia – dead for longer than most people can remember – can still be blamed for everything.”) to the long queues of expensive cars lining up at petrol pumps for gas after CNG strikes (“I’m quite convinced in five years I’ll meet a kid who was either conceived in one of these queues or whose parents first set eyes on each other while sitting at adjoining cars at a gas station.”).
The book does have some flaws, however. Most of the events in first half of the book are largely episodic and only loosely connected, and even after the story eventually picks up there is no real sense of narrative structure. The characters, too, (apart from Ayesha) are not fleshed-out at all, with some – such as Ali, the smarmy, narcissistic TV reporter and Ayesha’s nemesis – bordering on caricatural. It would also have been better, I think, if the humour and light-heartedness was occasionally off-set by grounded, real moments, but even when such moments appeared, they were quickly brushed away in comedy before they could have any sort of emotional impact.
There is also the question of Ayesha’s excessive drinking and waking up most mornings with a hangover, and her casual approach to one night stands and the morning-after pill, but I’m not sure whether that’s a flaw of the novel. On the one hand, it seems a little too derivative of the Western chick lit Imtiaz clearly had in mind while writing this novel. But on the other hand, it may be an indication that much like Pakistani fiction in English is becoming more inclusive of different forms and genres of literature, it is also becoming more open to varied representations of Pakistanis. Ayesha may well be an apt representation of young, hip upper-middle class women that populate our big cities, and it doesn’t really matter that a lot of Pakistani won’t be familiar with her kind of life, because Karachi, You’re Killing Me! doesn’t concern itself with such questions of representation.
At the end of the day, despite its flaws Karachi, You’re Killing Me! succeeds in what it sets out to do – to entertain you and make you laugh at the many absurdities of life in Karachi.
Although the term ‘chick lit’ is problematic and more than a little demeaning, the genre itself, which focuses on the relationships and career woes of the modern woman in a light-hearted and humourous way, has been flourishing in English fiction since the 1990s. Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones’s Diary is considered the first quintessential chick lit novel, so it is only fitting that Imtiaz quotes a passage from it as an epigraph to her book, setting the stage for what is definitely one of the better chick lit novels out there.
Karachi, You’re Killing Me! recounts the life and adventures of Ayesha, a twenty-year-old journalist trying to juggle love, friendships and partying with her career reporting on the many absurd and tragic things happening in Karachi on a daily basis. Surrounding Ayesha are many colourful characters, from her crazy, unreasonable editor Kamran to her feisty friend and fellow journalist Zara and her best friend Saad, a playboy with a heart of gold. Ayesha’s job entails reporting on everything, from a Sipah-e-Sahaba protest rally, where young men shout slogans like ‘Death to Shias!” yet refuse to meet Ayesha’s eyes because she’s a woman, to Pakistan’s Fashion Week, where male models trot out dressed as suicide bombers to standing ovations and general applause. Ayesha’s crazy life is further complicated by the arrival of Jamie, an attractive gora correspondent for CNN with whom she feels an immediate connection.
The problem with this genre is that the funny and light tone of many of these books can easily veer off into the silly and irritating. Thankfully, Karahi, You’re Killing Me! manages to remain witty and entertaining throughout, mainly because Imtiaz has made in Ayesha an immediately likeable character, smart and genuinely funny in her observations. Humour is the greatest strength of the novel. Ayesha’s disdain of the inanity that surrounds her comes through in her irreverent and snarky narration and it’s easy to root for her in her quests to rise above her dead-end job by finding an exciting scoop of a story, or in her attempts to find love in a place “where it’s easier to hire an assassin than meet an attractive, intelligent, normal man.” Ayesha’s journalistic escapades – presumably taken from Imtiaz’s own career as a journalist – are hilarious, as are her barbs aimed towards everything from the pseudo-intellectual talk that is commonly heard at the Karachi Literature Festival (“If there is ever anything you can count on at Pakistani cultural events, it’s that Zia – dead for longer than most people can remember – can still be blamed for everything.”) to the long queues of expensive cars lining up at petrol pumps for gas after CNG strikes (“I’m quite convinced in five years I’ll meet a kid who was either conceived in one of these queues or whose parents first set eyes on each other while sitting at adjoining cars at a gas station.”).
The book does have some flaws, however. Most of the events in first half of the book are largely episodic and only loosely connected, and even after the story eventually picks up there is no real sense of narrative structure. The characters, too, (apart from Ayesha) are not fleshed-out at all, with some – such as Ali, the smarmy, narcissistic TV reporter and Ayesha’s nemesis – bordering on caricatural. It would also have been better, I think, if the humour and light-heartedness was occasionally off-set by grounded, real moments, but even when such moments appeared, they were quickly brushed away in comedy before they could have any sort of emotional impact.
There is also the question of Ayesha’s excessive drinking and waking up most mornings with a hangover, and her casual approach to one night stands and the morning-after pill, but I’m not sure whether that’s a flaw of the novel. On the one hand, it seems a little too derivative of the Western chick lit Imtiaz clearly had in mind while writing this novel. But on the other hand, it may be an indication that much like Pakistani fiction in English is becoming more inclusive of different forms and genres of literature, it is also becoming more open to varied representations of Pakistanis. Ayesha may well be an apt representation of young, hip upper-middle class women that populate our big cities, and it doesn’t really matter that a lot of Pakistani won’t be familiar with her kind of life, because Karachi, You’re Killing Me! doesn’t concern itself with such questions of representation.
At the end of the day, despite its flaws Karachi, You’re Killing Me! succeeds in what it sets out to do – to entertain you and make you laugh at the many absurdities of life in Karachi.
July 18, 2017
As a living citizen of Karachi, I found this book deeply relatable. It was a fun and a quick read.
April 24, 2014
I rarely criticize books or authors, but unfortunately this book deserves it.
It took me two hours to read this book, and all I could think about which Karachi is she talking about? This book is a mockery of what Karachi is & Karachites. We all know that there is a part of Karachi that we rarely get to see but its discreet and hidden. However, with this book it feels as if that is all there is.
One instance she's talking about bomb blasts & killings and the other she's talking about drugs, drinking, partying and all that so nonchalantly. What's unfortunate is that if a foreigner someone reads this, they would probably think this represents Karachi and that would be beyond sad.
Might have been better had she actually focused on one storyline instead of well going into completely different narratives which are not at all cohesive.
It took me two hours to read this book, and all I could think about which Karachi is she talking about? This book is a mockery of what Karachi is & Karachites. We all know that there is a part of Karachi that we rarely get to see but its discreet and hidden. However, with this book it feels as if that is all there is.
One instance she's talking about bomb blasts & killings and the other she's talking about drugs, drinking, partying and all that so nonchalantly. What's unfortunate is that if a foreigner someone reads this, they would probably think this represents Karachi and that would be beyond sad.
Might have been better had she actually focused on one storyline instead of well going into completely different narratives which are not at all cohesive.
April 19, 2014
Being a regular reader of Saba's non-fiction writing, I had more hopes associated with this book. Unfortunately, it felt more like reading a blog based on a FML rant
It seemed like a Diary of a socially disgruntled butterfly flitting about from bomb sites to parties without a change of clothes only to envy “glamazons” with glossy manes and designer clutches.
Her reporting is usually crisp and reads fluidly but the writing in the book seemed so repetitive.
Almost every paragraph in the book seemed to carry endless lists with these themes that run through the book in a loop: a) lists such as these b) hangover traumas c) notes on the de-merits of being consistently under- dressed d) her room which has almost developed its own character by the sheer number of mentions e) the cat - another silent character f) lack of sex g) job hate h) the crazy employer i) lack of funds k) hating Karachi h) fearing spinsterhood
This self-pitying technique may have worked for The Bridget Jones’ Diary because it read original at the time but when read again comes across as perhaps a bit unoriginal.
Towards the end, the constant complaining was met by a perfect Bollywood ending and they all lived happily ever after...
Hoping this was a debut novel "novelty" and her next book will be more true to her signature style.
It seemed like a Diary of a socially disgruntled butterfly flitting about from bomb sites to parties without a change of clothes only to envy “glamazons” with glossy manes and designer clutches.
Her reporting is usually crisp and reads fluidly but the writing in the book seemed so repetitive.
Almost every paragraph in the book seemed to carry endless lists with these themes that run through the book in a loop: a) lists such as these b) hangover traumas c) notes on the de-merits of being consistently under- dressed d) her room which has almost developed its own character by the sheer number of mentions e) the cat - another silent character f) lack of sex g) job hate h) the crazy employer i) lack of funds k) hating Karachi h) fearing spinsterhood
This self-pitying technique may have worked for The Bridget Jones’ Diary because it read original at the time but when read again comes across as perhaps a bit unoriginal.
Towards the end, the constant complaining was met by a perfect Bollywood ending and they all lived happily ever after...
Hoping this was a debut novel "novelty" and her next book will be more true to her signature style.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 8, 2014
Okay. This book was hilarious. And it showed the upper crust of the Pakistani, Karachite society quite perfectly.
I picked my copy at the Lahore Literary Festival, and was fortunate enough to actually attend a talk by the author AND get my book signed. Most chick lit books I've tried to read about Karachi, or Pakistan really, have come off as either too dry, or way too over the top. This book was fortunately neither.
Karachi, You're Killing Me's protag, Ayesha was just the right amount of sarcastic/witty/cynical to be funny. I suppose my favourite thing about this book was the heavy sprinkling of references that only Karachites, or Pakistani's would get. They were parallel to the western pop culture references, only they were- Paki pop culture.
For example, Ayesha talks about the 'Mehndi girl' at Paki weddings, the prettiest girl on the dance floor with the best dance moves. The slightly exaggerated stuff about Pakistan's Fashion Week, the lawn sales- it was all so much fun to read about.
A few things did bother me though. First of all, the romance was slightly under developed. Secondly, although Ayesha was funny, at times she seemed a bit too cynical and hardened to all the tragedies happening around her. (But maybe that does happen to Karachi reporters?)
Over all though, Karachi, You're Killing Me was a refreshing, and very enjoyable read.
I picked my copy at the Lahore Literary Festival, and was fortunate enough to actually attend a talk by the author AND get my book signed. Most chick lit books I've tried to read about Karachi, or Pakistan really, have come off as either too dry, or way too over the top. This book was fortunately neither.
Karachi, You're Killing Me's protag, Ayesha was just the right amount of sarcastic/witty/cynical to be funny. I suppose my favourite thing about this book was the heavy sprinkling of references that only Karachites, or Pakistani's would get. They were parallel to the western pop culture references, only they were- Paki pop culture.
For example, Ayesha talks about the 'Mehndi girl' at Paki weddings, the prettiest girl on the dance floor with the best dance moves. The slightly exaggerated stuff about Pakistan's Fashion Week, the lawn sales- it was all so much fun to read about.
A few things did bother me though. First of all, the romance was slightly under developed. Secondly, although Ayesha was funny, at times she seemed a bit too cynical and hardened to all the tragedies happening around her. (But maybe that does happen to Karachi reporters?)
Over all though, Karachi, You're Killing Me was a refreshing, and very enjoyable read.
March 25, 2014
Encyclopedia of cliches
May 6, 2014
Remember the romance stories of Bollywood flicks, the ones where you begin the movie with a sure notion of how it shall end, the hero standing at the airport, the heroine rushing to him and the universe trying to stampede out their love in one elaborate scheme? Transport this setting to Karachi's high society with its obsessive focus on career, sex and drugs, and you have this book. The author does a brilliant job at describing the fashion world, although her take on the more mundane topics, the ones more closely relevant to life in Karachi, are a tad bit naive.
The book is written in a flowing style and makes for easy reading. I have a feeling that if Saba Imtiaz pens a book on non-fiction, it will be far better than this novel.
The book is written in a flowing style and makes for easy reading. I have a feeling that if Saba Imtiaz pens a book on non-fiction, it will be far better than this novel.
Read
December 24, 2015DNF at page 94/ 263
I read an article way back this year about how this book has been picked up for a movie. And I felt proud. 'A Pakistani Muslim wrote a fictional book that is worthy enough of getting produced into a film' . From that day onwards I wanted to read it. I only knew little about the plot. But it was interesting enough. A female news reporter for Karachi? Given I'm a Karachian myself, the idea of reading a narrative based on the happenings of the city was enough motivation. So I brought it at the Book Expo held in Karachi
Now the first few pages were interesting enough. I could picture the life of our main character as Ayesha. She had dreams of being a great journalist but it was just not her day.
That's it.
The story then took such a huge turn that it left my mouth hanging open WIDE.
I kept questioning myself if the author was talking about the same Karachi where I was born and have been living for the entire span of my life. I'll be honest. I've lived a sheltered life and Karachi is a huge city. I only get snippets of news as what our Elite might be up to. Or what's the 'darker side of Karachi'.
But the author just showed me an entirely different place.
For her character, getting drunk everyday, having contacts with the dealers and crossing boundaries is just normal. I have read alot of books mainly by foreign authors. And yet I can confidently say that KYKM is the only book by which I learnt the various names used to refer to beer. It's like there is no such thing a 'prohibition on alcohol and its sales' in Karachi. Ayesha is seen taking it and drinking it in hotels and restaurants openly and yet not one person questions her?
I am aware that there are places that have alcohol available. Karachi is not free of it. But all this is spoken in whispers. Not broadcasted live to everyone you encounter and yet get away with it
I belong to a middle class family. I have friends, relatives, acquaintances that belong to that class. And I can say that the writer portrayed this in a very ugly manner. I was offended by the moral values our main character and her friends exercised. It appeared as if they had completely forgotten their background, their roots.
I stopped reading it it page 93 and decided to flip somr pages. And the page where I landed made me wanna gag. And it removed any other doubts that I had (if even) regarding if I should continue or not. I never ever read the end of a book beforehand. But I just wanted to see how the author is going to end this nonsense. And let me tell you , she did it with more nonsense
From the few pages that I 'managed ' to read, the story wasn't impressive. Our protagonist was the most whiny obnoxious 28 year old that I have ever had the misfortune of coming across or reading. She came across as the famous 'aurat Jo apnay apko subsai mazloom samjhti hai' type that is dominant in our dramas. Like for someone who covers everything from dolphin dying to rape cases / train crashes, I would have expected atleast some amount of humanity. And her friend Zara was no better. Her only objective in life appeared to get drunk as soon as possible. I don't even want to talk about Saad. Every time his character appeared, I wanted to kill him. Or should I be honest, I felt the same way for every character.
The entire book felt as if the author was trying to write about the 'gora world and lifestyle' but decided to put it into a Pakistani environment. Aiming for a fusion East and West? She tried to paint Karachi in a Western modern colour and she failed miserably
It pains me to know that the rest of the world is going to read this and form an opinion about Karachi. Pakistanis and Pakistan in general, based on this senseless book. The writer herself narrates 'how foreigners talk about Pakistan on what they only see on Twitter' yet by writing this novel, she did the same thing.
Karachi is not a safe haven. It's not the ideal picture of a Muslim society. I agree with it. But Karachi is more than what the media or the outer world thinks of it. There is a fine line between stating the facts and meddling with them. Its not the first time that I have read a novel that shows a glimpse of the 'other side'. Umera Ahmed writes about the decline in the social and moral values of our society. But never have I felt repulsive or disgusted by it like I felt with this book. Because she was only stating the facts not writing a book based on the fabrication of them.
I believe that when someone is going to take it as his job of describing the life of a Karachian , he/she should do it responsibly. Don't use your imagination in making it appear what's it not. Cause you are not only going to hurt the sentiments of the citizens but also the image of the country
And lastly I'm ashamed of myself that I did not bother to read the reviews for this book beforehand. It's a regret that I would have to live with my whole life.
I read an article way back this year about how this book has been picked up for a movie. And I felt proud. 'A Pakistani Muslim wrote a fictional book that is worthy enough of getting produced into a film' . From that day onwards I wanted to read it. I only knew little about the plot. But it was interesting enough. A female news reporter for Karachi? Given I'm a Karachian myself, the idea of reading a narrative based on the happenings of the city was enough motivation. So I brought it at the Book Expo held in Karachi
Now the first few pages were interesting enough. I could picture the life of our main character as Ayesha. She had dreams of being a great journalist but it was just not her day.
That's it.
The story then took such a huge turn that it left my mouth hanging open WIDE.
I kept questioning myself if the author was talking about the same Karachi where I was born and have been living for the entire span of my life. I'll be honest. I've lived a sheltered life and Karachi is a huge city. I only get snippets of news as what our Elite might be up to. Or what's the 'darker side of Karachi'.
But the author just showed me an entirely different place.
For her character, getting drunk everyday, having contacts with the dealers and crossing boundaries is just normal. I have read alot of books mainly by foreign authors. And yet I can confidently say that KYKM is the only book by which I learnt the various names used to refer to beer. It's like there is no such thing a 'prohibition on alcohol and its sales' in Karachi. Ayesha is seen taking it and drinking it in hotels and restaurants openly and yet not one person questions her?
I am aware that there are places that have alcohol available. Karachi is not free of it. But all this is spoken in whispers. Not broadcasted live to everyone you encounter and yet get away with it
I belong to a middle class family. I have friends, relatives, acquaintances that belong to that class. And I can say that the writer portrayed this in a very ugly manner. I was offended by the moral values our main character and her friends exercised. It appeared as if they had completely forgotten their background, their roots.
I stopped reading it it page 93 and decided to flip somr pages. And the page where I landed made me wanna gag. And it removed any other doubts that I had (if even) regarding if I should continue or not. I never ever read the end of a book beforehand. But I just wanted to see how the author is going to end this nonsense. And let me tell you , she did it with more nonsense
From the few pages that I 'managed ' to read, the story wasn't impressive. Our protagonist was the most whiny obnoxious 28 year old that I have ever had the misfortune of coming across or reading. She came across as the famous 'aurat Jo apnay apko subsai mazloom samjhti hai' type that is dominant in our dramas. Like for someone who covers everything from dolphin dying to rape cases / train crashes, I would have expected atleast some amount of humanity. And her friend Zara was no better. Her only objective in life appeared to get drunk as soon as possible. I don't even want to talk about Saad. Every time his character appeared, I wanted to kill him. Or should I be honest, I felt the same way for every character.
The entire book felt as if the author was trying to write about the 'gora world and lifestyle' but decided to put it into a Pakistani environment. Aiming for a fusion East and West? She tried to paint Karachi in a Western modern colour and she failed miserably
It pains me to know that the rest of the world is going to read this and form an opinion about Karachi. Pakistanis and Pakistan in general, based on this senseless book. The writer herself narrates 'how foreigners talk about Pakistan on what they only see on Twitter' yet by writing this novel, she did the same thing.
Karachi is not a safe haven. It's not the ideal picture of a Muslim society. I agree with it. But Karachi is more than what the media or the outer world thinks of it. There is a fine line between stating the facts and meddling with them. Its not the first time that I have read a novel that shows a glimpse of the 'other side'. Umera Ahmed writes about the decline in the social and moral values of our society. But never have I felt repulsive or disgusted by it like I felt with this book. Because she was only stating the facts not writing a book based on the fabrication of them.
I believe that when someone is going to take it as his job of describing the life of a Karachian , he/she should do it responsibly. Don't use your imagination in making it appear what's it not. Cause you are not only going to hurt the sentiments of the citizens but also the image of the country
And lastly I'm ashamed of myself that I did not bother to read the reviews for this book beforehand. It's a regret that I would have to live with my whole life.
May 13, 2014
By Saba Imtiaz. Grade C
Saba Imtiaz’s debut is classic chick-lit – and I do not mean that as a compliment. Complete with a chronically single woman who drinks too much and has a career that refuses to take off, a gorgeous-but-platonic best friend AND a cat, this book should be titled If Bridget Jones Had Been Written in Pakistan.
Ayesha is a journalist working her ass off among slimy, smarmy masochists in Karachi, and has been waiting for her big break for quite a while now. Her love life is in the bin, and at 28, her colleagues and friends are rising and shining in their respective careers, while the only relationship she has is with her bootlegger. Things start looking up when she bumps into the gorgeous gora and CNN reporter Jamie. His interest in her causes much anxiety and butterflies (it’s been two hours! Why hasn’t he called yet? Is he not as into me as I’d thought? But he said he was. Should I call him? But I don’t want to appear too clingy. WHY HASN’T HE CALLED YET? *Checks phone some more, stalks him on social media, thinks of dropping by his hotel room on some pretext*)
Difficult to imagine a ‘successful, smart and independent’ twenty eight year old woman – or even anyone out of their teenage – being this tied up over a gorgeous face she has met once. The protagonist more than once came across as a self-obsessed whiny sixteen year old playing grown up. The first half is filled with cribbing about everything – Karachi, the lack of sex, the poor liquor, her job, her cat, even detailed comments about the sucky weather. When it finally looks like she is about to get her big break and is trailing a story, she can’t resist bragging and talks about it with fellow journalist Jamie, who later steals it and is showered with limelight. Thus, another cliche is added to the mix. The female chasing after the gorgeous-but-evil man while the right one has been there in front of her all along. Of course, everything neatly ties up in the last couple of pages and the book closes with Ayesha having found the love of her life and a great career.
Yawn. The writing style is what kept me turning the pages. Acerbic, sharp and witty, even if it came across as trying-too-hard in some places. A little originality would have done wonders, and here’s hoping Imtiaz strikes gold the next time.
Final verdict: good for a couple of laughs but that’s all.
Originally reviewed at Vaultofbooks.com, a close-knit community of fanatical readers. We are looking for perceptive readers who can write well, and we are eager to provide lots of free books in exchange for reviews. Shoot us a mail at contact@vaultofbooks.com
Saba Imtiaz’s debut is classic chick-lit – and I do not mean that as a compliment. Complete with a chronically single woman who drinks too much and has a career that refuses to take off, a gorgeous-but-platonic best friend AND a cat, this book should be titled If Bridget Jones Had Been Written in Pakistan.
Ayesha is a journalist working her ass off among slimy, smarmy masochists in Karachi, and has been waiting for her big break for quite a while now. Her love life is in the bin, and at 28, her colleagues and friends are rising and shining in their respective careers, while the only relationship she has is with her bootlegger. Things start looking up when she bumps into the gorgeous gora and CNN reporter Jamie. His interest in her causes much anxiety and butterflies (it’s been two hours! Why hasn’t he called yet? Is he not as into me as I’d thought? But he said he was. Should I call him? But I don’t want to appear too clingy. WHY HASN’T HE CALLED YET? *Checks phone some more, stalks him on social media, thinks of dropping by his hotel room on some pretext*)
Difficult to imagine a ‘successful, smart and independent’ twenty eight year old woman – or even anyone out of their teenage – being this tied up over a gorgeous face she has met once. The protagonist more than once came across as a self-obsessed whiny sixteen year old playing grown up. The first half is filled with cribbing about everything – Karachi, the lack of sex, the poor liquor, her job, her cat, even detailed comments about the sucky weather. When it finally looks like she is about to get her big break and is trailing a story, she can’t resist bragging and talks about it with fellow journalist Jamie, who later steals it and is showered with limelight. Thus, another cliche is added to the mix. The female chasing after the gorgeous-but-evil man while the right one has been there in front of her all along. Of course, everything neatly ties up in the last couple of pages and the book closes with Ayesha having found the love of her life and a great career.
Yawn. The writing style is what kept me turning the pages. Acerbic, sharp and witty, even if it came across as trying-too-hard in some places. A little originality would have done wonders, and here’s hoping Imtiaz strikes gold the next time.
Final verdict: good for a couple of laughs but that’s all.
Originally reviewed at Vaultofbooks.com, a close-knit community of fanatical readers. We are looking for perceptive readers who can write well, and we are eager to provide lots of free books in exchange for reviews. Shoot us a mail at contact@vaultofbooks.com
July 18, 2014
Saba Imtiaz, you're killing me! Is this really what you call a novel? There's no begining , no middle , no end, and everything is so cliche! I knew about Jamie the moment he was introduced that he will turn out to be a douche!In all the 260-something pages, there were hardly three to four moments where I laughed out loud. The book was not as good as was promised it would be!
AND THE AMOUNT OF ALCOHOL, OH DEAR GOD! This felt like an exremely wanna-be kind of novel with only the names changed to Pakistani names.
Every thing about the story was expected, from Saad's attitude to his behavior towards the end, complete with an extremely cliche scene at the airport! You call THAT a conclusion to the novel? The book in no way did satisfy me!
You know this doesn't even deserve one star, and it only got that because of the cat, YES THE BLOODY CAT. The only character I liked. And you know you're a horrible author when the only likable character from your book is a damn cat!
AND THE AMOUNT OF ALCOHOL, OH DEAR GOD! This felt like an exremely wanna-be kind of novel with only the names changed to Pakistani names.
Every thing about the story was expected, from Saad's attitude to his behavior towards the end, complete with an extremely cliche scene at the airport! You call THAT a conclusion to the novel? The book in no way did satisfy me!
You know this doesn't even deserve one star, and it only got that because of the cat, YES THE BLOODY CAT. The only character I liked. And you know you're a horrible author when the only likable character from your book is a damn cat!
August 7, 2017
5 stars
It was a beautiful, beautiful social satire.
I cannot explain how much I enjoyed reading this. Living in the same city I related with so much of this book. Gunshots (they're better thank God), traffic jams, several different public buildings.
Karachi was so much like this two years ago and I can't even remember the worst (according to my parents). THIS IS A MUST READ EVERYBODY!!
I loved Aysha. The way she didn't give up (well, maybe sort of) and I am so happy that my OTP became canon at the end
The slang made me laugh. This novel was one of the simplest yet wittiest things I have held in my hands.
I cannot write more because of blasted deadlines. Anyhow, cheers and Happy Reading!!!
It was a beautiful, beautiful social satire.
I cannot explain how much I enjoyed reading this. Living in the same city I related with so much of this book. Gunshots (they're better thank God), traffic jams, several different public buildings.
Karachi was so much like this two years ago and I can't even remember the worst (according to my parents). THIS IS A MUST READ EVERYBODY!!
I loved Aysha. The way she didn't give up (well, maybe sort of) and I am so happy that my OTP became canon at the end
The slang made me laugh. This novel was one of the simplest yet wittiest things I have held in my hands.
I cannot write more because of blasted deadlines. Anyhow, cheers and Happy Reading!!!
February 26, 2014
Now that I have read the book I can be bit more honest, I barely read any work of South Asian writers. They make the best stands for my action figurines. So when a close friend of mine Saba told me about her book deal I spent a great deal practicing my “supportive friend face”. The only silver lining out of this was that Saba Imtiaz is fairly known amongst journalists locally and internationally, so the opinion of a D.H.A darling meant nothing.
When the book Karachi You’re Killing Me arrived unexpectedly early I thought a multiple of things, however I didn’t know it was going to be the best part of my day. The hilarious spot on observations followed with quirky headlines got me laughing out loud. Quickly I came to realize it was one of the best romantic comedy to come out in years.
Most journalists and friends have searched for references about themselves. Good luck finding them, Saba successfully managed to weave personalities and mix them around. While I had teeth grinding moments myself the book it is much more than that. Ayesha (the main protagonist) is straight from a 90’s chick flick with modern references. It has everything from the good looking ‘golden-boy’ who is actually a douche-bag to a supportive group of quirky and equally clueless friends. The character can be self-deprecating at times giving the book a Bridget Jones kind of feel but I was taken to a place where Melissa Joan Heart and Alicea Silverstone movies were brought back to life. Even better she has “brown girl problems” making her more relatable.
The pace is fast and yet organized enough to have a proper conflict and a resolution. It’s easy to figure out where the book is headed but at the same time the ride is enjoyable. If you are a single, slightly self-obsessed female such as myself then definitely read this book; you will know that you are not alone in your career choices and dating mishaps.
The only issue with the book is that it is heavily Karachi-enteric and leans on a lot of references perhaps only a “Karachi-wala” will understand. I sincerely hope this is only my perception because some of the funniest bits will be lost to international readers.
All in all I am happy that my favorite coffee shop buddy has introduced a new hero to literature and at the same time mocked this culturally confused city for all the right reasons.
When the book Karachi You’re Killing Me arrived unexpectedly early I thought a multiple of things, however I didn’t know it was going to be the best part of my day. The hilarious spot on observations followed with quirky headlines got me laughing out loud. Quickly I came to realize it was one of the best romantic comedy to come out in years.
Most journalists and friends have searched for references about themselves. Good luck finding them, Saba successfully managed to weave personalities and mix them around. While I had teeth grinding moments myself the book it is much more than that. Ayesha (the main protagonist) is straight from a 90’s chick flick with modern references. It has everything from the good looking ‘golden-boy’ who is actually a douche-bag to a supportive group of quirky and equally clueless friends. The character can be self-deprecating at times giving the book a Bridget Jones kind of feel but I was taken to a place where Melissa Joan Heart and Alicea Silverstone movies were brought back to life. Even better she has “brown girl problems” making her more relatable.
The pace is fast and yet organized enough to have a proper conflict and a resolution. It’s easy to figure out where the book is headed but at the same time the ride is enjoyable. If you are a single, slightly self-obsessed female such as myself then definitely read this book; you will know that you are not alone in your career choices and dating mishaps.
The only issue with the book is that it is heavily Karachi-enteric and leans on a lot of references perhaps only a “Karachi-wala” will understand. I sincerely hope this is only my perception because some of the funniest bits will be lost to international readers.
All in all I am happy that my favorite coffee shop buddy has introduced a new hero to literature and at the same time mocked this culturally confused city for all the right reasons.
October 19, 2015
"White men really did do it better" - She is referring to sex with white men and she does not stop there. She trashes how 'brown men' can't do it right. I have one word for this author: A white supremacist. Throughout the book, she refers to western examples whether it be movies, alcohol or a news channel (and she is writing a book about KARACHI!)
I got this book all the way from Dubai, without reading the reviews. On hindsight I should have - rather than just getting excited by the title of this book. I am so disappointed and very angry. Saba bashes Karachi and it's people. Does she understand the power of words? If she did, she would not portray Karachiites (and Pakistanis) in such a bad light. Yes this is fiction but I have heard (and been in discussion with people) who read, watch and belief anything about the 'other' side of world. This book is just serving ammunition to people's bias about the 'unknown'.
In a nutshell, the author talks about how much alcohol her character drinks and the cigarettes she smoke, how she has not had sex for the last 6 months, and how sorry everyone should feel for her. What is the message she is trying to convey? That the readers should sympathise with the main protagonist (I won't even call her that) or we see that Karachi has some independent women struggling to live alongside the men? A western idea of independence maybe? Even. This. Spells. White. Supremacy.
I enjoyed the last couple of chapters when we see some sort of reflective thinking about the situation in Pakistan. Such as the lives affected by the political situation of the country. Other than that, the end is too abrupt without any proper climax.
Please don't read this book if you want to know more about Karachi. You could read it as a bad example of fiction and/or life in Karachi.
I got this book all the way from Dubai, without reading the reviews. On hindsight I should have - rather than just getting excited by the title of this book. I am so disappointed and very angry. Saba bashes Karachi and it's people. Does she understand the power of words? If she did, she would not portray Karachiites (and Pakistanis) in such a bad light. Yes this is fiction but I have heard (and been in discussion with people) who read, watch and belief anything about the 'other' side of world. This book is just serving ammunition to people's bias about the 'unknown'.
In a nutshell, the author talks about how much alcohol her character drinks and the cigarettes she smoke, how she has not had sex for the last 6 months, and how sorry everyone should feel for her. What is the message she is trying to convey? That the readers should sympathise with the main protagonist (I won't even call her that) or we see that Karachi has some independent women struggling to live alongside the men? A western idea of independence maybe? Even. This. Spells. White. Supremacy.
I enjoyed the last couple of chapters when we see some sort of reflective thinking about the situation in Pakistan. Such as the lives affected by the political situation of the country. Other than that, the end is too abrupt without any proper climax.
Please don't read this book if you want to know more about Karachi. You could read it as a bad example of fiction and/or life in Karachi.
August 27, 2014
If turned into a television series, 'Karachi, You're Killing Me' would make for a great break from the usual Pakistani play depicting women as whiny dimwits with nothing on their minds except how to save their unbearable marriages. In that milieu, its heroine Ayesha would come across as strong and layered, representative of a Pakistan entirely unrepresented on screen. As a book in English that will inevitably draw comparisons to many other books, though, it is overwhelmingly a lightweight beach read that tries to derive whatever weightiness it possesses from its setting. This is not a bad thing as long as you get into the book knowing its particular tropes and limitations and not expecting anything more, in which case you will find it a fun, even insightful, experience. Without the central romantic storyline that does nothing but drag the book down to the level of a Sweet Dreams romance, it would have fared even better. Having said that it is a refreshing entry in a world where so far only Kamila Shamsie-style drawing room elites had had their say. Saba's more middle class protagonist with access to the elite has a more interesting vantage point. Though she still doesn't feel quite like an outsider, at least not enough to lend her insights into elite culture any real bite.
March 2, 2014
For a long time, those interested in Pakistan (or South Asia in general) have had to be content with a series of fairly overwritten/overwrought novels. Not many voice this frustration in public, but I doubt I am the only one to feel it.
Our wait is over.
'Karachi, You're Killing Me' is a tour-de-force rampage of a novel that tears through the realities of living in a metropolis-mega-city like Karachi as a twenty-something female journalist. From tracking down disappeared political prisoners to the travails of covering fashion week, Saba Imtiaz brings the city to life in a way that no book (with the possible exception of Mohammad Hanif's Our Lady of Alice Bhatti) has so far.
If you've always been curious about Karachi and wanted to go, come on up: Saba Imtiaz's debut novel is waiting to take you there.
Our wait is over.
'Karachi, You're Killing Me' is a tour-de-force rampage of a novel that tears through the realities of living in a metropolis-mega-city like Karachi as a twenty-something female journalist. From tracking down disappeared political prisoners to the travails of covering fashion week, Saba Imtiaz brings the city to life in a way that no book (with the possible exception of Mohammad Hanif's Our Lady of Alice Bhatti) has so far.
If you've always been curious about Karachi and wanted to go, come on up: Saba Imtiaz's debut novel is waiting to take you there.
February 17, 2016
I really need to stop expecting things from books. They almost always end up disappointing me. I was expecting this to be satire akin to Moni Mohsin's 'Social Butterfly' books or Shazaf Haider's 'How it Happened', but it doesn't carry the same charm or layers of meaning those stories have.
Saba Imtiaz delivers one or two memorable one liners, the prose is easy to follow and amidst the blur of hangovers and frenzied rickshaw rides, she does manage to subtly address the general apathy all Karachi citizens seem to posses. But that's about it. The characters are not instantly likable (or really, likable at all) and the plot is mediocre. There were moments I felt so detached from the narrative that I forgot I was reading about my own city.
If you're looking for a fun, mindless read - give this book a shot. But if you're looking for meaningful satire, this isn't the one for you.
Saba Imtiaz delivers one or two memorable one liners, the prose is easy to follow and amidst the blur of hangovers and frenzied rickshaw rides, she does manage to subtly address the general apathy all Karachi citizens seem to posses. But that's about it. The characters are not instantly likable (or really, likable at all) and the plot is mediocre. There were moments I felt so detached from the narrative that I forgot I was reading about my own city.
If you're looking for a fun, mindless read - give this book a shot. But if you're looking for meaningful satire, this isn't the one for you.
not-gonna-bother
October 14, 2016My excitement over that title went from a 100 to negative zero (yes, negative) reaaal quick with those ratings and reviews.
*sigh*
*sigh*
June 20, 2023
You can barely get Karachiites to raise an eyebrow at disaster any longer. I once went on a date with a guy who had been mugged a dozen times and was still nonchalant about having lost nearly a hundred thousand rupees worth of cell phones. A cat on a model’s shoulder on a runway still gets them though.
This book does not endear itself to me at all by quoting Bridget Jones’s Diary in the epigraph, because I hated Bridget Jones’s Diary. I did not manage to relate to Bridget and I hated the writing style, and yet there were scenes where I was really, genuinely amused. Pretty much the same thing happens with this novel.
The Connection
The obvious, automatic bond I had with the 28-year-old protagonist Ayesha in this novel might be because we share the same field. My background in Mass Communication and my circle of reporter friends meant I was pretty much laughing throughout at the media-related drama. Ayesha’s arguments with her boss, her encounters with slimy men at rallies, and her constant exposure to criminals are all offset by a horrified-yet-amused tone that I’m very used to hearing in real life.
My newspaper runs a wildly popular comment section filled with posts such as ‘why I hate my hairstylist’ or ‘I was discriminated against at a job interview because my family is wealthy’ and ‘I left my air-conditioned room to join the protest for your son’s murder case’. It has nothing to do with journalism, but now everyone assumes it’s what all of us do.
It becomes even more hilarious when you realize the author’s background, that she has in fact worked for an actual newspaper with an actual blog which is more well-known than the newspaper itself. But while on the surface the book is presented as comedy, Saba Imtiaz gets pretty serious pretty fast, using her characters and situations to present Pakistani media in a nutshell.
‘Why is the newspaper so spineless,’ I scream. ‘How can you give up on a story that could—no, fuck it, I know for sure that it will—MAKE HEADLINES WORLDWIDE.’
Kamran shrugs. ‘This is a corporation. I’m running a business here. This is not a place where you live out your fantasy of doing some expose that the world will love. I have to put my interests first. How am I going to pay your salary if the government cracks down on us because of this story!?’
Because this is one of the few rare Pakistani books which use the media as a setting, it drops truth bombs left, right, and centre. The author is not really concerned with keeping things nice and simple, instead adding in a few sentences here and there among the comedy to keep the reality of the situation in our faces at all times.
News channels are one-upping themselves in the race to show the grisliest visuals possible of the bomb blast. ‘And as you can see we were forty seconds ahead of our rivals in reporting the blast,’ one anchor crows.
What makes it both painful and funny is that most of it is so heartbreakingly true. In fact, pretty much all the depictions of media in this book are spot-on. Any conversation with a reporter worth their salt will convince you that Yes, this is actually How It Is. This stuff happens. And sometimes it’s funny but most of the times it’s disheartening, but when one can’t cry at it then one needs to laugh.
Get to the site after spending twenty minutes stuck in traffic begging the cab driver to find a shortcut out of the snarl. He asks me why I’m in such a rush, and when I tell him I’m a journalist, he tells me about his nephew who was shot in broad daylight when a thug from an anti-Pashtun political party heard the Pashto song that was his phone’s ringtone.
Probably the strongest point in this story, for a reader from Pakistan, will be how much one can relate to the setting. The author tackles everything. She understands, and shows through Ayesha’s regular exposure to violence, how Pakistanis can learn a sort of mind-numbing apathy at a very young age.
My inbox is full of copy that needed to be done an hour ago: Five tortured bodies found near the motorway, two people shot dead as they tried to escape muggers, nine people killed after a bus collided with a train.
The City
The novel doesn’t restrict itself to the media only, taking its time to take pot-shots at the social lifestyles of those living in Karachi.
None of our friends are on time, which is typical for Karachiites, who start contemplating getting dressed at the time the invitation is for.
This form of social commentary works to the benefit of the author, because any reader who has spent even one weekend attending events in Karachi will nod an affirmative to such a sentence. ‘Ah, yes, that is very true, I totally know what she means’ produces a connection to the narrative that helps keep us interested.
‘Anyway, tell us what’s happening these days in the city! Things are so bad, na?’
‘Wasn’t there a bomb blast today? My squash buddy had to cancel our reservation because they’d cordoned off his route.’
What’s interesting though is that Saba Imtiaz seems to be writing for a very small minority of Karachi’s population. In a country where the majority of the population lives under the poverty line, this book caters to a very select section of the upper class; a sort of elitist, uber-rich clique of readers, even though one could argue that she is technically making fun of them here.
I have a drawer full of lacy lingerie that mocks me every morning. I am reminded of a line in 10 Things I Hate About You, one of my all-time favourite films.... ‘You don’t buy black underwear unless you want someone to see it.’
References such as these to American movies, Michael Jackson songs, and Martin Scorcese films make the book relatable to a certain few but distance themselves from a larger majority of non-English-movie-watching population. Still, even with that particular pitch towards an exclusive, restricted batch of readers, there are some scenes that are relevant to everyone reading, and also out-and-out hilarious.
How did I not realize he was following me? He must have gotten lost among my list of followers whose bios are inevitably a variation of ‘looking for fraindship’ and ‘NO MoRe SiSteRz OnLy FrienDz No MoRe ThaN FrienD!!!!!!’
I genuinely starting laughing at this scene, because only a few minutes before reading this my sister and I had been going through the list of stranger’s friend requests we had both accumulated, and laughing at the inane preposterousness that dotted our inbox. Hearing a character talk about the inevitable sludge of crappy stranger mails every girl regularly receives helps me share a connection with her that keeps me invested in the story.
The utility company shuts down the power the minute it starts raining, hoping to avoid fatalities caused by electrocution, so now one just has to worry about things like falling down the stairs in the dark and breaking one’s neck instead.
This sort of relatability, this version of if-you-live-in-Karachi-you-probably-know-this tone that the author employs kept me even more deeply involved in the story.
The Elitist
It’s probably relevant to note how throughout the novel the author balances two very different social realities. In this case, while our protagonist constantly dines out at expensive restaurants, always has money for beer and vodka, and flies out of the country at a moment’s notice, she also travels by rickshaw (an act most of the super rich consider positively vulgar in Karachi), has a gradually depleting wardrobe, and is seemingly perpetually broke. One could write whole articles on the sort of contradiction between wealth and lifestyle displayed in this book.
I find a rickshaw that blessedly agrees to drop me to work for a hundred bucks. My phone beeps a few times but I’ve hidden it in a fold of my dupatta so muggers won’t be able to spot it when they make off with my handbag.
The Hilarious
At its heart, the book is really a comedy, and treats itself as such. Even though it talks about death and destruction and blood and gore, there is a thread of self-deprecating humour that knows how everything in the city is a mess but there’s a joke to be found anyway.
Kamran narrows his eyes and sighs. ‘Well, thank you. I’m glad I didn’t have to spell it out for you. You’ve always been smarter than the rest of the morons out there and that’s why I sent you.’
This counts as actual praise from Kamran. I could totally put ‘NOT A MORON’ on my resume.
It is only in a few places where the sass turns vindictive. Because Ayesha is, in essence, a snarky character, she is constantly belittling her life choices in one manner of another in what one could essentially call comedic but the momentary bouts of self loathing (very reminiscent of Bridget Jones’ internalized self-doubt) sometimes verge almost on bitter. In such moments, it’s hard to tell whether the disparaging tone is funny or simply off-putting.
Why does the world hate me?
The Romantic
I feel relieved, like I’ve been running a marathon and now that Saad’s here everything is okay. I don’t have to be anyone else—the perfectly witty and charming woman to Jamie, the perfectly capable reporter to Kamran—around him. I can just be myself.
The romance is so clichéd that it goes into the territory of chasing-at-an-airport triteness. He’s been her best friend since forever, but she’s never felt that way about him! He only feels comfortable around her, but they’re only friends!! His mother treats her like a daughter, but surely he doesn’t feel anything for her!?!?
Saad smiles. ‘See, that’s a problem solved. Now what else is up?’
‘Jamie,’ I say, and sigh.
‘Oh right,’ Saad says, smiling a little too brightly. ‘How is that going?’
I mean, for God’s sake.
Wake up from a nightmare in which Saad is interrogating Jamie regarding his relationship with me. What does this mean?
I can’t. I just can’t.
The Flawed
Every person you talk to who has read this book will mention one thing for sure: the consumption of beer/vodka/gin/any-and-every-form-of-alcohol EVERY. TWO. SECONDS.
I take a long sip, and as the cold beer hits my stomach I realize I forgot to have lunch and dinner and I’m running on a stale packet of chili chips I found in my desk drawer.
I get it; Bridget Jones was always drunk, always getting up hungover, always with alcohol in her hand. In this book though, it borders on the ridiculous. No hangout/get-together/party in this book is complete until someone is standing behind a bar, pouring someone a drink.
Two very large whiskey drinks and a plate of prawn tempura later...
But fine, maybe that’s a thing that happens in the super elite, ultra rich circles of Pakistan? Maybe this could be forgiven, but the alcohol is just the first in multiple other increasingly irritating aspects of the novel.
I feel terribly sad. I want that life. I want to be in those photos, not pressing the ‘like’ button on autopilot. I recall my last glorious vacation—three years ago, five days in Bangkok with my friend Sam, happily chugging beer in a jazz bar and laughing at the number of women on the streets with fake Louis Vuitton bags and some manner of animal print clothing.
Take into account, for example, how Ayesha goes around moaning and groaning about her ‘sad life’ and her ‘lack of social activity’. Oh boo hoo, how absolutely pathetic. I get it, being in your twenties and wanting to hang out is a realistic desire, and which one of us hasn’t seen other people hiking through snow-covered mountains on their vacations and not felt jealous? But Ayesha’s complaining borders on grating, a constant stream of everyone-doesn’t-give-me-what-I-want version of whining.
This culminates in what might be the most epic flaunting of privileged upbringing ever. Ayesha gets into trouble with the authorities, as any reporter interested in crime in Pakistan is bound to do eventually. Her solution to the problem of being put on house arrest? Literally fly out of the country.
That’s right. Ayesha, who complains daily about money problems, who has no social life and cries continuously about her future prospects, has a best friend rich enough to pay a ticket to get her out of the country at the slightest hint of trouble. Who then helps her shop for expensive, branded clothes, takes her out clubbing, and basically treats her like a princess.
If one is looking for a realistic portrayal of media in the country, this book could maybe be a good bet. A realistic portrayal of a reporter in trouble? Not so much.
The Gender Discussions
‘Oooh! So? Do we like him? Like like him?’
Saba Imtiaz does female friendships well, providing Ayesha with a whip-smart, sarcastic, and utterly supportive best friend in Zara, a reporter working for another channel. But then she ruins it all by turning Ayesha into a fake, snotty person who regularly hates on other females. The girl-on-girl hate, so easily found in this book, is boring and repetitive and not fun to read.
...a girl swishes by in a pink and green sari, high heels and a cloud of Chanel No. 5 that ... makes me want to puke. Her hair is a perfect reflective sheet all the way down her back. Sidling up to Saad, she kisses him hello.
At this point, I was groaning: Was this going to be one of those books where the heroine is going to hate on her best friend’s/crush’s/ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend, who will inevitably be super gorgeous and completely put together and yet the said best friend/crush/ex-boyfriend will only have eyes for our heroine, no matter how bad she may look?
I am still in my crumpled t-shirt from the festival, the one that got rained on, as did my hair, sporting the remnants of a tube of bronze lipstick I discovered in my bag when I last groped about for a lighter.
Yes. Yes, it was.
‘So,’ I say, eyebrow arched. ‘Explain.’
Even to myself, I sound ridiculous. ‘Explain’? I’m not his grandmother. I should be happy he’s met someone, even if I don’t instantly warm to her glossy, airbrushed perfection.
What makes me mad is the misogyny here: this idea that any girl who is well-dressed and who knows how to use her make-up (red lipstick? Well-manicured nails? MUST BE a home wrecker) is automatically airheaded and destructive. This idea of equating feminine habits of using make-up with the ‘mean girl’ trope is old and over-used and I was disappointed.
I spot Saad and Samya in a corner; he’s smiling at something she’s showing him on her phone.
Probably her five million selfies.
How last century is it to be hating on girls who take selfies? Haven’t we moved past this already? Saba Imtiaz could have done so much more with the smart, self-assured protagonist she had taken her time to build, and sometimes, thankfully, she does, but not enough.
I walk up to the police van on the site and hide behind it to light a cigarette. Ali’s cameraman has a penchant for filming footage of women smoking, and showing it to everyone in the office. Clearly women smoking passes for pornography these days.
These sort of comments on society’s expectations of women fit nicely into the frame of Ayesha doing a job which isn’t considered respectable by mainstream standards in Pakistan. But Saba Imtiaz takes this opportunity too rarely for it to make a difference.
‘You seem like a nice girl. Why do you smoke?’
Even though I’ve been smoking for years, the question always sends me into spasms of guilt. I think of my father, who disapproves of the fact that I smoke but is glad I’m not doing drugs instead. I want to tell the cop off for asking me this when every other man on the site is also smoking...
Recommendation
People tend to think living amid bombs and blood is inspiring. It isn’t. It just makes me feel exhausted with the sheer pressure of either trying to shrug it off like nothing happened or having to write about it—how many new ways can one come up with to write about blood and gore?
This book has some obvious, unfortunate flaws: an awkward beginning, completely random use of headlines which have no connection to the story, a distinct lack of artistic flair in the writing. But Pakistani writers have barely been producing the sort of slapstick, farcical humour that Saba Imtiaz so naturally adds to the story, so just for that this goes on the Recommended list.
***
I review Pakistani Fiction, and talk about Pakistani fiction, and want to talk to people who like to talk about fiction (Pakistani and otherwise, take your pick.) To read this review completely, check out more reviews or just contact me so you can talk about books, come to my Blog or follow me on Twitter!
This book does not endear itself to me at all by quoting Bridget Jones’s Diary in the epigraph, because I hated Bridget Jones’s Diary. I did not manage to relate to Bridget and I hated the writing style, and yet there were scenes where I was really, genuinely amused. Pretty much the same thing happens with this novel.
The Connection
The obvious, automatic bond I had with the 28-year-old protagonist Ayesha in this novel might be because we share the same field. My background in Mass Communication and my circle of reporter friends meant I was pretty much laughing throughout at the media-related drama. Ayesha’s arguments with her boss, her encounters with slimy men at rallies, and her constant exposure to criminals are all offset by a horrified-yet-amused tone that I’m very used to hearing in real life.
My newspaper runs a wildly popular comment section filled with posts such as ‘why I hate my hairstylist’ or ‘I was discriminated against at a job interview because my family is wealthy’ and ‘I left my air-conditioned room to join the protest for your son’s murder case’. It has nothing to do with journalism, but now everyone assumes it’s what all of us do.
It becomes even more hilarious when you realize the author’s background, that she has in fact worked for an actual newspaper with an actual blog which is more well-known than the newspaper itself. But while on the surface the book is presented as comedy, Saba Imtiaz gets pretty serious pretty fast, using her characters and situations to present Pakistani media in a nutshell.
‘Why is the newspaper so spineless,’ I scream. ‘How can you give up on a story that could—no, fuck it, I know for sure that it will—MAKE HEADLINES WORLDWIDE.’
Kamran shrugs. ‘This is a corporation. I’m running a business here. This is not a place where you live out your fantasy of doing some expose that the world will love. I have to put my interests first. How am I going to pay your salary if the government cracks down on us because of this story!?’
Because this is one of the few rare Pakistani books which use the media as a setting, it drops truth bombs left, right, and centre. The author is not really concerned with keeping things nice and simple, instead adding in a few sentences here and there among the comedy to keep the reality of the situation in our faces at all times.
News channels are one-upping themselves in the race to show the grisliest visuals possible of the bomb blast. ‘And as you can see we were forty seconds ahead of our rivals in reporting the blast,’ one anchor crows.
What makes it both painful and funny is that most of it is so heartbreakingly true. In fact, pretty much all the depictions of media in this book are spot-on. Any conversation with a reporter worth their salt will convince you that Yes, this is actually How It Is. This stuff happens. And sometimes it’s funny but most of the times it’s disheartening, but when one can’t cry at it then one needs to laugh.
Get to the site after spending twenty minutes stuck in traffic begging the cab driver to find a shortcut out of the snarl. He asks me why I’m in such a rush, and when I tell him I’m a journalist, he tells me about his nephew who was shot in broad daylight when a thug from an anti-Pashtun political party heard the Pashto song that was his phone’s ringtone.
Probably the strongest point in this story, for a reader from Pakistan, will be how much one can relate to the setting. The author tackles everything. She understands, and shows through Ayesha’s regular exposure to violence, how Pakistanis can learn a sort of mind-numbing apathy at a very young age.
My inbox is full of copy that needed to be done an hour ago: Five tortured bodies found near the motorway, two people shot dead as they tried to escape muggers, nine people killed after a bus collided with a train.
The City
The novel doesn’t restrict itself to the media only, taking its time to take pot-shots at the social lifestyles of those living in Karachi.
None of our friends are on time, which is typical for Karachiites, who start contemplating getting dressed at the time the invitation is for.
This form of social commentary works to the benefit of the author, because any reader who has spent even one weekend attending events in Karachi will nod an affirmative to such a sentence. ‘Ah, yes, that is very true, I totally know what she means’ produces a connection to the narrative that helps keep us interested.
‘Anyway, tell us what’s happening these days in the city! Things are so bad, na?’
‘Wasn’t there a bomb blast today? My squash buddy had to cancel our reservation because they’d cordoned off his route.’
What’s interesting though is that Saba Imtiaz seems to be writing for a very small minority of Karachi’s population. In a country where the majority of the population lives under the poverty line, this book caters to a very select section of the upper class; a sort of elitist, uber-rich clique of readers, even though one could argue that she is technically making fun of them here.
I have a drawer full of lacy lingerie that mocks me every morning. I am reminded of a line in 10 Things I Hate About You, one of my all-time favourite films.... ‘You don’t buy black underwear unless you want someone to see it.’
References such as these to American movies, Michael Jackson songs, and Martin Scorcese films make the book relatable to a certain few but distance themselves from a larger majority of non-English-movie-watching population. Still, even with that particular pitch towards an exclusive, restricted batch of readers, there are some scenes that are relevant to everyone reading, and also out-and-out hilarious.
How did I not realize he was following me? He must have gotten lost among my list of followers whose bios are inevitably a variation of ‘looking for fraindship’ and ‘NO MoRe SiSteRz OnLy FrienDz No MoRe ThaN FrienD!!!!!!’
I genuinely starting laughing at this scene, because only a few minutes before reading this my sister and I had been going through the list of stranger’s friend requests we had both accumulated, and laughing at the inane preposterousness that dotted our inbox. Hearing a character talk about the inevitable sludge of crappy stranger mails every girl regularly receives helps me share a connection with her that keeps me invested in the story.
The utility company shuts down the power the minute it starts raining, hoping to avoid fatalities caused by electrocution, so now one just has to worry about things like falling down the stairs in the dark and breaking one’s neck instead.
This sort of relatability, this version of if-you-live-in-Karachi-you-probably-know-this tone that the author employs kept me even more deeply involved in the story.
The Elitist
It’s probably relevant to note how throughout the novel the author balances two very different social realities. In this case, while our protagonist constantly dines out at expensive restaurants, always has money for beer and vodka, and flies out of the country at a moment’s notice, she also travels by rickshaw (an act most of the super rich consider positively vulgar in Karachi), has a gradually depleting wardrobe, and is seemingly perpetually broke. One could write whole articles on the sort of contradiction between wealth and lifestyle displayed in this book.
I find a rickshaw that blessedly agrees to drop me to work for a hundred bucks. My phone beeps a few times but I’ve hidden it in a fold of my dupatta so muggers won’t be able to spot it when they make off with my handbag.
The Hilarious
At its heart, the book is really a comedy, and treats itself as such. Even though it talks about death and destruction and blood and gore, there is a thread of self-deprecating humour that knows how everything in the city is a mess but there’s a joke to be found anyway.
Kamran narrows his eyes and sighs. ‘Well, thank you. I’m glad I didn’t have to spell it out for you. You’ve always been smarter than the rest of the morons out there and that’s why I sent you.’
This counts as actual praise from Kamran. I could totally put ‘NOT A MORON’ on my resume.
It is only in a few places where the sass turns vindictive. Because Ayesha is, in essence, a snarky character, she is constantly belittling her life choices in one manner of another in what one could essentially call comedic but the momentary bouts of self loathing (very reminiscent of Bridget Jones’ internalized self-doubt) sometimes verge almost on bitter. In such moments, it’s hard to tell whether the disparaging tone is funny or simply off-putting.
Why does the world hate me?
The Romantic
I feel relieved, like I’ve been running a marathon and now that Saad’s here everything is okay. I don’t have to be anyone else—the perfectly witty and charming woman to Jamie, the perfectly capable reporter to Kamran—around him. I can just be myself.
The romance is so clichéd that it goes into the territory of chasing-at-an-airport triteness. He’s been her best friend since forever, but she’s never felt that way about him! He only feels comfortable around her, but they’re only friends!! His mother treats her like a daughter, but surely he doesn’t feel anything for her!?!?
Saad smiles. ‘See, that’s a problem solved. Now what else is up?’
‘Jamie,’ I say, and sigh.
‘Oh right,’ Saad says, smiling a little too brightly. ‘How is that going?’
I mean, for God’s sake.
Wake up from a nightmare in which Saad is interrogating Jamie regarding his relationship with me. What does this mean?
I can’t. I just can’t.
The Flawed
Every person you talk to who has read this book will mention one thing for sure: the consumption of beer/vodka/gin/any-and-every-form-of-alcohol EVERY. TWO. SECONDS.
I take a long sip, and as the cold beer hits my stomach I realize I forgot to have lunch and dinner and I’m running on a stale packet of chili chips I found in my desk drawer.
I get it; Bridget Jones was always drunk, always getting up hungover, always with alcohol in her hand. In this book though, it borders on the ridiculous. No hangout/get-together/party in this book is complete until someone is standing behind a bar, pouring someone a drink.
Two very large whiskey drinks and a plate of prawn tempura later...
But fine, maybe that’s a thing that happens in the super elite, ultra rich circles of Pakistan? Maybe this could be forgiven, but the alcohol is just the first in multiple other increasingly irritating aspects of the novel.
I feel terribly sad. I want that life. I want to be in those photos, not pressing the ‘like’ button on autopilot. I recall my last glorious vacation—three years ago, five days in Bangkok with my friend Sam, happily chugging beer in a jazz bar and laughing at the number of women on the streets with fake Louis Vuitton bags and some manner of animal print clothing.
Take into account, for example, how Ayesha goes around moaning and groaning about her ‘sad life’ and her ‘lack of social activity’. Oh boo hoo, how absolutely pathetic. I get it, being in your twenties and wanting to hang out is a realistic desire, and which one of us hasn’t seen other people hiking through snow-covered mountains on their vacations and not felt jealous? But Ayesha’s complaining borders on grating, a constant stream of everyone-doesn’t-give-me-what-I-want version of whining.
This culminates in what might be the most epic flaunting of privileged upbringing ever. Ayesha gets into trouble with the authorities, as any reporter interested in crime in Pakistan is bound to do eventually. Her solution to the problem of being put on house arrest? Literally fly out of the country.
That’s right. Ayesha, who complains daily about money problems, who has no social life and cries continuously about her future prospects, has a best friend rich enough to pay a ticket to get her out of the country at the slightest hint of trouble. Who then helps her shop for expensive, branded clothes, takes her out clubbing, and basically treats her like a princess.
If one is looking for a realistic portrayal of media in the country, this book could maybe be a good bet. A realistic portrayal of a reporter in trouble? Not so much.
The Gender Discussions
‘Oooh! So? Do we like him? Like like him?’
Saba Imtiaz does female friendships well, providing Ayesha with a whip-smart, sarcastic, and utterly supportive best friend in Zara, a reporter working for another channel. But then she ruins it all by turning Ayesha into a fake, snotty person who regularly hates on other females. The girl-on-girl hate, so easily found in this book, is boring and repetitive and not fun to read.
...a girl swishes by in a pink and green sari, high heels and a cloud of Chanel No. 5 that ... makes me want to puke. Her hair is a perfect reflective sheet all the way down her back. Sidling up to Saad, she kisses him hello.
At this point, I was groaning: Was this going to be one of those books where the heroine is going to hate on her best friend’s/crush’s/ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend, who will inevitably be super gorgeous and completely put together and yet the said best friend/crush/ex-boyfriend will only have eyes for our heroine, no matter how bad she may look?
I am still in my crumpled t-shirt from the festival, the one that got rained on, as did my hair, sporting the remnants of a tube of bronze lipstick I discovered in my bag when I last groped about for a lighter.
Yes. Yes, it was.
‘So,’ I say, eyebrow arched. ‘Explain.’
Even to myself, I sound ridiculous. ‘Explain’? I’m not his grandmother. I should be happy he’s met someone, even if I don’t instantly warm to her glossy, airbrushed perfection.
What makes me mad is the misogyny here: this idea that any girl who is well-dressed and who knows how to use her make-up (red lipstick? Well-manicured nails? MUST BE a home wrecker) is automatically airheaded and destructive. This idea of equating feminine habits of using make-up with the ‘mean girl’ trope is old and over-used and I was disappointed.
I spot Saad and Samya in a corner; he’s smiling at something she’s showing him on her phone.
Probably her five million selfies.
How last century is it to be hating on girls who take selfies? Haven’t we moved past this already? Saba Imtiaz could have done so much more with the smart, self-assured protagonist she had taken her time to build, and sometimes, thankfully, she does, but not enough.
I walk up to the police van on the site and hide behind it to light a cigarette. Ali’s cameraman has a penchant for filming footage of women smoking, and showing it to everyone in the office. Clearly women smoking passes for pornography these days.
These sort of comments on society’s expectations of women fit nicely into the frame of Ayesha doing a job which isn’t considered respectable by mainstream standards in Pakistan. But Saba Imtiaz takes this opportunity too rarely for it to make a difference.
‘You seem like a nice girl. Why do you smoke?’
Even though I’ve been smoking for years, the question always sends me into spasms of guilt. I think of my father, who disapproves of the fact that I smoke but is glad I’m not doing drugs instead. I want to tell the cop off for asking me this when every other man on the site is also smoking...
Recommendation
People tend to think living amid bombs and blood is inspiring. It isn’t. It just makes me feel exhausted with the sheer pressure of either trying to shrug it off like nothing happened or having to write about it—how many new ways can one come up with to write about blood and gore?
This book has some obvious, unfortunate flaws: an awkward beginning, completely random use of headlines which have no connection to the story, a distinct lack of artistic flair in the writing. But Pakistani writers have barely been producing the sort of slapstick, farcical humour that Saba Imtiaz so naturally adds to the story, so just for that this goes on the Recommended list.
***
I review Pakistani Fiction, and talk about Pakistani fiction, and want to talk to people who like to talk about fiction (Pakistani and otherwise, take your pick.) To read this review completely, check out more reviews or just contact me so you can talk about books, come to my Blog or follow me on Twitter!
March 12, 2016
'Karachi, You're Killing Me!' comes off as a debut novel by Saba Imtiaz.
Those based out of Karachi and directly linked to journalism will enjoy reading this fiction work. Set in the backdrop of the current political scenario of Karachi, the book revolves around 28 year old Ayesha, who works for a newspaper and is quite ambitious to become one of the best journalists of her city. There's no doubt about the fact how hard she works to make a name for herself. Along with following her dreams, she has to deal with a lot of people in her life; Saad, her childhood best friend, Zaara, her only genuine girl-friend she can discuss out her distress with, father, who does nothing but take keen interest in their house pet, Kamran, her narcissist and self-absorbed boss who is dying to get his newspaper on the top and last but not the least, Jamie, a foreign reporter whom she mistakes to fall in love with.
The book started off at a tedious pace, and I could not built much interest in it. Had the thought of putting it down so many times but was just curious to finish the fiction work written by a female Pakistani author. The book picked up pace in the middle and ended on a very predictable pattern. For me, it was just an average read. Having said that, I'm sure Saba has written the book to target a certain niche - especially readers based in Karachi and the one's who want to start a career in journalism. Saba blatantly shows the truer side of Karachi, the city filled with chaos and also does not hold herself back by letting us know how people act and behave in the world of journalism. This book is surely is an eye-opener for many but told in a light, funny, and healthier way. Read it for the love of Karachi and journalism!
Those based out of Karachi and directly linked to journalism will enjoy reading this fiction work. Set in the backdrop of the current political scenario of Karachi, the book revolves around 28 year old Ayesha, who works for a newspaper and is quite ambitious to become one of the best journalists of her city. There's no doubt about the fact how hard she works to make a name for herself. Along with following her dreams, she has to deal with a lot of people in her life; Saad, her childhood best friend, Zaara, her only genuine girl-friend she can discuss out her distress with, father, who does nothing but take keen interest in their house pet, Kamran, her narcissist and self-absorbed boss who is dying to get his newspaper on the top and last but not the least, Jamie, a foreign reporter whom she mistakes to fall in love with.
The book started off at a tedious pace, and I could not built much interest in it. Had the thought of putting it down so many times but was just curious to finish the fiction work written by a female Pakistani author. The book picked up pace in the middle and ended on a very predictable pattern. For me, it was just an average read. Having said that, I'm sure Saba has written the book to target a certain niche - especially readers based in Karachi and the one's who want to start a career in journalism. Saba blatantly shows the truer side of Karachi, the city filled with chaos and also does not hold herself back by letting us know how people act and behave in the world of journalism. This book is surely is an eye-opener for many but told in a light, funny, and healthier way. Read it for the love of Karachi and journalism!
October 25, 2018
I haven't read a book on Pakistan or for that matter even from Pakistan in a long long time :) So, I had to make a start somewhere. Also, after watching the movie "Noor" with gorgeous Sonakshi Sinha as Ayesha from the book, which totally disappointed me, I had to read this. Now after reading the book I really understand what Movie never worked in the first place is because you can't do a Karachi in Bombay for sure and they changed everything else as well which made it a sad overall experience. The only good thing in the movie was Sonakshi who played the character of Noor (Ayesha from the book) to the T. The book was totally shocking in a better and hilarious way. As I said I haven't read book from the neighboring country in a long long time and have no first or second hand experience of life out there, this was a total shocking account. Imagine, not once the words like a Burqa, Mosque, Azaan, Maulvi, Five time prayers, Eid, Marriage etc were used. On top of that the lead character the journalist Ayesha does all her life (six months of book's timeline) is Eat (Chips), Sleep, Drink (Beer, Whiskey, Wine, Gin, Rum, Scotch etc), Smoke, Smoke and report the news for the paper she works for. And I thought Pakistan was not only a conservative country as far as women were concerned but was a dry state too just like our Gujarat. Although that's a different matter altogether that as many times I visit my friends in Gujarat, the first thing they ask us is "What do you want to drink?". The book is a breeze to read, too short, sweet, hilarious and shockingly fantastic account of an early 20's girl based out of Pakistan. For some reason her wiki page claims she is born in 1950 and is 68 years old :O
Ayesha is 28 year old girl from Karachi who has practically no life :), no friends (just two), sucking job, worst ever boss, no car, no bank balance and on top of that her father, a single parent loves his cat more than his daughter :). Can things get any worse for her? Her survival mantra is to smoke, drink and dream of getting laid by a cute foreigner working for CNN. How things turn out on work, love, country and on getting laid front, you have to read this hilariously fast paced book which is too short and gets finished in a jiffy. Dog eat dog world of journalism is very well captured too, guess the world over situation remains same. The story gives quite a glimpse of the Pakistani way of life (read modern) and no doubt impressed me big time with the happenings in the book. I just couldn't believe (or say digest) that I was reading a book from across the border where people get mugged at the drop of a hat especially on traffic signals. She claims that is one reason why everyone drives faster in Karachi, so they don't have to stop at the signals hence saving themselves from mugging :). What I loved big time about the story is the character of her Father, totally underrated character but the way he stands up in the hour of need and the way he treats her throughout to shock and amazement of not only Ayesha but me the reader too, was simply too good. I am yet to come to terms with my father when it comes to drinking (I quit smoking long back) and the way she smokes and drinks in front of him is totally unbelievable. Pakistan (may be in fiction only) as a country has seriously come of age if this is what the definition of freedom and modernism is. Ayesha's no holds barred approach towards her sex life shocked, amazed, surprised and even made me happy.
My mother is definitely going to love the book big time as it has so much of Imran Khan in it :) Guess all the females from across the borders especially from her generation had/has a huge crush on the man. And their crush on Bollywood stars, movies and music is so much fun to read too. Karachi, You're Killing Me sounds more like a beautiful introduction of not only the city, state, its people and the believable characters. Saba Imtiaz's commentary on Pakistani politics and blame game is another point which mightily impressed me. Book is amazing but what it lacks is a solid story which I kept looking forward to which unfortunately never comes as the protagonist's life goes on from a day to next keeping me glued to what's going to happen next. I will be eagerly waiting for her next book which I believe will be a story she would like to tell us (hopefully).
Have you read "Karachi, You're Killing Me!", do let me know how you like it. I will be on the lookout for some more from the contemporary Pakistani Author's now as I am mighty impressed by this one. Any recommendations will be highly appreciated.
PS: I wonder what was the general reaction of people in Pakistan on this book.
PS2: I have decided not to send the book to my mom as this will not only change her opinion of Pakistani girls (and definitely not for good) as well as it will break her heart a little. Since we had an arranged marriage (Girl of her choice) and she has asked me thrice in last five years if my wife drinks and smokes. My response: Silence.
Ayesha is 28 year old girl from Karachi who has practically no life :), no friends (just two), sucking job, worst ever boss, no car, no bank balance and on top of that her father, a single parent loves his cat more than his daughter :). Can things get any worse for her? Her survival mantra is to smoke, drink and dream of getting laid by a cute foreigner working for CNN. How things turn out on work, love, country and on getting laid front, you have to read this hilariously fast paced book which is too short and gets finished in a jiffy. Dog eat dog world of journalism is very well captured too, guess the world over situation remains same. The story gives quite a glimpse of the Pakistani way of life (read modern) and no doubt impressed me big time with the happenings in the book. I just couldn't believe (or say digest) that I was reading a book from across the border where people get mugged at the drop of a hat especially on traffic signals. She claims that is one reason why everyone drives faster in Karachi, so they don't have to stop at the signals hence saving themselves from mugging :). What I loved big time about the story is the character of her Father, totally underrated character but the way he stands up in the hour of need and the way he treats her throughout to shock and amazement of not only Ayesha but me the reader too, was simply too good. I am yet to come to terms with my father when it comes to drinking (I quit smoking long back) and the way she smokes and drinks in front of him is totally unbelievable. Pakistan (may be in fiction only) as a country has seriously come of age if this is what the definition of freedom and modernism is. Ayesha's no holds barred approach towards her sex life shocked, amazed, surprised and even made me happy.
My mother is definitely going to love the book big time as it has so much of Imran Khan in it :) Guess all the females from across the borders especially from her generation had/has a huge crush on the man. And their crush on Bollywood stars, movies and music is so much fun to read too. Karachi, You're Killing Me sounds more like a beautiful introduction of not only the city, state, its people and the believable characters. Saba Imtiaz's commentary on Pakistani politics and blame game is another point which mightily impressed me. Book is amazing but what it lacks is a solid story which I kept looking forward to which unfortunately never comes as the protagonist's life goes on from a day to next keeping me glued to what's going to happen next. I will be eagerly waiting for her next book which I believe will be a story she would like to tell us (hopefully).
Have you read "Karachi, You're Killing Me!", do let me know how you like it. I will be on the lookout for some more from the contemporary Pakistani Author's now as I am mighty impressed by this one. Any recommendations will be highly appreciated.
PS: I wonder what was the general reaction of people in Pakistan on this book.
PS2: I have decided not to send the book to my mom as this will not only change her opinion of Pakistani girls (and definitely not for good) as well as it will break her heart a little. Since we had an arranged marriage (Girl of her choice) and she has asked me thrice in last five years if my wife drinks and smokes. My response: Silence.
March 12, 2018
I am convinced that whoever doesnt like this book is a prude or a man or worse, both. Karachi, You're Killing Me is a hilarious ode to journalism,,, life and love in the city and in the vein of Confessions of a Shopaholic and other chick lit, it is desi writing done well because it does not pander to the gora at all. The author know her audience or tbf she doesn't give two shits and just wrote a fun book for her 20-something counterparts (one of which is me).
July 3, 2014
In a city where gun shots and bomb blasts are a norm, individuals find themselves navigating life as if its ‘all in a day’s work’. Such is Imtiaz’s character Ayesha who lives the life of a journalist covering shootouts, rallies and surviving bandits all the while traveling all over in a rickshaw.
The book gives a fresh look into the life of those living in Pakistan’s Metropolis and the city deemed ‘most dangerous’. Here the sex is casual and the booze flow easy, even if Ayesha never has enough money to buy her cigarettes, pay her bootlegger or her taxi driver because her editor keeps putting off her salary.
Imtiaz, who herself lives the life of a journalist speaks in a tone so true to the characters that one knows instantly what it’s like to be part of a profession that clearly isn’t safe. Yet, as we watch Ayesha navigate her way throughout the book, her strength and determination is quite evident. She possesses the patience and endurance of being a journalist. That is exactly what made her character so enjoyable to read. Her tribulations at finding love in a city that takes up all her time and the man she finds herself trusting, only for him to use her for sex that came with a ‘i-will-steal-your-story-from-under-your-nose-while-you-sleep-in-my-bed’ made her out to be a character you were rooting for till the end.
The book had a very Meg Cabot and Bridget Jones feel to it, filled with humour and a heroine who you often found ranting about a city she loved and wanted to escape at the same time. It was filled with words that Pakistanis, or rather Karachiites will understand instantly and conversations that simply leapt of the page because they honestly felt so real.
Gone are the misconceptions about the women and the life that one lives in Pakistan, especially Karachi. A true eye opener for those unaware. The characterization of Karachi, with a voice of its own gave the book an interesting outlook at the way things are done here. A fun read even if the ending was slightly ‘Bollywood’ but then again living in a city like Karachi you come to enjoy the flair of the drama.
The book gives a fresh look into the life of those living in Pakistan’s Metropolis and the city deemed ‘most dangerous’. Here the sex is casual and the booze flow easy, even if Ayesha never has enough money to buy her cigarettes, pay her bootlegger or her taxi driver because her editor keeps putting off her salary.
Imtiaz, who herself lives the life of a journalist speaks in a tone so true to the characters that one knows instantly what it’s like to be part of a profession that clearly isn’t safe. Yet, as we watch Ayesha navigate her way throughout the book, her strength and determination is quite evident. She possesses the patience and endurance of being a journalist. That is exactly what made her character so enjoyable to read. Her tribulations at finding love in a city that takes up all her time and the man she finds herself trusting, only for him to use her for sex that came with a ‘i-will-steal-your-story-from-under-your-nose-while-you-sleep-in-my-bed’ made her out to be a character you were rooting for till the end.
The book had a very Meg Cabot and Bridget Jones feel to it, filled with humour and a heroine who you often found ranting about a city she loved and wanted to escape at the same time. It was filled with words that Pakistanis, or rather Karachiites will understand instantly and conversations that simply leapt of the page because they honestly felt so real.
Gone are the misconceptions about the women and the life that one lives in Pakistan, especially Karachi. A true eye opener for those unaware. The characterization of Karachi, with a voice of its own gave the book an interesting outlook at the way things are done here. A fun read even if the ending was slightly ‘Bollywood’ but then again living in a city like Karachi you come to enjoy the flair of the drama.
March 29, 2014
This isn't a "serious" book, and it's not meant to be, which makes it so charming to read. Imtiaz has written a fun, fast-paced novel that while not exactly "literature", is an enjoyable piece of fiction, rooted in a healthy helping of fact. Many of the "reviews" here seem to be curiously obsessed with the idea that by writing about alcohol (apparently, too much), sex (apparently too little) and other things that "don't happen" in Pakistan, Imtiaz's novel is somehow not good.
The thing though is, that it is rather good. It's greatly entertaining, despite a reasonably predictable plot line, and not because it's a rom-com, but because it does a great job of depicting a very real side of life in Karachi, whether that's boozing it up at restaurants on Zamzama, somehow confusing the length of a hemline with an act of political rebellion, or being forced to fight through hordes of socialites at a clothing exhibition.
If you're not from Karachi (alternatively, if you've never actually left your house and live under the illusion that somehow certain things just don't happen in the Land of the Pure), you may not necessarily be as amused by this book as I was. But the lack of pretence and artifice is what makes this novel so easy to enjoy. It doesn't pretend to be satire (if you've ever worked as a journalist in Karachi, you may have flashbacks); nor does it aspire to cultural criticism. It's just a light-hearted good book...and frankly, those are in short supply.
The thing though is, that it is rather good. It's greatly entertaining, despite a reasonably predictable plot line, and not because it's a rom-com, but because it does a great job of depicting a very real side of life in Karachi, whether that's boozing it up at restaurants on Zamzama, somehow confusing the length of a hemline with an act of political rebellion, or being forced to fight through hordes of socialites at a clothing exhibition.
If you're not from Karachi (alternatively, if you've never actually left your house and live under the illusion that somehow certain things just don't happen in the Land of the Pure), you may not necessarily be as amused by this book as I was. But the lack of pretence and artifice is what makes this novel so easy to enjoy. It doesn't pretend to be satire (if you've ever worked as a journalist in Karachi, you may have flashbacks); nor does it aspire to cultural criticism. It's just a light-hearted good book...and frankly, those are in short supply.
February 19, 2018
Well presented novel shows how media house has limitations, and there mistakes can cost someone life, but if they work with responsibilty society will change and media has to take some step to come up and become the pillar of democracy
July 29, 2023
cliche af
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