Noor: book review

Book author: Sorayya Khan

On a dozing afternoon when the winter is merging into the long lasting summer of my land, I have finished reading Noor. Russia has invaded Ukraine the previous day and my soil is free, once which was deep red.

Noor is the first book I read on Pakistan's account of 1971’s liberation war of Bangladesh. The war that gave birth to my land, set my soil free. When Barbara recommended this book to me and said that I might be interested as the story is related to the 71's liberation war, I was like, yes, I HAVE TO read this. I have to read their accounts, not accounts of a politician, but accounts of a common soldier, of someone living in Pakistan and following the war news on the radio.  What do they keep in their memories about that time?

Noor turned out as a fantastic book to give me the experience of a family trying to forget a past and the writing of Sorayya Khan as amazing as Five Queens Road. I was halfway through Five Queens Road, when I ordered this book. I knew, if someone is able to give me both an accurate historical account and beautiful writing, it is Sorayya Khan.

Ali, one of the Pakistani troops who landed in Bangladesh, then East Pakistan, for an adventure meets war at 23. East Pakistan is not like their land. It’s green, the land is always fertile, so plain, the only rise is the roads that run through its green paddy fields. Ali sees things he would try to forget for the rest of his life, does things he would try to empty from his brain cabinets and before completing his mission he had to leave for his home after getting typhoid. He returns home with a girl of fiveandsix.

I knew war left deep wounds in the lives of the people of my country. I had yet to know how that impacted the Pakistani soldiers, could they really sleep in peace, how much they regret it. Would Ali’s dormant memory torture him at some point of his life…

Another mentionable thing is- Sorayya gave a place of Bangladesh’s 70's cyclone in this book. This is a very less written topic in Bengali literature. I am thankful to Sorayya for bringing this into attention.

The story building was seamless. The details here and there would form a grin on my face. Like, the seven up bottles, S-i-n-g-e-r sewing machine (it is still printed like this today!), ordinary life of a Pakistani family, of a Pakistani woman- all these are crafted with accuracy you wouldn’t find much in English books. You can almost picture the household, hear the Urdu words falling from their mouths. And the accurate details of then East Pakistan and now Bangladesh left wider grins on my face.

Like to end my review with a beautiful place from the book-

As her father spoke, she appreciated the tenor of what forgiveness might mean and that life’s pain, just like its love, was infinite and uncomprehending. That holes and emptiness were only one manifestation of sadness and not even a great one at that. And, finally, that love, in its eternity and sincerity, its God-awful trueness, could be more exacting than anything she’d believed. Or dreamed.