IV Semester

Traversing the World II

BA/BSC/B.COM/BBA

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 Table of Contents
Traversing the World II

1.“Belarusian I” – Valzhyna Mort 5

2. Town of Evening Calm,

Country of Cherry Blossoms (Manga) - Fumiyo Kouno 7

3. “Tony’s Story” – Leslie Marmo Silko 10

Assignments

1. “Batik” – Romesh Gunasekara 18

2. “Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry” 24

– Eliza Griswold

3. “Do Not Ask, My Love…” – Faiz Ahmed Faiz 39

4. “The Burkini ban: what is really means 41

when we criminalise clothes” - Sheryl Garratt

5. “The Diameter of the Bomb” – Yehuda Amichai 46

6. “Apolitical Intellectuals” – Otto Rene Castillo 48

7. “Mister Taylor” – Augusto Monterroso 50

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Business English

❖ Interview Skills 56
1. Types of Interviews
2. Research and Preparation
3. Know the Company
4. Interview Questions:
1. Behaviour-based Questions
2. Self- Evaluation
3. Situational Questions
4. Hypothetical Questions
5. Salary-related discussions
6. Negative Questions etc
5. Verbal and Non-Verbal Communication
❖ Group Discussion 61
1. Purpose in Class and Interview
2. Dos and Don’ts
❖ Email 67
1. Introduction
2. Model Email Structure
3. Making Enquiries
4. Request for Clarification
5. Response to Customer Verification

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❖ Negotiations 72
1. Introduction2
2. Modes of Addressing Conflict
3. Integrative and Distributive
Conflict Management
4. Types of Negotiators and
Countering Methods
 Telephone Etiquette 78

1. Taking a message
2. Returning Phone Calls
3. Leaving a message

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 Belarusian I

Valzhyna Mort: Born in Minsk, Belarus (part of the former Soviet Union), in 1981, Valzhyna
Mort has been praised as “[a] risen star of the international poetry world” by the Irish Times.
When she moved to the United States in 2005, she had already published her first book, I’m as
Thin as Your Eyelashes, and was known across the world as an electrifying reader of her poems.
Her debut collection in America, Factory of Tears, has received acclaim: the New Yorker writes,
“Mort strives to be an envoy for her native country, writing with almost alarming vociferousness
about the struggle to establish a clear identity for Belarus and its language.” She composes her
poems in Belarusian as attempts are being made to revitalize the traditional language, which
lends her work both conventional and groundbreaking tones. Mort reads in both Belarusian and
English, and so the poem New York provides an ideal context for her poetry, as readers are
presented with a young foreign poet’s impressions of the infamous city.

Mort received the Crystal of Vilenica award in Slovenia in 2005 and the Burda Poetry Prize in
Germany in 2008. She lives in Washington, D.C. Valzhyna Mort's first collection of poetry, I'm
as Thin as Your Eyelashes, was published in Belarus in 2005. Born in Minsk, she was introduced
to the American public in 2008 with the publication of Factory of Tears (Copper Canyon, 2008).
Her latest collection, Collected Body (Copper Canyon, 2011), is her first composed entirely in
English. A recipient of the Crystal of Vilencia award in Slovenia (2005), the Burda Poetry Prize
in Germany (2008), The Bess Hokin Prize from Poetry (2010), and a Lannan Foundation
Literary Fellowship (2010), she is the youngest writer to ever appear on the cover of Poets &
Writers magazine.
The New Yorker has said that Mort "strives to be an envoy for her native country, writing with
almost alarming vociferousness about the struggle to establish a clear identity for Belarus and
its language." She is variously described in the media as "a risen star," "electrifying," "a
fireball." In this interview—originally recorded for New Letters on the Air and edited for print—
we found her thoughtful and perceptive. Mort discusses her native language (a language of
lullabies, she says), the process of translating her work from Belarusian to English, her native
country and its historical struggles, motherhood, and the process of writing.
Mort received a bachelor of arts degree from the State University of Linguistics in Minsk and a
master of fine arts in creative writing from American University. She has been a resident poet at
Literarisches Colloquium in Berlin, Germany, and Internationales Haus der Autoren Graz,
Austria, and other places. She is a visiting assistant professor at Cornell University.
"Mort is a fireball....Personal, political, and passionate...." —Library Journal
"Mort's style—tough and terse almost to the point of aphorism—recalls the great Polish poets
Czeslaw Milosz and Wislawa Szymborska." —LA Times
"Through her tightly constructed and original language, and her inspired recreation of familiar
mythology, Mort attempts to resist the scourge of forgetting and to achieve immortality for her
characters as well as for herself." —The California Journal of Poetics

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Belarusian I

Translated by Franz Wright and Elizabeth Oehlkers Wright

even our mothers have no idea how we were born

how we parted their legs and crawled out into the world
the way you crawl from the ruins after a bombing
we couldn't tell which of us was a girl or a boy
we gorged on dirt thinking it was bread
and our future
a gymnast on a thin thread of the horizon
was performing there
at the highest pitch
bitch

we grew up in a country where

first your door is stroked with chalk
then at dark a chariot arrives
and no one sees you anymore
but riding in those cars were neither
armed men nor
a wanderer with a scythe
this is how love loved to visit us
and snatch us veiled

completely free only in public toilets

where for a little change nobody cared what we were doing
we fought the summer heat the winter snow
when we discovered we ourselves were the language
and our tongues were removed we started talking with our eyes
when our eyes were poked out we talked with our hands
when our hands were cut off we conversed with our toes
when we were shot in the legs we nodded our heads for yes
and shook our heads for no and when they ate our heads alive
we crawled back into the bellies of our sleeping mothers
as if into bomb shelters
to be born again

and there on the horizon the gymnast of our future

was leaping through the fiery hoop
of the sun

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 GRAPHIC NOVEL (MANGA)

Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms by Fumiyo Kouno

Manga 101 - Basic Walk-through of the Manga World – Edited By Aaron Albert

Definition:
Manga are Japanese comic books. Manga is often made into Japanese cartoons, or Anime. The
art in Manga has a very definite look to it and is often referred to as “Manga Style.”

Pronunciation:
(Maw – Nnnnn – Gah) In Japanese, it is actually three syllables, although the middle "N" is
spoken very quick. Americans have a habit of pronouncing it "Man-Gah", but that is not actually
correct.

Overview:
The word Manga can be translated as, “humorous pictures.” Manga became very popular in the
20th century when laws prohibiting the publication of those kinds of items were lifted. It has
since become a huge part of Japanese culture. Unlike in America, Manga is read by most people
in the country. The artists and writer of Manga, also known as Mangaka, are well respected for
their work, much like the writers of literature in America.

Manga usually follows the traditional style as found in Japan. Japanese Manga is to be read from
the right side to the left, opposite of traditional American books. Not only do you read the pages
from right to left, but you also read the panels and text from right to left. There have been
attempts to make Manga published in America to look and read like traditional American books,
but many artists have opposed this. The fans of Manga have also been a part of making sure that
many Manga produced in America today is in the traditional Japanese style.

Manga is generally published in a much different format than American comics. Manga is
usually much smaller and collected in small volumes. They appear like small books, closer in
appearance to the Archie Digests. In Japan, Manga is first published in Manga magazines that
collect different stories. If certain ones get really popular, then the stories are collected and
published in a new volume.

Manga has become widely known for its style of artwork. People who know about Manga will
be able to recognize artwork from Manga comics quickly. The interesting thing is how Manga
artwork has begun to influence artists of today. Many artists are showing influences by Manga
like Ed McGuinness, and Frank Miller. Americans are even making Manga, like Fred Gallagher
of Megatokyo.

There are many characteristics that make Manga very distinctive. The largest thing that Manga
art is known for is its characters. Manga characters almost always have large eyes, small mouths,
and they also usually have abnormal hair color. These things give their characters a very western
look to them. Manga like Akira, however, has gone against this grain.

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Manga characters usually show over exaggerated emotions. When a character cries, it usually
pours out in buckets, when they laugh, their face seems engulfed by the size of their mouths and
their eyes become slits. An angry character will have rosy cheeks and steam rolling from around
their body. This use of emotion would most likely be categorized as cartoonish.

Since Manga is so widely popular in Japan, different kinds of Manga have become known. Each
has its own title and when getting into Manga, it can help to know what is what. Below is a list
of the different kinds of Manga.

1. Shônen – Boy’s Manga – (Pronounced Show-Nen)

2. Shôjo – Girl’s Manga – (Pronounced Show-Joe)
3. Seinen – Men’s Manga – (Pronounced Say-Nen)
4. Josei (or redikomi) – Women’s Manga – (Pronounced Joe-Say)
5. Kodomo – Children’s Manga – (Pronounced Kow-Dow-Mow)

Don’t let these different titles scare you; they are just there to help differentiate the many kinds
of Manga. Generally, you will be able to know if you will like an upcoming Manga title by what
group it is a part of. Shonen Manga is usually action packed and humorous, Shojo Manga is
often more lighthearted and involves romance. Seinen Manga will often have more adult themes,
with some containing graphic violence and sexually explicit material. There is even a group of
Manga and Anime that is referred to as Hentai, which is erotic Manga. This kind of Manga is
considered pornographic by most people. Regardless of what your tastes are, you should be able
to find a kind of Manga you prefer.

Fumiyo Kouno (born 28 September 1968) is a Japanese manga artist from Nishi-ku, Hiroshima,
known for her Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms. She was born in Hiroshima
in 1968 and began drawing manga when she was in junior high school. After leaving the faculty
of science at Hiroshima University, Kouno moved to Tokyo and worked as an assistant to
Katsuyuki Toda, Aki Morino, and Fumiko Tanigawa. Kōno made her commercial debut in 1995
with Machikado Hana Dayori. She feels that Osamu Tezuka and Fujiko Fujio were among her
early influences, but then she was inspired by Sanpei Shirato's literary style and at present, she
takes inspiration from Yu Takita's versatility. She graduated from University of the Air in 2001
with a major in Humanities.

Afterword to Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms

“Why don’t you do a story about Hiroshima?” asked my editor. That was last summer. I had just
handed him an installment of my manga that was being serialized, and he broached the subject
while we were chatting about going home for the holidays. Great! I thought to myself. I can use
as much of the Hiroshima dialect as I want! I was excited for a moment until I realized that my
editor was talking about the Hiroshima. I felt reluctant because when I was student, there were a
number of times when I nearly fainted- at the Peace Memorial Museum and when seeing footage
of the bomb. It caused quite a commotion and ever since, I’ve tried to avoid anything related to
the bomb.

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I think I decided to go ahead and do this project because this whole time, somewhere deep
inside, I’ve been feeling that it is unnatural and irresponsible to remain disconnected from the
issue – or rather, that it is unnatural and irresponsible for me to consciously try to avoid this
issue. Although I was born and raised in Hiroshima, I am neither a hibakusha survivor of the
bomb, nor am I a second generation hibakusha. I don’t have any relatives who can talk about
their experience. For me, the atomic bomb is a tragedy that occurred in the distant past. At the
same time, it was a circumstance that existed in the background of “other people’s households.” I
always thought all I needed to know about the bomb was that it was a terrifying thing that
happened once upon a time, and a subject best avoided. After living in Tokyo for a while,
however, I came to realize that people outside of Hiroshima and Nagasaki didn’t really know all
that much about the ravages of the atomic bomb. Unlike me, they weren’t avoiding the subject –
they never had the opportunity to learn about it even if they wanted to. Japan is the only country
to be hit by the bomb. (Or one of the few countries, if you include depleted uranium
ammunition). And I realized the guilt I feel for enjoying peace is far stronger than the unnatural
tendency I had as a person from Hiroshima to avoid the subject. This was no time to hold back. I
hadn’t experienced war or the bomb firsthand, but I could still draw on the words of a different
time and place to reflect on peace and express my thoughts. This is what I had to do. Drawing
manga taught me this and gave me courage. There were many expressions I wasn’t used to, and I
had many doubts. But I kept telling myself that drawing something is better than drawing
nothing at all, and that’s how I was able to do it.

My father told me a lot about how things were during the fifties, and my sister did research for
me at the library in Hiroshima. Also, I can’t say how encouraging it was to meet Isao Murakami.
He was kind enough to answer all my ignorant questions with great care and patience. And to
Mr. Sometani of Futabasha, thanks to your guidance, I was able to exceed my greatest efforts
with this project. The next time I have you look at my work, I will try to be less insecure. And
most importantly, thanks to those of you who read Town of Evening Calm (Yunagi no Machi).
This story has no end – only the feelings that these 35 pages may evoke within you will lead to
the true completion of this story. As you go forth, and lead full and abundant lives, I believe this
story will reach a powerful conclusion. That was my hope in creating this manga.

And with Country of Cherry Blossoms (Sakura no Kuni), I tried to write what I most needed to
hear two years ago, when I still avoided anything to do with the atomic bomb. I truly hope this
story someday finds and touches those of you who may realize you were just like me. May you
grow as strong and gentle as the sakura tree.

Thank you so much.

August 2004 on a windy midday

Fumiyo Kouno

Tony’s Story

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Leslie Marmon Silk was born in 1948 in Albuquerque, New Mexico, of Pueblo, Laguna,
Mexican, and white descent. Growing up on the Laguna Pueblo reservation she attended an
Indian school and later attended a school in Albuquerque 50 miles away. After high school she
went on to attend the University of New Mexico. Silko published her first work, Tony Story in
1969 and later wrote her first book Laguna Women Poems in 1974. In 1977 Silko published her
first novel, Ceremony. Ceremony explains how vital storytelling is to the Pueblo culture and how
White culture has made many attempts to destroy these stories as well as their ceremonies.

Silko’s second major novel, Storyteller, published in 1981, uses the stories passed on in her
Native-American tradition to recreate, through poetry and prose, stories about her own family.
Delicacy and the Strength of Lace: Letters, published in 1986 is an edited version of her
correspondence with poet James Wright.

After the publication of Ceremony in 1977, Silko received greater recognition for her earlier
work, including the exemplary short stories Lullaby, Yellow Woman, and Tony’s Story.

Lullaby;—an old woman’s recollection of how her children were once taken away for education
and how they returned to a culture that no longer seemed familiar or comfortable—is typical
Silko, dealing with themes of alienation and generational difference that mark the daily reality of
Native Americans. Silko included many early stories in her collection Storyteller (1981), which
features her poetry as well. In the New York Times Book Review, Pulitzer-prize winning
novelist N. Scott Momaday called Storyteller a rich, many-faceted book. Momaday contended,
Leslie Silko is very good indeed. She has a sharp sense of the way in which the profound and the
mundane often run together.

Almanac of the Dead, published in 1991 is perhaps Silko’s most talked about novel. As one critic
wrote, this book was written to be discussed. In this book Silko deals with many issues related to
American Indians, the most prominent being European conquest of them. This book has a darker
tone than her others and the characters are more complicated and angry. Yellow Woman, first
published in 1993, is followed by Yellow Woman and a Beauty of the Spirit, published in 1996.
They are both works on Laguna society before Christian missionaries arrived, as well as political
statements against racist policies. These two works once again emphasize the strong connections
Silko has to the oral tradition of her past.

Critiques of Silko have focused on issues that she is most involved in. Of these the most
prominent focus is on the preservation of oral tradition and ceremonies of the Laguna Pueblo
Indians. Silko is the first acclaimed Native-American woman author and has used this role to
bring attention to many controversial political ideas. Among these are the White European
conquest of the Native-Americans and current immigration policies directed at minorities.

Other issues that critiques of Silko touch upon are her involvement in Women’s Equality and
stopping violence against women. Most critical intrest in Silko springs from her strong ties to
tradition. In the introduction to Yellow Woman edited by Melody Graulich, LaVonne Ruoff

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states, Silko emphasizes the need to return to rituals and oral traditions of the past in order to
rediscover the basis for one’s cultural identity. In as much as Silko needs to be a part of this oral
tradition, she needs to be the teller. Kenneth Kidd writes of Silko in his review of Lullaby, “A
story is a story, but the performance of a storyteller is as much a part of the story as the meaning
of the story itself.”

One

It happened one summer when the sky was wide and hot and the summer rains did not come; the

sheep were thin, and the tumbleweeds turned brown and died. Leon came back from the army. I

saw him standing by the Ferris wheel across from the people who came to sell melons and chili

on San Lorenzo’s Day. He yelled at me, “Hey Tony – over here!” I was embarrassed to hear him

yell so loud, but then I saw the wine bottle with the brown-paper sack crushed around it.

“How’s it going, buddy?”

He grabbed my hand and held it tight like a white man. He was smiling. “It’s good to be home

again. They asked me to dance tomorrow – it’s only the Corn Dance, but I hope I haven’t

forgotten what to do.”

“You’ll remember – it will all come back to you when you hear the drum.” I was happy, because

I knew that Leon was once more a part of the pueblo. The sun was dusty and low in the west, and

the procession passed by us, carrying San Lorenzo back to his niche in the church.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” I asked.

Leon laughed and patted the bottle. “No, you’re the only one who needs to eat. Take this dollar –

they’re selling hamburgers over there.” He pointed past the merry-go-round to a stand with

cotton candy and a snow-cone machine.

It was then that I saw the cop pushing his way through the crowds of people gathered around the

hamburger stand and bingo-game tent; he came steadily toward us. I remembered Leon’w wine

and looked to see if the cop was watching us; but he was wearing dark glasses and I couldn’t see

his eyes.

He never said anything before he hit Leon in the face with his fist. Leon collapsed into the dust,

and the paper sack floated in the wine and pieces of glass. He didn’t move and blood kept

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bubbling out of his mouth and nose. I could hear a siren. People crowded around Leon and kept

pushing me away. The tribal policemen knelt over Leon, and one of them looked up at the state

cop and asked what was going on. The big cop didn’t answer. He was staring at the little patterns

of blood in the dust near Leon’s mouth. The dust soaked up the blood almost before it dripped to

the ground – it had been a very dry summer. The cop didn’t leave until they laid Leon in the back

of the paddy wagon.

The moon was already high when we got to the hospital in Albuquerque. We waited a long time

outside the emergency room with Leon propped between us. Siow and Gaisthea kept asking me,

“What happened, what did Leon say to the cop? and I told them how we were just standing there,

ready to buy hamburgers – we’d never ever seen him before. They put stitches around Leon’s

mouth and gave him a shot; he was lucky, they said – it could’ve been a broken jaw instead of

broken teeth.

Two

They dropped me off near my house. The moon had moved lower into the west and left the close

rows of houses in long shadows. Stillness breathed around me, and I wanted to run from the

feeling behind me in the dark, the stories about witches ran with me. That night I had a dream –

the big cop was pointing a long bone at me – they always use human bones, and the whiteness

flashed silver in the moonlight where he stood. He didn’t have a human face – only little, round,

white rimmed eyes on a black ceremonial mask.

Leon was better in a few days. But he was bitter, and all he could talk about was the cop. I’ll kill

the big bastard if he comes around here again,” Leon kept saying.

With something like the cop it is better to forget, and I tried to make Leon understand. “It’s over

now. There’s nothing you can do.”

I wondered why men who came back from the army were trouble-makers on the reservation.

Leon ever took it before the pueblo meeting. They discussed it, and the old men decided that

Leon shouldn’t have been drinking. The interpreter read a passage out of the revised pueblo law-

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and-order code about possessing intoxicants on the reservation, so we got up and left.

Then Leon asked me to go with him to Grants to buy a roll of barbed wire for his uncle. On the

way we stopped at Cerritos for gas, and I went into the store for some pop. He was inside. I

stopped in the doorway and turned around before he saw me, but if he really was what I feared,

then he would not need to see me – he already knew we were there. Leon was waiting with the

truck engine running almost like he knew what I would say.

“Let’s go – the big cop’s inside.”

Leon gunned it and the pickup skidded back on the highway. He glanced back in the rear-view

mirror. “I didn’t see his car.”

“Hidden,” I sadi.

Leon shook his head. “He can’t do it again. We are just as good as them.”

The guys who came back always talked like that.

Three

The sky was hot and empty. The half-grown tumbleweeds were dried-up flat and brown beside

the highway, and across the valley heat shimmered above wilted fields of corn. Even the

mountains high beyond the pale sandrock mesas were dusty blue. I was afraid to fall asleep so I

kept my eyes on the blue mountains – not letting them close – soaking in the heat; and then I

knew why the drought had come that summer.

Leon shook me. “He’s behind us – the cop’s following us!”

I looked back and saw the red light on top of the car whirling around, and I could make out the

dark image of a man, but where the face should have been there were only the silvery lenses of

the dark glasses he wore.

“Stop, Leon! He wants us to stop!”

Leon pulled over and stopped on the narrow gravel shoulder.

“What in the hell does he want?” Leon’s hands were shaking.

Suddenly the cop was standing beside the truck, gesturing for Leon to roll down his window. He

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pushed his head inside, grinding the gum in his mouth; the smell of Doublemint was all around

us.

“Get out. Both of you.”

I stood beside Leon in the dry weeds and tall yellow grass that broke through the asphalt and

rattled in the wind. The cop studied Leon’s driver’s license. I avoided his face – I knew that I

couldn’t look at his eyes, so I started at his black half Wellingtons, with the black uniform cuffs

pulled over them; but my eyes kept moving, upward past the black gun belt. My legs were

quivering, and I tried to keep my eyes away from his. But it was like the time when I was very

little and my parents warned me not to look into the masked dancers’ eyes because they would

grab me, and my eyes would not stop.

“What’s your name?” His voice was high-pitched and it distracted me from the meaning of the

words.

I remember Leon said, “He doesn’t understand English so good,” and finally I said that I was

Antonio Sousea, while my eyes strained to look beyond the silver frosted glasses that he wore;

but only my distorted face and squinting eyes reflected back.

And then the cop started at us for a while, silent; finally he laughed and chewed his gum some

more slowly. “Where were you going?”

“To Grants.” Leon spoke English very clearly. “Can we go now?”

Leon was twisting the key chain around his fingers, and I felt the sun everywhere. Heat swelled

up from the asphalt and when cars went by, hot air and motor smell rushed past us.

“I don’t like smart guys, Indian. It’s because of you bastards that I’m here. They transferred me

here because of Indians. They thought there wouldn’t be as many for me here. But I find them.”

He spit his gum into the weeds near my foot and walked back to the patrol car. It kicked up

gravel and dust when he left.

We got back in the pickup, and I could taste swear in my mouth, so I told Leon that we might as

well go home since he would be waiting for us up ahead.

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“He can’t do this,” Leon said. “We’ve got a right to be on this highway.”

I couldn’t understand why Leon kept talking about “rights,” because it wasn’t “rights” that he

was after, but Leon didn’t seem to understand; he couldn’t remember the stories that old Teofilo

told.

I didn’t feel safe until we turned off the highway and I could see the pueblo and my own house.

It was noon, and everybody was eating – the village seemed empty – even the dogs had crawled

away from the heat. The door was open, but there was only silence, and I was afraid that

something had happened to all of them. Then as soon as I opened the screen door the little kids

started crying for more Kool-Aid, and my mother said “no,” and it was noisy again like always.

Grandfather commented that it had been a fast trip to Grants, and I said “yeah” and didn’t

explain because it would’ve only worried them.

“Leon goes looking for trouble – I wish you wouldn’t hang around with him.” My father didn’t

like trouble. But I knew that the cop was something terrible, and even to speak about it risked

bringing it close to all of us; so I didn’t say anything.

That afternoon Leon spoke with the Governor, and he promised to send letters to the Bureau of

Indian Affairs and to the State Police Chief. Leon seemed satisfied with that. I reached into my

pocket for the arrowhead on the piece of string.

“What’s that for?”

I held it out to him. “Here, wear it around your neck – like mine. See? Just in case,” I said, “for

protection.”

“You don’t believe in that, do you?” He pointed to a 30-30 leaning against the wall. “I’ll take

this with me whenever I’m in the pickup.”

“But you can’t be sure that it will kill one of them.”

Leon looked at me and laughed. “What’s the matter,” he said, “have they brainwashed you into

believing that a 30-30 won’t kill a white man?” He handed back the arrowhead. “Here, you wear

two of them.”

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 Four

Leon’s uncle asked me if I wanted to stay at the sheep camp for a while. The lambs were big, and

there wouldn’t be much for me to do, so I told him I would. We left early, while the sun was still

low and red in the sky. The highway was empty, and I sat there beside Leon imagining what it

was like before there were highways or even horses. Leon turned off the highway onto the sheep-

camp road that climbs around the sandstone mesas until suddenly all the trees are pinons.

Leon glanced in the rear-view mirror. “He’s following us!”

My body began to shake and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to speak.

“There’s no place left to hide. It follows us everywhere.”

Leon looked at me like he didn’t understand what I’d said. Then I looked past Leon and saw the

patrol car had pulled up beside us; the pinon branches were whipping and scraping the side of the

truck as it tried to force us off the road. Leon kept driving with the two right wheels in the rut-

bumping and scraping the trees. Leon never looked over at it so he couldn’t have known how the

reflections kept moving across the mirror-lenses of the dark glasses. We were in the narrow

canyon with pale sandstone close on either side – the canyon that ended with a spring where

willows and grass and tiny blue flowers grow.

“We’ve got to kill it, Leon. We must burn the body to be sure.”

Leon didn’t seem to be listening. I kept wishing that old Teofilo could have been there to chant

the proper words while we did it. Leon stopped the truck and gout out – he still didn’t understand

what it was. I sat in the pickup with the 30-30 across my lap; and my hands were slippery.

The big cop was standing in front of the pickup, facing Leon. “You made your mistake, Indian.

I’m going to beat the shit out of you.” He raised the billy club slowly. “I like to beat Indians with

this.”

He moved toward Leon with the stick raised high, and it was like the long bone in my dream

when he pointed it at me – a human bone painted brown to look like wood, to hide what it really

was, they’ll do that, you know – carve the bone into a spoon and use it around the house until the

16
victim comes within range.

The shot sounded far away and I couldn’t remember aiming. But he was motionless on the

ground and the bone wand lay near his feet. The tumbleweeds and tall yellow grass were sprayed

with glossy, bright blood. He was on his back, and the sand between his legs and along his left

side was soaking up the dar, heavy blood – it had rained for a long time, and even the

tumbleweeds were dying.

“Tony! You killed him – you killed the cop!”

“Help me! We’ll set the car on fire.”

Leon acted strange, and he kept looking at me like he wanted to run. The head wobbled and

swung back and forth, and the left hand and the legs left individual trails in the sand. The face

was the same. The dark glasses hadn’t fallen off and they blinded me with their hot-sun

reflections until I pushed the body into the front seat.

The gas tank exploded and the flames spread along the underbelly of the car. The tires filled the

wide sky with spirals of thick black smoke.

“My God, Tony. What’s wrong with you? That’s a state cop you killed.” Leon was pale and

shaking.

I wiped my hands on my Levis. “Don’t worry, everything is O.K. now, Leon. It’s killed. They

sometimes take on strange forms.”

The tumbleweeds around the car caught fire, and little heatwaves shimmered up toward the sky,

in the west, rain clouds were gathering.

Batik

17
Romesh Gunesekera (b. 1954) grew up in Sri Lanka and the Philippines before moving to
England in 1971. His first book, ‘Monkfish Moon’, a collection of short stories was critically
acclaimed and shortlisted for several prizes. These short stories reflect the political and ethnic
tensions that engulfed Sri Lanka since its independence.

His first novel, Reef, was published in 1994 to widespread acclaim. It was shortlisted for the
Man Book prize as well as the Guardian Fiction Prize. In 1998, he received the inaugural BBC
Asia Award for Achievement in Writing & Literature for his novel, ‘The Sandglass’. In 1997, he
was awarded one of the prestigious Italian literary prizes: the Premio Mondello Five Continents.
In 1995 he won the Yorkshire Post Best First Work Award in Britain.
His third novel, ‘Heaven’s Edge’, is a dystopian novel set in the near future .His novel, ‘The
Match’ is hailed as one of the first novels which celebrated the game of cricket. It paved the way
for many cricket-related novels.
The short story ‘Batik’ is from his first book, ‘Monkfish Moon’ and explores the impact of war
on the human psyche.
Glossary:
Batik- is a cloth that is traditionally made using a manual wax-resist dyeing.

Nalini heard him go upstairs and close the bathroom door. She put a neatly wrapped chilled chicken
down on the table and looked around the room. It was a small kitchen but there were cupboards
on every wall; she thought they had done a good job refitting the place when they moved in a year
ago. She and Tiru had planned the kitchen like professionals: calculating space for loading and
unloading the fridge, washing lettuce, cutting meat, cooking, eating, cleaning up.

Tiru had discovered a talent for joinery and a real plasterer’s hand. Nalini found she loved the
smell of fresh paint. Together they quickly transformed the old terraced grey-brick London house
into a home different from any other she had ever known.

Before them the house had been occupied by an elderly woman; she had died there, in her bed.
The bed had been junked along with the rest of the furniture, but Nalini felt they had to peel layers
off the whole place to get rid of the smell of old pee and boiled cabbage, and the stale bacon fat
that seemed to grease every surface.

They hired a skip and threw out the carpets and the thick textured paper off the walls. Some of it
came easily, already lifted by a black spotty mould, but in other places the paper was thick with
generations of starched patterns. The old paper would bring huge chunks of crumbly grey plaster
down, making big holes in the walls. Tiru would gently build a new layer suspended on a hidden
lath and then bind it to the old plaster with a thin pink skin. There were polystyrene tiles on every
ceiling which they patiently removed, chipping at grey limpets of cement with thin steel stripper’s
blades. They both wanted to be enveloped in a soft warm paint that would seep into the wood and
the bare plaster.

Tiru and Nalini were in perfect agreement until it came to the through-room doors. Nalini wanted
the doors in lilac, She had visions of the double doors between the sitting–room and the dining-

18
room slowly opening and closing like two separate giant butterfly wings stirring the scent of
honeysuckle into the air.

Tiru thought the doors were too big and that a dark colour would dominate the rooms, but she
looked so disappointed that he gave in.

In the evenings when the lights were dimmed the lilac was deceptively delicate. She could make-
believe she was in a Rajasthani palace: raw silk and bolster cushions, a crescent moon, a sky full
of stars. But when the lights were turned up, or during the day when sunlight streamed in through
the large bay window, it turned to a sorer shade of purple. Then the doors looked bruised and
crooked. But Tiru never suggested they paint them again; it was only she who sometimes wanted
to. Especially after last summer: she felt it might right a wrong or, at least, get them working
together again.

In the beginning, even after hours of chipping at cement or Victorian hard-glaze, or cleaning walls
with sugar-soap, or sanding down woodwork, they could scrape the dirt off their arms and lie
together in a bath of almond oil soothing the cracks in their skin and still have the desire to discover
new patterns in the warm contours of their bodies. The cast-iron bath was in a converted bathroom
almost as large as their bathroom. They put ferns, a fig tree and a chair in it to fill the space and
then lay there dreaming, their legs curled around each other in the water. Conches with their open
pink lips lay by the chrome pipes. When they got out of the bath the steam would rise from their
wet sloping backs and he would dry her with a large blue-towel, slowly down to her feet, gently
massaging, crouched on his heels. In the bedroom they had an old horse-hair mattress with a flannel
cover. There she could touch his skin and feel the stream of his blood thicken; his body seemed
solid, as if all sense of consciousness was forced up into the head. Her own head felt wrapped in a
cloud: almost too airy. She told him how she felt she was in a permanent dream. I can’t wake up,
I feel drunk. Tiru would smile and say it was the turpentine and white plaster dust, the lack of
oxygen in the room that made her feel that way. She would trace his lips with her fingers, his
tongue, and hold in her hands.

Nalini looked back down at the chicken she had brought to the table. Her fingers were cold. She
picked up a broad butcher’s knife and split the plastic pack. Then with the bird spread-eagled on
the chopping board she started to cut out the leg. Half-way through she bent it and snapped the
bone out of its socket. She hacked at a bit connecting the leg to the thigh pulled it by the yellow
stump of its chopped off claw: the purplish flesh tore but did not separate and the rough, rubbery,
goose-pimple skin slid and stretched until the quill-holes out of which the feathers had been
plucked widened. She shook the bird and turned it over. She pushed aside the red cloth recipe book
with her elbow and cleared the rest of the table. She felt she needed more room, or something. In
the end she placed the knife edge on the bone and learned on it with all her weight so it splintered.
Bits of gritty red marrow crumbled. She then struck her fingers into the crevice and twisted the
meat until it came apart. Loose skin wrinkled up around the base revealing a grey knob of cartilage
and little specks of white.

19
After she had got through the breast-bone of the bird she put the pieces in a bowl and rubbed in a
paste of turmeric and yoghurt. It was Tiru’s recipe. Then she washed her hands in the sink. While
she was drying them Tiru came down quietly into the kitchen. He walked over to the fridge and
got out a beer. He snapped off the ring-top and dropped it on a plate by the bread-bin. Then, without
a word, he went out into the sitting-room. She heard him turn the TV on.

He had been like this for weeks. She would come home and find him buried in a newspaper or
deep into television; he would acknowledge her with just a word or two and turn away. So she
would go to the bedroom and curl up on the bed bunching her pillow into a ball between her arms
and legs. She would squeeze it flattening her breasts and clutch herself. She wanted to stay there
until he came looking for her. She wanted him to find her like that. She would wait staring at the
walls they had painted together; the two small nineteenth century Ceylon prints of fishing boats in
Mannar, and the hills around Dimbulla, neatly framed and hanging next to the wardrobe. The thin
pleats of the creamy rose curtains pouted where the hooks had become detached from the rail and
the white nets behind them, against the windows were discoloured. She could feel a kink growing
under her ribs; sometimes she would bend and grip her knees but it wouldn’t shift. She wanted
things to be better than this.

When she had first told her mother about Tiru her mother had stroked her neck and said, ‘Do
whatever you think is right, darling. I trust you, but there are enough problems in life without
asking for more.’ She was Sinhalese, he was Tamil. Nalini was surprised that her mother thought
such differences mattered. She was the one who told the story about an uncle who had fallen in
love with a Tamil girl once; and how they had run away to Java because of the prejudices of the
olden days. Nalini had been sure that they-she and Tiru-could show her mother the world had
improved. Things come together, they grow better.

But Tiru never came up to her. Each evening she would wait and wait until her hope and anger
evaporated in hunger and thirst. Eventually she would go downstairs and fix herself something to
eat, then go and soak in a warm bath. When they spoke it was only to ask whether the front door
was locked, or whether the rubbish had been put out; who’d let the milk go sour, Not like in the
early days when she used to feel she knew what was going on inside him. Even when he was quiet
she knew she was in his thoughts. Their lives were about themselves.

Before last summer he had only talked about Eelam-the call for an independent Tamil state-when
they were with other people. He was not into politics; but people kept asking him about Jaffna. He
used to laugh about it with her; he didn’t know any more than anybody else about what was going
on. Then in the summer they had both been stunned by the news about the killing of an army patrol
up in the North and the murderous backlash against the Tamils in Colombo. The frenzied
immolation of the island. The barbarity made the common memories Tiru and Nalini had found
earlier of sesame oil and pink rose sherbet seem like so many sad and pathetic illusions.

20
In those first few days they felt helpless: too far away to do anything and yet implicated by every
brutal act they heard about. The bright green tropical island they thought of as their own turned
into grotesque images of smoke and devastation strewn across the news-stands, litter bins, subway
walls and train stations of the whole city. Every time they met anyone the questions burst out: what
has happened? Why? Who’s responsible? And always someone would know someone who knew
of something worse about yet another communal atrocity. Some claimed extremists had
deliberately provoked the butchery to separate the communities; others said it was a carefully
rehearsed ploy by Sinhala chauvinists to burn Tamil families out house by house. But nothing
could account for the mania that allowed the jeering and cheering for annihilation on the streets.
In the world that Nalini and Tiru had brought together, the world they clasped so tightly together,
they had thought there was no room for such things. They told each other how impossible it ought
to be. Even so Nalini felt they were being prised apart by their past. Tiru had sister married to a
school master in Anuradhapura; they were both Tamil. Nalini had never met them; she knew no
other Tamils still on the island. So while Tiru saw a real face crying, she felt she could only imagine
one. The sister wrote and said they were trying to get to Canada where her husband had family
they could join. Tiru sent them some money; Nalini prayed.

But as the months passed and the appalling news became almost routine, Nalini’s sense of distress
slowly gave way to need to nurture her own strength. Her life, she told herself, was first to do with
where she was rather than where she had come from. No one had a monopoly on brutality. But
Tiru became completely caught up in the events back home. He would come back from work and
switch from one news programme to another, going over and over the same images until the thin
column of black smoke behind the reporter in Colombo drifted into every room in the house. He
bought loads of newspaper and collected every article he could find about the troubles. He would
spend hours with his red pen and the kitchen scissors cutting and marking, preserving the pain
behind the stories. He seemed to want to brutalise his own sensibilities in an act of solidarity with
the victims he began to call his people. He was, getting embroiled in things he could do nothing
about, and she could see it made him more and more despondent.

Then earlier this month Nalini had it confirmed that she was pregnant. She had always imagined
it would be such a happy moment for them both, but Tiru was so distraught she dared not risk
telling him. She thought he would despise her for so compounding their communal inheritances;
it would be better to wait until things improved. Or bleed it.

She had tried to draw him out before. Why don’t you talk to me any more?’ she had asked.

Tiru had looked away. ‘About what?’

What you are thinking?’

Nothing.’ His face was impassive; his eves were fixed on a spot near the ceiling.

21
Then this morning she decided there was no point in waiting any longer; she would tell him and
hope he would remember the life they had once wanted. While he was dressing for work she asked
him, ‘Do you know what’s happening?’

What? In Jaffna, or here?’

‘I’m pregnant.’

She thought his face lightened; she thought she heard him say baby, but then he frowned. His lips
pulled in. He pushed a newspaper across to her. ‘Now they are talking of bombing?’

‘I’m pregnant !’ she said again stretching the word and reaching to touch him, but he flinched and
drew back.

Nalini heated some oil in a large pan and fired a handful of chopped onion. When the onion turned
transparent she added the spices-coriander, cumin, cinnamon- and tipped the chicken in. She
melted a stock cube in a cup of hot water and poured it in as well. Her hands moved mechanically.
She brought everything to the boil and loosely covered the pan. The kitchen felt humid, the walls
had a damp sheen on them and the windows had misted up. She went out, shutting the door behind
her.

She peered into the sitting-room. Tiru was slumped on the floor against the double doors with his
legs stretched straight out and a silent TV screen blazing.

‘Do you want to eat? I am making some chicken.

Tiru looked up in surprise. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I am going out.’

‘Tonight?’

Tiru looked away. The light from the television made his skin glow. His eyes were glassy. ‘There’s
a meeting at the town hall.’

‘I’ve made everything: chicken, rice, dhal . . .

‘It’s a meeting about what’s happening . . . in Ceylon.

‘She could see he was anxious to go, she knew she should try to understand but tonight she had
hoped things would be different; tonight she thought they might at last find something to celebrate.
She felt panicky. She clung to the door and swung it, grasping at his last word.

‘What do you mean Ceylon? Not Sri Lanka any more?’ She felt she was whining-whining-and
stopped. He was staring at her bare feet. She could feel them tingle, as if the tufts of the carpet
were alive. ‘When will you be back? We can eat then.’

‘I don’t know.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better go.’

22
Nalini retreated into the kitchen. Suddenly the smell of the chicken made her feel sick. She turned
off the gas under the pan and opened a window. She put her hand to her mouth, holding her breath.

Tiru came to the kitchen and learned lightly against the doorway. ‘You don’t understand. I have
to go,’ he said softly.

‘No, you are the one who doesn’t understand. You think you know everything but you don’t. She
picked up the knife and scraped off the onion peel and chicken fat into the sink. She wanted to cry.
‘I feel sick!’

‘What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Tiru stepped closer to her.

‘Everything. Can’t you see?’ She lifted the knife, pressing hard against the sink. ‘You don’t even
touch me any more . . .’

‘Have some water?’ Tiru suggested quietly. He got a bottle of carbonated spring water and twisted
open the cap; it hissed. He poured the water into a cup that was by the bottle. The cup was decorated
with a maroon pattern and flecked with gold-leaf. ‘Here,’ he offered it to Nalini. He held it in the
palm of his hand.

She took it carefully from him, not letting her fingers touch his. She didn’t want him to hate her.
She saw nothing but the cup and his hand, an arm in a denim sleeve. She lifted the cup to her lips;
her fingers ached, the water smelled of metal polish. She felt a thin hard fork comb through he hair
pricking her scalp and coming down towards her spine pushing her belly out more. She could feel
him looking at her again. She knew he was standing there with his hands shoved back in his
pockets; not moving. Suddenly she twisted from him and flung the cup away. She had never thrown
anything so hard in life. Although it took only a second to explode she could see the cup turn as it
flew. The gold paint glinted sparking in the light and the water sprayed out in a wide slow arc
splattering the floor and ceiling with silver drops: a chain of small pearls, tracers balls, needle
markings trailing lines of dissolving perforations. Inside it was milk white, the bone stem curved
up, cocked high, the rim finely modulated to a pair of pressed lips. When it hit the hard glazed wall
the cup burst into a hundred tiny pieces of shrapnel. One larger piece, the crested base, dropped
straight down and shattered on the green floor tiles. Water dripped down the wall making a puddle
by the skirting board. Nalini’s ears were ringing as if the air in the room had been decompressed.
She watched the curved hulls of broken china rocking on the floor.

She crouched down; she could feel him fumbling, coming up behind her. She wanted to pick up
all the pieces and stick them together with a lick of glue or spittle. She wanted to tell him that
together they could somehow recreate it with a wed of hairline cracks like a real batik pattern. She
felt a hand on her. It was warm. She knew he could feel her pulse. He pressed his hand to her and
kept it there.

Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry

23
Eliza Griswold is a poet and reporter whose work has appeared in the New Yorker, the Atlantic,
the New York Times Magazine, Harper's, and the New Republic. Her books include the poetry
collection Wideawake Field (2007) and the non-fiction title The Tenth Parallel (2010), which
examines Christianity and Islam in Asia and Africa. In 2010, Griswold won the Rome Prize from
the American Academy in Rome for her poetry, and in 2011, The Tenth Parallel received the
Anthony J. Lukas award. A former Nieman Fellow in Journalism at Harvard, Griswold is
currently a senior fellow at the New American Foundation, a nonpartisan public policy institute.

Eliza Griswold is a senior fellow at the New America Foundation and the recipient of a
Guggenheim fellowship.

In a private house in a quiet university neighborhood of Kabul, Ogai Amail waited for the phone
to ring. Through a plate-glass window, she watched the sinking sun turn the courtyard the colour
of eggplant. The electricity wasn’t working and the room was unheated, a few floor cushions the
only furnishings. Amail tucked her bare feet underneath her and pulled up the collar of her puffy
black coat. Her dark hair was tied in a ponytail, and her eyelids were coated in metallic blue
powder. In the green glare of the mobile phone’s screen, her face looked wan and worried. When
the phone finally bleeped, Amail shrieked with joy and put on the speakerphone. A teenage girl’s
voice tumbled into the room. “I’m freezing,” the girl said. Her voice was husky with cold. To
make this call, she’d sneaked out of her father’s mud house without her coat.

Like many of the rural members of Mirman Baheer, a women’s literary society based in Kabul,
the girl calls whenever she can, typically in secret. She reads her poems aloud to Amail, who
transcribes them line by line. To conceal her poetry writing from her family, the girl relies on a
pen name, Meena Muska. (Meena means “love” in the Pashto language; muska means “smile.”)

Meena lost her fiancé last year, when a land mine exploded. According to Pashtun tradition, she
must marry one of his brothers, which she doesn’t want to do. She doesn’t dare protest directly,
but reciting poetry to Amail allows her to speak out against her lot. When I asked how old she
was, Meena responded in a proverb: “I am like a tulip in the desert. I die before I open, and the

24
waves of desert breeze blow my petals away.” She wasn’t sure of her age but thought she was
17. “Because I am a girl, no one knows my birthday,” she said.

Meena lives in Gereshk, a town of 50,000 people in Helmand, the largest of Afghanistan’s 34
provinces. Helmand has struggled with the double burden of being one of the world’s largest
opium producers and an insurgent stronghold. Meena’s father pulled her out of school four years
ago after gunmen kidnapped one of her classmates. Now she stays home, cooks, cleans and
teaches herself to write poetry in secret. Poems are the only form of education to which she has
access. She doesn’t meet outsiders face to face.

“I can’t say any poems in front of my brothers,” she said. Love poems would be seen by them as
proof of an illicit relationship, for which Meena could be beaten or even killed. “I wish I had the
opportunities that girls do in Kabul,” she went on. “I want to write about what’s wrong in my
country.” Meena gulped. She was trying not to cry. On the other end of the line, Amail, who is
prone to both compassion and drama, began to weep with her. Tears mixed with kohl dripped
onto the page of the spiral notebook in which Amail was writing down Meena’s verses. Meena
recited a Pashtun folk poem called a landai:

“My pains grow as my life dwindles,

I will die with a heart full of hope.”

“I am the new Rahila,” she said. “Record my voice, so that when I get killed at least you’ll have
something of me.”

Amail grimaced, uncertain how to respond. “Don’t call yourself that,” she snapped. “Do you
want to die, too?”

Rahila was the name used by a young poet, Zarmina, who committed suicide two years ago.
Zarmina was reading her love poems over the phone when her sister-in-law caught her. “How
many lovers do you have?” she teased. Zarmina’s family assumed there was a boy on the other
end of the line. As a punishment, her brothers beat her and ripped up her notebooks, Amail said.
Two weeks later, Zarmina set herself on fire.

25
Like Meena, Zarmina lived in Gereshk, a little less than 400 miles from Kabul. She, too, wasn’t
allowed to leave her home. She first found the literary group by listening to the radio, her only
link to the outside world. One day, on Radio Azadi — Radio Liberty — she heard a Mirman
Baheer member reading poems. With no way to contact the group, she phoned another radio
program, “Lost Love,” a popular show that mostly connects refugees to family members or
friends they haven’t seen in decades. Zarmina asked for help in finding Mirman Baheer. One of
the station’s employees was a member. “Oh, so you thought we were lost, too!” she told the
aspiring poet, before sharing the phone number.

Zarmina soon became a regular caller. Whenever she could, she phoned into Mirman Baheer’s
Saturday-afternoon meetings at the Ministry of Women’s Affairs in Kabul. Zarmina would ask
Amail if she could read her poems aloud to the group. But the Kabul meetings were crowded
with eager poets, vying to be heard. Amail often had to tell Zarmina to wait her turn. “I’d say,
‘No, I’ll call you,’ but she’d call back within a few minutes.”

Sometimes Zarmina couldn’t stand to wait for a meeting to call Amail. When Amail said she was
too busy to talk, Zarmina would respond with a landai:

“I am shouting but you don’t answer —

One day you’ll look for me and I’ll be gone from this world.”

“How sweet it would have been if we’d only recorded her voice while she was reading poems,”
Amail said. She picked bits of caramelized sugar and almonds from a glass dish. “Now, when
any girl calls, I note down everything — the dates of the poems, the phone numbers, every single
thing she says.” (The group still can’t afford a tape recorder.)

In her poems, Zarmina described “the dark cage of the village.” Her work was impressive,
according to Amail, not only for its distinctive language but also for its courage to question
God’s will. “That’s what our poems had in common,” Amail said. “We complained to God about
the state of our lives.” Zarmina’s poems posed questions: “Why am I not in a world where
people can feel what I’m feeling and hear my voice?” She asked, “If God cares about beauty,
why aren’t we allowed to care?” She asked: “In Islam, God loved the Prophet Muhammad. I’m
in a society where love is a crime. If we are Muslims, why are we enemies of love?”

26
As Amail and Zarmina grew closer, they would talk several times a day whenever Zarmina could
sneak access to a phone; but there were periods when they managed to speak only once a month.
During the two weeks between her brothers’ beating and her suicide, Zarmina gave Amail no
indication of how desperate she was when she called. She did, however, recite another landai:

“On Doomsday, I will say aloud,

I came from the world with my heart full of hope.”

“Stupid, don’t say that,” Amail recalls saying. “You’re too young to die.”

To the women of Mirman Baheer, Zarmina is only the most recent of Afghanistan’s poet-
martyrs. “She was a sacrifice to Afghan women,” Amail told me. “There are hundreds like her.”

Mirman Baheer, Afghanistan’s largest women’s literary society, is a contemporary version of a

Taliban-era literary network known as the Golden Needle. In Herat, women, pretending to sew,
gathered to talk about literature. In Kabul, Mirman Baheer has no need for subterfuge. Its more
than 100 members are drawn primarily from the Afghan elite: professors, parliamentarians,
journalists and scholars. They travel on city buses to their Saturday meetings, their faces
uncovered, wearing high-heeled boots and shearling coats. But in the outlying provinces —
Khost, Paktia, Maidan Wardak, Kunduz, Kandahar, Herat and Farah — where the society’s
members number 300, Mirman Baheer functions largely in secret.

Of Afghanistan’s 15 million women, roughly 8 out of 10 live outside urban areas, where U.S.
efforts to promote women’s rights have met with little success. Only 5 out of 100 graduate from
high school, and most are married by age 16, 3 out of 4 in forced marriages. Young poets like
Meena who call into the hot line, Amail told me, “are in a very dangerous position. They’re
behind high walls, under the strong control of men.” Herat University’s celebrated young poet,
Nadia Anjuman, died in 2005, after a severe beating by her husband. She was 25.

Pashtun poetry has long been a form of rebellion for Afghan women, belying the notion that they
are submissive or defeated. Landai means “short, poisonous snake” in Pashto, a language spoken
on both sides of the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. The word also refers to two-line folk poems
that can be just as lethal. Funny, sexy, raging, tragic, landai are safe because they are collective.

27
No single person writes a landai; a woman repeats one, shares one. It is hers and not hers.
Although men do recite them, almost all are cast in the voices of women. “Landai belong to
women,” Safia Siddiqi, a renowned Pashtun poet and former Afghan parliamentarian, said. “In
Afghanistan, poetry is the women’s movement from the inside.”

Traditionally, landai have dealt with love and grief. They often railed against the bondage of
forced marriage with wry, anatomical humor. An aging, ineffectual husband is frequently
described as a “little horror.” But they have also taken on war, exile and Afghan independence
with ferocity. In the 1880 Battle of Maiwand, when Afghan forces were losing to the British, a
Pashtun heroine named Malalai is said to have seized the Afghan flag and shouted this landai:

“Young love, if you do not fall in the Battle of Maiwand,

By God, someone is saving you as a symbol of shame.”

Malalai died on the battlefield, but Afghan forces were ultimately victorious.

More recently, landai have taken on the Russian occupation, the hypocrisy of the Taliban and the
American military presence. One landai that came into circulation during the Russian occupation
is still uttered today:

“May your airplane crash and may the pilot die

that you are pouring bombs on my beloved Afghanistan.”

Like most folk literature, landai can be sorrowful or bawdy. Imagine the Wife of Bath riding
through the Himalayan foothills and uttering landai so ribald that they curled the toes of her
fellow travelers. She might tease her rival: “Say hello to my sweetheart/If you are a farter [tizan,
one who farts a lot], then I can fart louder than you.” She might make a cutting political joke:
“Your black eyelashes are Israel/and my heart is Palestine under your attack.” She might utter an
elegiac couplet: “My beloved gave his head for our country/I will sew his shroud with my hair.”

“A poem is a sword,” Saheera Sharif, Mirman Baheer’s founder, said. Sharif is not a poet but a
member of Parliament from the province of Khost. Literature, she says, is a more effective battle
for women’s rights than shouting at political rallies. “This is a different kind of struggle.”

28
On a recent afternoon in Kabul, Amail looked over her reading glasses at two dozen poets and
writers, 15 to 55 years old, convened around a U-shaped conference table at the Ministry for
Women’s Affairs. Sharif held her 7-year-old daughter, Zala, in her lap. Zala clutched a white fur
pony purse loaded with markers. She unzipped its belly, coloured distractedly and played with an
iPhone during a brief lecture on the nature of the soul given by Alam Gul Sahar, one of President
Hamid Karzai’s speechwriters and the author of 15 books of poems. As Sahar droned on, the
women yawned, their exhales forming puffs of gray breath in the room’s freezing air. As soon as
Sahar finished, the workshop began. A young woman stood and raced through a reading of her
short story in an anxious monotone: a girl whose mother died in childbirth ends up going to
college and having to choose between two potential lovers. One suitor attempts suicide but is
miraculously revived. The end. The critique started. One of the group’s more senior members
pointed out two problems. First, Pashto stories don’t feature two lovers, because that would sully
a woman’s honor. Second, the story’s diction was monotonous.

“Since your character is educated, she should speak in a more sophisticated way,” the woman
told the downcast author. In judging a work’s merit, members consider the writer’s recitation.
Sharif believes that the group’s mission is to teach young women not just to write but also to
speak aloud and with confidence.

The meeting turned to poetry next. The women had brought contemporary landai with them.
Traditionally, the poems were traded at henna night, the evening before a wedding when women
gather around the bride to decorate her body. The landai are sometimes sung to the beat of a
small hand drum. (Because singing is associated with loose morals, poetry can be seen as
shameful for women, a notion that the Taliban’s conservatism helped foster.) Landai once
focused on the godar — the place where village women went to fetch water and where men, who
were not allowed to approach them, tried to steal looks at their beloveds from a distance. These
educated women used landai to speak of larger issues, like Mullah Omar, the Taliban’s one-eyed
spiritual leader who is rumoured to be dead, not a guest of Pakistan: “Grass is growing on the
blind man’s tomb/Stupid Talibs still believe that he’s alive.” Amail read one about America’s
failing military efforts: “Here, they fight the Taliban/Behind the mountains, they train them.”

29
When I asked who brought this one, Zamzama, 17, raised her hand amid nervous giggles. She
seemed both embarrassed and emboldened to be criticizing America to an American. Along with
her 15-year-old cousin, Lima, Zamzama joined the group two years earlier. Lima had recently
won the group’s literary prize. When she was 11, she began writing poems addressed to God.

“I started reading them to my father,” Lima said. She smiled and glanced around at the others
who were suddenly listening. “My father doesn’t know much about poetry.” An engineer, he
heard about Mirman Baheer from a colleague and now sends his daughters here weekly to learn
to write. “He gave me this,” she said. She held up a blue plastic notebook embossed with the
words “Healthnet — Enabling People to Help Themselves.” Lima stood to recite her latest poem:
a rubaiyat, the Arabic name for a quatrain, addressed to the Taliban.

You won’t allow me to go to school.

I won’t become a doctor.
Remember this:
One day you will be sick.

Following Zarmina’s story meant traveling to Gereshk. I wanted to see how she’d lived, and I
wondered what, besides her brothers’ anger, led her to take her life. It seemed impossible that I
would find the family of one dead girl among 50,000 people or that, if I did, they would speak
about her, but I went anyway, as there was also the slight chance of meeting Meena Muska, the
teenager who called Mirman Baheer and invoked Zarmina’s name. I began my search in
Helmand’s embattled capital, Laskhar Gah, of which Gereshk is a suburb. Government sources
and a local network of traditional leaders called maliks (they belong to an Afghan organization,
Wadan, the Welfare Association for the Development of Afghanistan) helped me gather a list of
reported cases of women and girls who died violent deaths in Gereshk in the past two years. The
list was brief but grim. Was I looking for the girl who was found drowned in the Helmand River
in a sack? No. The girl who had her head shaved and then was chopped into pieces by her
husband’s brothers? No. Well, then, there was only one left: a girl who in 2010 set herself on fire
and died in the Kandahar hospital.

30
“Ten years ago, no one heard about these problems,” Fauzia Olemi, Helmand’s minister of
Women’s Affairs, told me when we met. “Now we have a network of organizations that
investigate them.”

It was a balmy afternoon in Lashkar Gah, and Olemi wanted to show me some of Helmand’s
modest successes for women’s education, which included a three-day workshop on the health
benefits of eating tomatoes, okra and other vegetables. Because Helmand is among the largest
poppy producers in the world, there’s a special effort to encourage farmers to plant other crops.

In a squat, cement-block government building, about 50 women sat in front of a whiteboard,

which read, “If you eat two kilograms of tomatoes a day, you will be cured of cancer.” This
group was very different from the one in Kabul. Many of the women were in their 20s and 30s,
their faces deeply lined from working in the fields. It was nearing midday, when the insurgents
would begin to explode I.E.D.’s along the road, and the lesson was almost over. As the women
gathered their things to leave, I asked if any of them liked poetry. As soon as the question was
translated, a wisp of a woman leapt to her feet and began what looked like freestyle rapping in
Pashto. She shook her bony shoulders to four-beat lines that ended in a rhyme of “ma” or “na.”
Gulmakai was 22 but looked 45. She made up poems all the time, she explained, as she cooked
and cleaned the house. She said,

“Making love to an old man is like

Making love to a limp cornstalk blackened by fungus.”

The women roared with surprised laughter, which I, hearing the poem in translation, took a
minute to understand (the first, sanitized version offered to me was something like “Being
married is like corn”). “I know this is true,” she announced. “My father married me to an old
man when I was 15.” She tried to say something else, but the workshop leader, a man, silenced
her. Time was up. The participants needed to go home, or their families would worry.

A few days later, I arranged to travel to Gereshk and meet with Zarmina’s parents with the help
of a local women’s advocate. Under the Taliban, the advocate worked as a physician assistant in
Gereshk Hospital, where her services were in high demand. Paradoxically, since their fall, her
life had grown more dangerous: being a women’s advocate linked her to Karzai’s government

31
and to seemingly Western notions of women’s rights. Like almost every local women’s leader I
met, she’d survived several botched assassination attempts. “I have six or seven coloured burqas
so the Taliban doesn’t know who I am,” the advocate told me on the phone. She laughed. “The
burqas keep me safe.” Yet she agreed with Olemi that, for most women, violence was more
likely to come from home. “Now that Afghan women are aware of their rights, they fight for
them in their family,” she said. “If they get their rights, that’s good. If they don’t, they kill
themselves or get beaten up.”

The night before we left Lashkar Gah, I dialed Meena Muska’s number, hoping she would be
able to meet me the following day.

“Absolutely not,” she told my translator.

She couldn’t leave the house without raising suspicion. She also had reservations based on her
family’s code of honour. “Because of the war, it’s dishonourable for a Pashtun to meet an
American,” she said. “Please don’t take it personally,” she added. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
Suddenly, in the silence, she changed her mind. “Meet me at the hospital,” she said. “I’ll be
waiting.” Her only stipulation was that I and my translator come alone.

The next morning, our mini convoy — two white sedans flanked by two green police pickup
trucks — left town for the 50-mile drive north along Helmand’s main highway to Gereshk. We’d
been driving less than five minutes when an oversize rickshaw catapulted out of an intersection
and rammed into our Toyota Corolla. Within seconds, a swarm of onlookers surrounded the car,
looking at the smashed headlight. It wasn’t a great place to be trapped in a crowd — two weeks
earlier, a suicide bomber blew up a truck only yards away. There were sure to be Taliban
informants among the onlookers; if anyone hadn’t known we were coming along the road that
day, they did now.

We drove on past young boys raking patches of blown-up road, the mangled rebar gnarled like
hair; past America’s surveillance blimps hanging cartoonishly low above the salt plain; past a
line of camels cruising under industrial power lines. The electric lines were a legacy of a U.S.-
sponsored midcentury hydropower project, the Kajaki dam, which, for a while, earned this
stretch the nickname “little America.”

32
An hour and a half later, we arrived at the mud-walled compound of Fatima Zurai, a member of
Gereshk’s local women’s council, through whom I hoped to meet Zarmina’s parents. An elderly
couple, they were seated in the corner of the room. Zurai ran a women’s business collective that
sold heart-shaped, beaded rainbow purses for 10 U.S. dollars to foreign soldiers. Over tea and
caramels, Zurai spoke of the losses she and her family suffered, caught between American forces
and the insurgents. Zurai sent her daughter to fetch a bundle of cloth, which she unwrapped,
holding up a white, blood-soaked shalwar kameez.

“My husband was wearing this shirt when the Taliban murdered him two years ago,” she said.
Her husband, Mir Ahmad, was on the Taliban hit list because he worked with the local
government as a malik.

Then she shook out a small pair of brown muslin trousers from the cloth pile. Muddy and torn,
they smelled like rot, and Zurai’s small daughter held her chador against her nose to block the
stench. The trousers, Zurai said, belonged to her 12-year-old son, Ihsanullah. He was walking
home from school in the spring of 2011 when a military vehicle driven by a U.S. Marine struck
and killed him. The U.S. Marine commander, Zurai said, brought the driver to her house to make
amends.

“God gave me this son 12 years ago, before the Americans came,” she recalled telling the
commander. Zurai said that, yes, she forgave the driver. This was less a personal decision than a
cultural one. Forgiveness was part of the honor code known as Pashtunwali. (The U.S. military
said it did not have enough information to verify the incident; payments for accidental civilian
deaths, which Zurai said her family received, are common.)

From her seat on a floor cushion, Zarmina’s mother, Simin Gula, a maroon burqa pulled back
from her face to reveal a mouth devoid of teeth, leaned into my translator and pointed to me. “Do
they have the custom of marriage where she comes from?” she asked. “Is she married?”

Zarmina’s father, Kheyal Mohammad, remained silent. Zarmina burned to death two years
earlier, her mother said. “It was an accident. She was trying to get warm after a bath, but the
firewood was wet, so she poured gasoline on it and caught herself on fire.” Zarmina’s father

33
nodded assent. No, their daughter absolutely did not like writing, reading or poetry. “She was a
good girl, an uneducated girl,” Zarmina’s mother said. “Our girls don’t want to go to school.”

“The mother is lying,” Zurai whispered.

The parents agreed to take us to see where Zarmina was buried, a five-minute drive away. A
maze of rocky hummocks marked the graves. We passed three women kneeling over three
smaller, fresh plots. Zarmina’s parents stopped before a grave covered in loose black gravel with
no headstone.

Walking briskly back to the cars, we passed the three kneeling women again. Behind me, one
murmured Zarmina’s name. “She set herself on fire because her family wouldn’t let her marry
the man she loved,” she said, then returned to grieving over the plot that held her son, who was
killed in a recent suicide attack.

The early-afternoon sun had swung above us. The local council members urged us to hurry. But
before we left Gereshk, we had one final stop to make — to meet Meena. Leaving the entourage
behind at the district governor’s office, we drove through the bazaar’s crowded warren of streets
and pulled up under the dusty, red-lettered sign of Gereshk District Hospital. A handful of people
milled in the parking lot. Meena Muska hadn’t come after all, I thought, my heart sinking. Then
the phone rang.

“Why did you bring the police?” a high voice demanded. She was suspicious of our armed
government guard. Through the windshield, I saw a woman in cerulean blue glide past. Her
burqa was an awkward shape; she was on the telephone. Without glancing our way, she breezed
around the edge of the whitewashed clinic. I tumbled out of the car, unaccustomed to the tangle
of fabric engulfing me, and shuffled after her. Behind the corner of the building stood a young
woman with a diamond stud in her nose. She wore thick black socks and open-toed rhinestone
slippers. The rest of her face remained behind a piece of woolen fabric. There was no need for
introductions. We embraced. Next to her stood a shorter, rounder woman, with a heavily
wrinkled face. She was the girl’s meira: her second mother and her father’s second wife.

34
“I told my father I was sick and had to go to the doctor,” she explained. But she told her mother
and her meira the truth; both women support her writing, at least for now. She led us into a
winter garden, where we four — Meena Muska, her meira, my translator and I — knelt facing
one another on the faded grass. Our blue, crimson, jade and dove burqas were the only colours in
the gray garden. From her plastic purse, Meena pulled out her notebook. The forearms of her
dress were black mesh, her fingernails carefully painted. For a girl who couldn’t leave the house,
her latest Indian-inspired fashions were surprising. But this was a special occasion, and Meena
had dressed in her finest. At my request, she took a notebook and began to transcribe some of her
new poems line by line in sloppy, schoolgirl script. She copied a ghazal, a sophisticated form of
Persian poetry, then scribbled the following landai:

O, separation! I pray that you die young.

Since you are the one who
lights lovers’ houses on fire.

This was her protest against being torn from her dead fiancé, she said. She asked that translations
of her more formal poems go unpublished in this article. “My poems don’t deserve this much
attention,” she said. “I am just learning to write.” Meena had little hope for her future. She would
be marrying one of her fiancé’s two surviving brothers whenever her father and brothers decided
it was time. She wrinkled her nose and let the cloth drop from her face, then pulled two mobile
phones from her purse. Her brothers, who ran successful irrigation-pipe factories, bought her the
phones; they also monitor her call log to make sure she isn’t speaking to boys. I wanted to give
her something, but I feared that a book of my own poems might endanger her. If her brothers
found it, how would she explain where this American’s poems had come from? Having nothing
else, I tugged a scarf from my neck. She reached into her purse and handed me a rhinestone
butterfly comb. Then she tugged the burqa’s soft grille back over her face, took her chaperon by
the hand and disappeared into the crowd.

In the parking lot, one of the hospital’s doctors, Dr. Asmatullah Heymat, was waiting to speak to
me. “I know of this girl you are looking for,” he said. “Her name was Zarmina, and she set
herself on fire because her parents would not let her marry the man she loved.” That was all he
knew.

35
“Zarmina’s mother couldn’t tell you the truth in front of her husband,” the girl’s aunt told me by
phone once we returned to Lashkar Gah that evening. Zarmina loved to dance and sing. “She
loved fashion,” her aunt said. “She loved a good burqa, nice shoes.” She also played the hand
drum at weddings and loved to recite landai. “She’d say landai in front of her mother, but never
in front of her father,” the aunt said. As for being able to write, “She knew some Koran, but only
had a childhood madrassa education.” The aunt could recall little else about her poetry: “I’ve had
so many of my own problems; I’ve forgotten the landai she used to say.”

From childhood, Zarmina was engaged to marry her first cousin, whom she’d grown to love. Yet
when the time came, the boy couldn’t afford the bride price of about $12,500. Zarmina’s father
refused the match, knowing that he would have to support the couple. The boy visited Zarmina’s
home several times hoping to win her father’s approval, her aunt said.

Zarmina took solace in writing love poems and reading to the women of Mirman Baheer by
phone. Then came the spring day in 2010 when Zarmina got caught reading these poems and her
brothers beat her. A couple of weeks later, according to her aunt, when the girl was cleaning the
house, she locked a door behind her and set herself alight, a common means of suicide among
women in Afghanistan and elsewhere. The custom can be linked to the outlawed Indian practice
suttee, when a wife climbs on a funeral pyre. The practice and even the Hindi word — suttee —
exist in Pashto, too. In this sense, it is possible that Zarmina saw her choice to die for love as
romantic and honourable.

Her sister-in-law tried to break into the room to reach Zarmina, then called her husband, who
was working as a contractor for the Canadian military, stationed at the time in Gereshk.
Zarmina’s father was at his factory. Her mother was at her aunt’s house fetching water. A young
girl came racing into the compound, crying that Zarmina had tried to kill herself. By the time her
aunt and mother reached her, Zarmina was nearly unrecognizable.

“Give me water, give me water,” she said.

With one of her brothers as a chaperon, Zarmina traveled by helicopter to a hospital in Kandahar
more than 100 miles away. But there was little the doctors could do. Zarmina had severe burns
over most of her body. A week later, she died.

36
After Zarmina’s death, her fiancé tried to commit suicide by stabbing himself multiple times. His
friends managed to stop him, Zarmina’s aunt said. (Local leaders confirmed this.) Later, he
married and moved to Kandahar.

Zarmina’s family had also dispersed. One brother escaped to Herat after receiving threats for
working with foreign soldiers. The day after I met them, Zarmina’s parents were scheduled to
join him there. There is little evidence of Zarmina’s life left in Gereshk. After she died, her father
gathered up her belongings, including some books and some scrawled-on pieces of paper. “I
don’t know if he hid them or burned them,” her aunt said.

But the whole village remembered Zarmina’s story. Her two neighbors, 15- and 17-year-old
girls, confirmed details, as did the local women’s leader who recorded the case two years ago.
“She was such a good poet,” the 15-year-old neighbor said. “We were the ones who encouraged
her to start calling the radio. We were the ones who told her to write down her poems.”

When I returned to Kabul, I went to see Ogai Amail in Microrayon, a row of concrete Russian-
era apartment blocks in northeast Kabul. For $200 a month, Amail shares a single room with an
older poet and member of Mirman Baheer who took Amail in after a family argument. She had
nowhere else to go. Still unmarried at 40, Amail has no husband or children to ensure her
position in society. Although she cherishes her independence, she said, hers is a difficult
freedom. She has made the women and girls of Mirman Baheer into her family. She calls the
younger poets her “little sisters.” Amail was nearly ecstatic to hear that I’d met Meena Muska
face to face and that I’d found Zarmina’s parents.

Amail recalled how she learned that Zarmina set herself on fire: shortly after the incident,
Zarmina managed to call from her hospital bed in Kandahar. She told Amail that she had burns
over 75 percent of her body. “She sounded so normal, I didn’t think she was dying,” Amail said.
Zarmina wanted Amail to call her brother and impersonate a doctor offering treatment in Kabul,
Amail told me. She thought if she could make it to the city, she could start a new life. Amail did
what Zarmina asked, but she knew Zarmina would not make it to Kabul. The next phone call she
received from Kandahar came from Zarmina’s sister, who told Amail: “All you can do is pray
for her now. She is dead.”

37
When I told Amail the story of Zarmina and her fiancé, she wasn’t surprised.

“Her poetry was all about broken love,” Amail said. “She asked me, ‘Do you love anyone?’ I
said: ‘Why not? Am I not a human being? Do I not have eyes?’ Zarmina only said: ‘I have so
many problems; I don’t want to worry you. I’ll tell you when we meet.’ ”

Amail assumed that someday the resourceful young poet would reach the relative freedom of
Kabul. “She used to say you are the luckiest people since you can meet with your friends
openly,” Amail said. “You can learn from your mistakes and write better poems.”

Flipping through her notebook, she found a poem she wrote after Zarmina’s suicide, called “The
Poet Who Died Young”:

“Her memory will be a flower tucked into literature’s turban.

In her loneliness, every sister cries for her.”

38
 Don’t Ask Me For That Love Again

Faiz Ahmed Faiz was born on February 13, 1911, in Sialkot, India, which is now part of
Pakistan. He had a privileged childhood as the son of wealthy landowners Sultan Fatima and
Sultan Muhammad Khan, who passed away in 1913, shortly after his birth. His father was a
prominent lawyer and a member of an elite literary circle which included Allama Iqbal, the
national poet of Pakistan.
Faiz’s early poems had been conventional, light-hearted treatises on love and beauty, but while
in Lahore he began to expand into politics, community, and the thematic interconnectedness he
felt was fundamental in both life and poetry.
Throughout his tumultuous life, Faiz continually wrote and published, becoming the best-selling
modern Urdu poet in both India and Pakistan. While his work is written in fairly strict diction,
his poems maintain a casual, conversational tone, creating tension between the elite and the
common, somewhat in the tradition of Ghalib, the renowned 19th century Urdu poet. Faiz is
especially celebrated for his poems in traditional Urdu forms, such as the ghazal, and his
remarkable ability to expand the conventional thematic expectations to include political and
social issues.
He died in Lahore in 1984, shortly after receiving a nomination for the Nobel Prize.

That which then was ours, my love,

don’t ask me for that love again.
The world then was gold, burnished with light –
and only because of you. That’s what I had believed.
How could one weep for sorrows other than yours?
How could one have any sorrow but the one you gave?
So what were these protests, these rumours of injustice?
A glimpse of your face was evidence of springtime.

39
The sky, whenever I looked, was nothing but your eyes.
If you’d fall into my arms, Fate would be helpless.

All this I’d thought, all this I’d believed.

But there were other sorrows, comforts other than love.
The rich had cast their spell on history:
dark centuries had been embroidered on brocades and silks.
Bitter threads began to unravel before me
as I went into alleys and in open markets
saw bodies plastered with ash, bathed in blood.
I saw them sold and bought, again and again.
This too deserves attention. I can’t help but look back
when I return from those alleys – what should one do?
And you are still so ravishing – what should I do?
There are other sorrows in this world,
comforts other than love.
Don’t ask me, my love, for that love again.

40
 The Burkini ban: What it really means when we Criminalize Clothes

Sheryl Garratt. Writer at The Guardian. Former editor of The Face magazine whose book
Adventures in Wonderland is one of the most famous books on Nightclubs.

France is tearing itself apart over a swimsuit but it’s not the first time an item of clothing has
caused a political storm. What we wear has always hidden deeper fears about sex, race and
class.

This is what happens to my skin in the sun. After a few minutes, it goes a mottled pink. Give it
an hour or so, and it goes the colour of a ripe tomato. Shortly after that, it burns really badly, and
the next day I develop full-body dandruff. Not a good look.

So I go to the beach well equipped. I wear sunscreen, of course. But also a hat, a scarf to cover
my neck and my head as well if it’s too windy for the hat, a long-sleeved tunic, and light trousers
to pull on somewhere between the mottled pink and tomato stage. I long ago accepted that I am
never going to go brown, so I cover up, and I’m comfortable that way. But on a growing number
of French beaches, it seems that covering up is now against the law.

On Tuesday, we saw photographs showing four armed policemen on a beach in Nice bullying a
woman by forcing her to strip off layers. Another woman – a mum of two, identified only as
Siam, aged 34 – was also fined on a Cannes beach for dressing in a similar way, and so
apparently not wearing “an outfit respecting good morals and secularism”.

My current beach trousers and tunic are remarkably like those the woman was wearing on the
beach in Nice, but we all know how unlikely it would be for me to attract police attention. This
legislation is aimed at the burkini, clothing that apparently “overtly manifests adherence to a
religion at a time when France and places of worship are the target of terrorist attacks”. Nor am I
likely to get into trouble for wearing a T-shirt with an image of the Buddha, another of my
favourite cover-ups: the only religion being targeted here is Islam.

41
A woman’s right to choose her own beach outfit has long been an area of controversy. In 1907,
record-breaking Australian swimmer Annette Kellerman was arrested on Revere beach in Boston
for wearing a sleeveless one-piece swimming outfit remarkably similar to the burkini. It was then
considered to be so revealing it was obscene, though a judge later allowed a compromise
whereby she could go into the water wearing her revolutionary suit, as long as she was covered
by a cape until submerged.

Still, when the bikini was introduced in the 1950s, Kellerman declared it was a mistake. “Only
two women in a million can wear it,” she said. “And it’s a very big mistake to try. The bikini
shows too much. It shows a line that makes the leg look ugly, even with the best of figures. A
body is at its most beautiful when there is one beautiful, unbroken line.”

The Pope also condemned the two-piece, although for rather different reasons. It was banned in
Italy, Spain and Portugal and, despite Brigitte Bardot posing on a Cannes beach in a bikini in
1953 and Ursula Andress emerging from the sea in an iconic white bikini in Dr No in 1962; it
took a surprising amount of time to catch on. But now, it seems, it is our civic and moral duty to
display as much bare flesh as possible while sunbathing, and it is hard to find a women’s
magazine in spring that isn’t hectoring us to get “bikini-ready”, to starve, wax, salon tan and
exercise our bodies into the desired condition.

To the French minister for women’s rights, Laurence Rossignol, wearing as little as possible on
the beach has now somehow become a feminist issue. “[The burkini] has the same logic as the
burqa: hide women’s bodies in order to control them,” she has said, seemingly unaware of the
contradiction of forcing women to show their bodies instead. “It is not just the business of those
women who wear it, because it is the symbol of a political project that is hostile to diversity and
women’s emancipation.”

Yet, if we go back 170 years or so, what was then known as “Turkish dress” was controversial
for exactly the opposite reason. Inspired by Muslim dress and pioneered by the British actor,
writer and anti-slavery campaigner Fanny Kemble, the wearing of long, loose pantaloons under a
relatively light, short dress was hugely liberating for European women previously restricted by
long, heavy dresses, layers of equally heavy petticoats and body-distorting corsets. After US

42
suffrage and temperance activist Amelia Bloomer espoused the look in her magazine, the Lily, in
1851, it turned into a craze on both sides of the Atlantic, and became known as “Bloomer dress”,
then simply “bloomers”. The backlash from church, media and state was predictable, but their
complaint was not that this “oriental dress” style was too modest, but that it was too racy, a sign
that women were encroaching dangerously on male territory.

This comes as no surprise. Fashion has always been a reliable barometer of social change, and
almost every attempt to prohibit a trend hides a far deeper fear. To pull on the shifting threads of
gender, race and class, all we have to do is follow the popular anxieties about what we wear. Or
rather, what other people are wearing to upset us.

In his brilliant book Hooligan: A History of Respectable Fears, Geoffrey Pearson looks back
over more than a century of media fears, examining our tendency to always believe there was a
golden age of safety and peace, usually about 20 years before our own age. It wasn’t until the
1890s, when mass-produced clothes were becoming more affordable and working-class youths
were starting to earn money of their own, that these fears got tangled up with fashion.

The fear then was hooligans, violent gangs of young men with seemingly no respect for authority
or the police. They had different names around the country – Peaky Blinders or Sloggers in
Birmingham, Scuttlers, or later Ikeys, in Manchester – but they dressed in a remarkably similar
fashion.

“The boys affect a kind of uniform,” claimed the Daily Graphic newspaper in a November 1900
article titled Real Hooligans. “No hat, collar, or tie is to be seen. All of them have a peculiar
muffler twisted round the neck, a cap set rakishly forward, well over the eyes, and trousers very
tight at the knee and loose at the foot. The most characteristic part of their uniform is the
substantial leather belt heavily mounted with metal. It is not ornamental, but then it is not
intended for ornament.”

In Manchester, one gang fight in 1890 apparently involved a pitched battle of 500-600 youths,
with shopkeepers barricading themselves into their stores to prevent damage and looting, and
police powerless to intervene. Accounts of this incident even include an enticing mention of
female scuttlers, dressed in “clogs and shawl and a skirt with vertical stripes”, but in the main,

43
newspapers of the time were obsessed with the dress style of male gang members, which they
found absurdly troubling.

In the turbulent, heady period of change following the First World War, the short, girlish skirts
of the flappers, their bobbed hair, heavy makeup, love of jazz music and freer attitudes towards
sex were terrifying, a sign of a world that was changing rapidly, and becoming more connected.
There was little that could be done about the import of American music or shifting morals, but
many workplaces began imposing strict dress codes for women, banning patterned fabrics, short
sleeves and excessive makeup, as well as imposing longer hemlines.

Those hemlines rose again during the Second World War because of cloth shortages, and, of
course, women wore trousers to work on farms and factories. In the US, the fashion for baggy
zoot suits among black and Hispanic men especially was deemed wasteful in wartime, and led to
the “zoot suit riots”, in which white servicemen beat up men wearing oversized suits in Los
Angeles. No one now reading accounts of the brutal and humiliating beatings of the men, or the
crowing media praise of the “cleansing effect” of the riots, could doubt that the main issue here
was not fashion choice, but race, fear and power.

After the war, it was deemed important to force women back into the home and Christian Dior’s
New Look epitomised the mood: longer, full skirts celebrated the end of cloth rationing, but the
new hourglass silhouette with its clinched, corsetted waist also signalled a more traditionally
feminine and restricted role for women. The zoot suit travelled to Britain, too, modified into
Teddy Boy outfits, and the anxieties about race – and about the growing economic power of the
young – can be clearly seen in the press coverage of the new rock’n’roll music that the Teddy
Boys loved.

“It is deplorable. It is tribal. And it is from America,” thundered the Daily Mail in September
1956. “It follows ragtime, blues, Dixie, jazz, hot cha-cha and the boogie-woogie, which surely
originated in the jungle.”

But teenagers were here to stay, along with their music and fashions. By the 1960s, the economy
was booming, young women were back in the workplace with money of their own, and hemlines
began rising dramatically. Mary Quant was the first to show the miniskirt on the catwalk, in

44
1964, but she has often said that she didn’t invent it: credit for that goes to young Londoners who
didn’t want to wear the same styles as their mothers. “It all started in Chelsea, really. There was
this sort of mood; rules were there to be broken.”

She recalls businessmen banging on the windows of her shop, shouting at how obscene and
disgusting her dresses were, and in 1967, four young French women wearing miniskirts were
apparently stripped by a mob while walking through Paris. Le Parisien newspaper was in no
doubt who was to blame: “They provoked the butchers of Les Halles,” screamed the headline
(accompanied, of course, by a photograph of four women in short skirts, presumably to provoke
male readers into further attacks).

But young women refused to be deterred. When Christian Dior tried to assert the status quo by
showing below-the-knee designs in his 1966 autumn/winter collection, a small group calling
themselves the British Society for the Advancement of the Miniskirt protested outside his
London HQ, holding placards defending their right to show a leg.

Ever since, anxieties about clothing tend to be about what is being concealed, rather than shown.
From the burkini on the beach to the banning of hoodies in shopping centres, our fear now is
what lurks beneath. Mostly, it is just a woman taking her kids to the seaside, or a teenage boy out
to meet his mates in baggy hip-hop clothing, and nothing more. It may not feel that way, but we
are safer than we have ever been as we go about our daily lives, and appalling though every act
of terrorism is – and, indeed, every violent crime – the odds of any of us experiencing either is
very low. But we feel scared. And we feel powerless. So we blame the EU, refugees, the burkini.
And we look back to what now seems a safer, happier time, when all we had to worry about was
hemlines.

45
 The Diameter of the Bomb

Yehuda Amichai is recognized as one of Israel’s finest poets. His poems—written in Hebrew—
have been translated into forty languages, and entire volumes of his work have been published in
English, French, German, Swedish, Spanish, and Catalan. Translator Robert Alter has said:
“Yehuda Amichai, it has been remarked with some justice, is the most widely translated Hebrew
poet since King David.” Amichai’s translations into English have been particularly popular, and
his imaginative and accessible style has opened up Hebrew poetry to American and English
readers in a whole new way.

Amichai’s numerous books of poetry include his first in Hebrew, Now and In Other Days
(1955), which announced his distinctively colloquial voice, and two breakthrough volumes that
introduced him to American readers: Poems (1969) and Selected Poems of Yehuda Amichai
(1971), both co-translated by Ted Hughes, who became a good friend and advocate of Amichai’s
work. Later works translated into English include Time: Travels of a Latter-Day Benjamin of
Tudela (1976), Yehuda Amichai: A Life in Poetry 1948-1994 (1994), The Selected Poetry of
Yehuda Amichai (1996), Exile at Home (1998), and Open Closed Open (2000). Amichai also
published two novels, including his first work to be translated into English, Not of This Time, Not
of This Place (1968), and a book of short stories.

The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters

and the diameter of its effective range about seven meters,
with four dead and eleven wounded.
And around these, in a larger circle
of pain and time, two hospitals are scattered
and one graveyard. But the young woman
who was buried in the city she came from,
at a distance of more than a hundred kilometers,

46
enlarges the circle considerably,
and the solitary man mourning her death
at the distant shores of a country far across the sea
includes the entire world in the circle.
And I won't even mention the howl of orphans
that reaches up to the throne of God and
beyond, making
a circle with no end and no God.

47
 Apolitical Intellectuals

Otto Rene Castillo born in 1936, was a Guatemalan revolutionary, a guerilla fighter, and a poet.
Following the 1954 CIA-sponsored coup that overthrew the democratic Arbenz government,
Castillo went into exile in El Salvador, where he met Roque Dalton and other writers who helped
him publish his early works. When the dictator Armas died in 1957 he returned to Guatemala
and in 1959 went to the German Democratic Republic to study, where he received a
Masters degree. Castillo returned to Guatemala in 1964 and became active in the Workers Party,
founded the Experimental Theater of the Capital City Municipality, and wrote and published
numerous poems. That same year, he was arrested but managed to escape, going into exile once
again, this time in
Europe. Later that year he went back to Guatemala secretly and joined one of the armed guerilla
movements operating in the Zacapa mountains. In 1967, Castillo and other revolutionary fighters
were captured; he, along with his comrades and some local campesinos, were brutally tortured
and then burned alive.

One day
the apolitical
intellectuals
of my country
will be interrogated
by the simplest
of our people.

They will be asked

what they did
when their nation died out
slowly,
like a sweet fire
small and alone.

No one will ask them

about their dress,
their long siestas
after lunch,
no one will want to know
about their sterile combats
with "the idea
of the nothing"
no one will care about
their higher financial learning.

48
They won't be questioned
on Greek mythology,
or regarding their self-disgust
when someone within them
begins to die
the coward's death.

They'll be asked nothing

about their absurd
justifications,
born in the shadow
of the total lie.

On that day
the simple men will come.

Those who had no place

in the books and poems
of the apolitical intellectuals,
but daily delivered
their bread and milk,
their tortillas and eggs,
those who drove their cars,
who cared for their dogs and gardens
and worked for them,
and they'll ask:

"What did you do when the poor

suffered, when tenderness
and life
burned out of them?"

Apolitical intellectuals
of my sweet country,
you will not be able to answer.

A vulture of silence
will eat your gut.

Your own misery

will pick at your soul.

And you will be mute in your shame.

49
 MISTER TAYLOR
Augusto Monterroso was born at Tegucigalpa, Honduras, in 1921, but held Guatemalan
citizenship. He helped to found the Guatemalan intellectual magazine Acento, but was exiled
from the country in 1944 for opposing the dictator Jorge Ubico and for protesting against
American-owned banana plantations operating in Central America.

He lived in exile in Mexico until 1996, when he returned to Guatemala to receive the country's
National Literature Award. In 1959, he published Complete Works and Other Stories. Other
works include Perpetual Movement (1972); All the Rest is Silence (1978); The Letter E:
Fragments of a Diary (1987) and The Magic Word (1983). In 1999 he published his last book,
The Cow, which he defined as "a collection of essays that seem to be tales and tales that seem to
be essays".

He was professor of literature at the National Autonomous University of Mexico and won many
awards, including the Jean Rulfo award for Latin American literature in 1996 and the Mexican
Agulia Azteca in 1988.

“Surely not as strange, although without a doubt more exemplary," the other man said, "is the
case of Mr. Percy Taylor, a head-hunter in the Amazon jungle."
It is known that in 1937 he left Boston, Massachusetts, where he had refined his spirit to the
point of not having a penny. In 1944 he turned up for the first time in South America, in the
region of the Amazon, living with a tribe of Indians whose name there is no need to mention
here.
With his sagging eyes and his ravenous appearance, he quickly became known as the "poor
gringo," and the schoolchildren even pointed and threw stones at him whenever he walked by
with his beard shining in the bright tropical sun. But Mr. Taylor refused to be discouraged by his
humble circumstances for he had read in the first volume of the Complete Works of William G.
Knight that poverty was no disgrace, so long as one did not envy the wealthy.
It was only a matter of weeks before the natives grew accustomed to him and his eccentric attire.
Besides, since he had blue eyes and a vague foreign accent, the President and Foreign Minister
treated him with singular respect, fearful of provoking international incidents.
Still, he was so wretchedly poor that one day he went off into the jungle to search for plants to
eat. He had only gone a few yards without daring to turn his head when he happened to notice
through the dense tangle of vegetation two native eyes decidedly observing him. A long shiver
ran down his tender spine. But Mr. Taylor, intrepid, defied all danger and continued on his way,,
whistling as though he had seen nothing.
With a leap (that need not be described as cat-like) the Indian was before him, exclaiming: Buy
head? Money, money!

50
Although the Indian’s English could not have been worse, Mr. Taylor, caught a little off guard,
gathered that the Indian was offering to sell him an oddly shrunken human head of a man, which
he held out in his hand.
It is hardly necessary to say that Mr. Taylor was in no position to buy it, but because he gave the
impression of not having understood, the Indian felt terribly small for not speaking good English
and, begging the gringo's pardon, made him a gift of the head.

It was with great delight that Mr. Taylor returned to his hut. For a long time that night, lying face
up on the precarious palm mat which served as his bed, interrupted only by the buzzing and
obscene lovemaking of the hot flies that circled above him. Mr. Taylor gazed with pleasure upon
his curious acquisition. He derived the greatest aesthetic satisfaction from counting, one by one,
the hairs on its face and chin, and from having before him that pair of eyes, almost ironic, which
seemed to smile at him as though grateful for his attentions.
A man of immense culture, Mr. Taylor was frequently given to contemplation, but on this
occasion he soon became bored with his philosophic reflections and decided to send the head to
his uncle, Mr. Rolston of New York, who since earliest childhood had shown a keen interest in
the cultural manifestations of Latin America.
A few days later Mr. Taylor's uncle wrote to ask him, after inquiring about his precious health, if
he would be so kind as to send him five more. Mr. Taylor agreed with pleasure to this odd
request and - it was not quite known how - by return mail "was happy to carry out your wishes."
Deeply grateful, Mr. Rolston requested ten more. Mr. Taylor, in turn, was "delighted to be of
service.” But when, a month later, he urged that twenty more be sent, Mr. Taylor, a simple
bearded man but one possessing a refined artistic sensibility, began to suspect that his mother's
brother was making a business out of them.
Well, if you want to know the truth, he was. With perfect frankness, Mr. Rolston explained
everything to him in an inspired letter whose strictly businesslike terms made the chords of Mr.
Taylor's sensitive spirit vibrate as never before.
They immediately formed a partnership in which Mr. Taylor undertook to obtain and ship the
shrunken heads on a commercial scale, while Mr. Rolston would sell them as best he could in his
own country.
Right away there were bothersome difficulties with some of the locals. But Mr. Taylor, who back
in Boston had earned top honours for his essay on Joseph Henry Silliman, proved to be
somewhat of a politician and managed to secure from the authorities not only the permits
necessary to export the heads, but a ninety-nine year exclusive concession as well. It was not
difficult for him to convince the chief executive warrior and the legislative witch doctors that
such a patriotic move would, in a very short time, enrich the community, and that it would not be
long before every thirsty native was able to enjoy (whenever there was a lull in the collecting of
heads) a nice cold soft drink whose magic formula he himself would supply.

51
When members of the Council, after a brief but enlightening intellectual effort, took into account
these advantages, their patriotic fervour became so inflamed that within three days they issued a
decree ordering the people to speed up the production of shrunken heads.
A home without a head was a broken home. Soon came the collectors, and with them certain
contradictions: to own seventeen heads came to be considered bad taste; but it was distinguished
to own eleven. They were becoming so commercialized that the truly elegant people were losing
interest and would now consider buying one only if there was some unusual peculiarity
distinguished it from the common run of heads. One, particularly strange, with a Prussian
moustache, which in life might have belonged to a highly decorated general, was donated to the
Danfeller Foundation, whose directors turned right around and contributed three and a half
million dollars toward the development of this fascinating manifestation of the Latin American
people.
Meanwhile, the tribe had made so much progress that they now had a little promenade around
the Legislative Palace. Along this charming path the members of Congress spent Sundays and
Independence Day, clearing their throats, displaying their feathers, or laughing seriously among
themselves, on bicycles given to them by the Company.
But -- well, what would you expect? Good times don't last forever. When they least expected it,
the first shortage of heads presented itself.
That's when the fun really began.
Natural deaths were no longer sufficient. The Minister of Public Health was deeply saddened by
this unfortunate turn of events, and one night after he had turned out the lights and had fumbled
with her breasts awhile, admitted to his wife that he considered himself incapable of raising the
mortality rate to a level acceptable to the interests of the Company, to which she replied that he
needn’t worry, that it would all work out in the end, and that they'd all be better off if he just
went to sleep.
To compensate for the administrative deficiency, it was necessary to take strong measures and
establish the death penalty in a rigorous fashion.
The jurists consulted with one another and rose to the category of a crime punishable by hanging
or firing squad, depending upon the gravity of the case, even the most trivial of offences.
Even simple mistakes came to be regarded as criminal acts. For example: If during the course of
an ordinary conversation someone, out of pure

carelessness, said, "It's very hot," and afterward it was proven, thermometer in hand, that it had
not been all that hot, he would be charged a small fine and then be brought up before a firing
squad, the head going to the Company and, it's fair to say, the trunk and extremities to the
mourners.
Legislation regarding the sick gained immediate notoriety and was widely discussed throughout
the diplomatic corps and the chancelleries of friendly nations.
According to this memorable piece of legislation the gravely ill were given twenty-four hours to
put their papers in order and die; however, if during this period of time they managed to infect

52
their family they were granted as many months grace as family members were infected. Victims
of minor illnesses and those feeling simply indisposed earned the scorn of the nation, and could
be spat upon on the street by anyone.
For the first time in history the importance of doctors who cured no one was recognized (several
were nominated for the Nobel Prize). To die came to be seen as the most exalted example of
patriotism, not only with regard to the nation, but, even more glamorous, to the entire continent.
With the boost given to subsidiary industries (primarily the casket industry which flourished with
the technical assistance it received from the Company) the country entered, as they say, a period
of tremendous economic growth. This prosperity was particularly evident in the new flower-
lined promenade along which the congressmen's wives would stroll, wrapped in the melancholy
of those golden autumn afternoons, nodding their pretty heads from time to time to answer, Yes,
yes, things just couldn't be better, whenever some reporter happened to ask, from across the way,
smiling and tipping his hat.
A footnote here: You might recall that one of these reporters, who on occasion let go with a
rather nasty sneeze he could not justify, was accused of extremism and taken to the firing wall. It
was only after his unfortunate demise that the critics recognized that this journalist had been one
of the finest minds in the country; but of course, once it was shrunken, his head looked no
different from the rest.
And what of Mr. Taylor? By this time he had already been named Special Adviser to the
Constitutional President. As an example of what individual initiative can accomplish, he was
worth millions; still, he was able to sleep peacefully for he had read in the final volume of
William G. Knight's Complete Works that to be a millionaire was no disgrace, so long as one did
not disparage the poor.

I believe that this will be the second time I have said that good times don't last forever.
Given the prosperity of the enterprise there came a time when all that remained of the original
community were the officials and their wives, and the journalists and their wives. Consequently,
it didn't take Mr. Taylor long to realize that the only recourse available to them was to declare
war on the neighbouring tribes. Why not? Progress.
With the aid of a few small cannons the first tribe was neatly decapitated within three short
months. Mr. Taylor fairly relished the glory of conquest. Then came the second; then the third,
the fourth, the fifth. Progress was being made at such a rapid rate that before long, in spite of all
the efforts of technicians, it became impossible to find neighbouring tribes to wage war on. It
was the beginning of the end.
The little promenade fell into disuse. Only occasionally did one see a lady or a poet laureate with
a book under his arm strolling the lanes. Along with the heads the bicycles had thinned out, and
the cheerful, optimistic greetings had by now completely disappeared.
The manufacturer of caskets was sadder and more morose than ever. And everyone felt as though
they'd just recalled some sweet dream, like that wonderful dream in which you find a bag filled

53
with gold coins and place it under your pillow, after which you go back to sleep, only to wake
the next morning and find it empty.
Still, the business was able to maintain itself, however painfully. But now one slept only with the
greatest difficulty, afraid of being exported.
In Mr. Taylor's country, of course, the demand was greater than ever. New substitutes were being
turned out daily, but no one really took them seriously and everyone clamoured for more Latin
American heads.
It happened during the last crisis.
A desperate Mr. Rolston was still asking for more and more heads. In spite of the fact that the
Company's stock had suffered a sharp decline, Mr. Rolston was sure his nephew would come
through to save the situation.
The once daily shipments, dwindled to one a month, and now consisted of whatever was
available, heads of children, wives, congressmen. Then, all of a sudden, everything stopped.

One harsh, grey Friday, home from the stock exchange and still shaken by the uproar of his
friends and the sad spectacle of panic, Mr. Rolston decided to jump out the window (rather than
using a revolver, whose noise would have terrified him). He had opened a package that had
arrived in the mail and found there the head of Mr. Taylor smiling at him from afar, from the
terrible immensity of the Amazon, with the false smile of a naughty child who seemed to be
saying, "I’m sorry; I won't do it again."

54
 Business English

Communication is the key to success in the professional world leading the

individual to becomingan invaluable asset to the economy. In efforts to
create channels encouraging self-development in students to become
confident, empowered power houses of innovation and exploration in the
arrayed streams of employment and entrepreneur sectors, this syllabus
concentrates on polishing the skills required for effective and purposeful
communication.

55
 Interview Skills

There are some easy steps that you can take that will increase your chances of success at
interviews.

First, remember that job interviews should be a process of two-way communication. Notonly are
they a tool for employers to use to evaluate you, but they are also an opportunity foryou to assess
the job, the organization, and to see if there is a "fit."

The keys to a successful interview are preparation and practice. The following suggestions will
help youprepare for an interview:

Self-evaluation It is important for you to think about yourself and your past experiences in order
to be ready toarticulate what you have to offer an employer. Consider the following topics:

 How your present and past experience relate to the position

 Your current and future career goals
 What skills and expertise you have to offer
 The skills that you would like to develop or improve
 Location, salary, and lifestyle priorities
 Kinds of people and environments you prefer

 Past experiences you want to highlight such as volunteer work, hobbies, travel

Before the Interview

Research the Company - A company's website is an excellent place to begin. It usually gives
you information on whether it is international or domestic, what its revenues are, how many
locations it has, and the nature of its major products. Most companies very proud of their
websites. Don't be surprised if one of the first questions interviewers ask when you arrive is,
"Have you have had a chance to look at our
website?"

Practice interviews - Write down a list of possible questions that you think may be asked, then
have a friend actas an interviewer and direct them to you in a practice interview situation. Don't
stop until you feel comfortable answering each question. Practicing beforehand will make you feel
more comfortable and relaxed during the interview.

Dress Professionally - In today's environment, wearing a suit isn't always necessary. Contact the
HR Manager of the company or your recruiter, and find out what the dress code is for thecompany
at which you are going to interview. Then dress one level above. For instance, ifit is business
casual, men can wear dress pants, dress shirt, and sport coat. Women can wear a pantsuit, dress,
or a skirt and blouse. Visual impressions are very important.
Therefore, if in doubt, always dress on the conservative side.

56
Arrival - Try to arrive at the interview location a little early. This gives you time to determine
where you need to go, and will give you a few minutes to collect your thoughts. DO NOT arrive
late. Nothing destroys your chance at impressing an employer more than arriving late and offering
no explanation .If you learn at the last minute that you are going to be arriving late at the interview,
call and let the interviewer know. Interviewersunderstand that things can come up suddenly. You
are never considered late if you call and make them aware of the fact.

During the Interview

First impressions - First impressions take only thirty seconds. Establishing rapport, direct and
sustained eye contact, a firm handshake, a warm smile, good posture, and introducing yourselfin a
confident manner are important ingredients. A well-groomed, professional appearance iscritical.
Greet the interviewer with a firm
handshake, whether it is a woman or a man. (No one likes a weak handshake.) Always maintaineye
contact while shaking hands.

Smile - A smile denotes confidence in a candidate. Try to smile often. Also, don't be afraid to
use some handanimation while answering questions. This suggests enthusiasm in a candidate.

Body Language - Use good posture, and look the interviewer right in the eye. Sit up straight. Never
slouch.

Speak Clearly - Don't mumble. It portrays a lack of confidence. Speak with assurance. This indicates
confidence.

Listen Before Answering - Allow the employer to begin the interview, but be preparedwith
some opening statements or questions such as, "I understand that this position involves…," or
"What are you looking for in a job candidate?" Make sure you understand the question. If not,
ask the interviewer to clarify it. Don't be afraid to take some time to think before answering.
Interviewers are impressed with someone who thinks out an answer before speaking.

Give Brief Answers - Make your answer concise and to the point. Rambling tends to suggest
that you reallydon't have the answer to the question(s) asked.

Previous Employers - Never, ever say anything negative about your present or previous
employers. No matter how much you may have disliked someone, find a way to give your
experiences a positive spin.

Be Truthful - Don't lie when asked about something you haven't done. The next question will be
"tell us aboutit."

Know Your Resume - Be prepared to talk about every fact that is on your resume. Many people
embellish their accomplishments on their resumes. Avoid this, since the only point of reference an
interviewer has about you is the resume you provide to him/her beforehand.

Keep things at a professional level - Sometimes near the end of an interview, the two parties
start feelingcomfortable with each other. Don't let this comfortable feeling lead
you to telling them something about yourself that they really shouldn't know. Always keep
things at aprofessional level.

Look for Something in Common - This is something that has given an edge in the past. Try us
to find a common bond between yourself and your interviewer. If you are being interviewedin an
office, look at how the office is decorated. Look for something you can identify with. Is his/her

57
 college diploma hanging on the wall? Did you attend a nearby school, or perhaps one in the same
Division? If so, make a quick comment about it: "Did you at ten Penn State? I attended the
University of Michigan. What a great football conference."
Interviewers sometimes feel more comfortable with people with whom they have something in
common. This approach has helped several candidates obtain a position over other qualified
candidates. Above all, be sincere.After the Interview

Back in Touch - Ask the interviewer when s/he expects to get back to you on her/his decision.
Get Everyone's Business Card - Before you leave, be sure to get the business cards of all of
the people withwhom you visited. If you cannot do that, ask a secretary for their names and e-
mail addresses.

Thank the Interviewer - Verbally thank the interviewer for taking the time to interview you, before
leaving. Within a day, send thank-you letters to all of the interviewers with whom youspoke. This
does not need to consist of a written letter sent via snail mail; an e-mailed thank- you works just
as well.

Do not give up - Sometimes, within ten minutes of the start of an interview, you will know that the
job is not oneyou want to pursue. If you begin to feel this way, don't give up on the interview.
Continue to interview as if thejob was the most important thing in the world. This provides you
with practice for your next interview, which may be foryour dream job! Not all interviews will
lead to offers of employment, but, if you approach every interview as if it's the most important
interview you ever had, you will come out a winner!

Additional tips
 Focus on presenting a positive, enthusiastic tone.
 If you are asked to describe a weakness, mention lessonslearned, and steer away from
negative descriptions.
 Think about three or four key points that you want to make about your personal
characteristics, skills you have learned, andrelevant experiences that demonstrate that
you could perform thejob well.
 Find specific, rather than general, examples from your experience thatillustrate
important points about yourself.
 When answering questions, focus on experiences that demonstrate flexibility,
adaptability, responsibility, progress, achievement, creativity, initiative, and
leadership.
 If the employer signals the end of the interview and asks you for questions, and you
haven't discussedsome key points, say: "There are a couple of points I would like to
mention."

After the interview, write a brief thank you letter. Express your appreciation for the opportunity to
interview andlearn about the organization, re-confirm your interest, and re-emphasize how your
background and skills mightbe of interest to the organization.

58
 Some Interview Questions

You can expect to be asked some of the following types of questions in an interview.

Case Questions are often used by consulting companies to assess analytical and problem solving
skills. The interviewer presents a situation and asks you to discuss possible solutions. A sample
case question is, "Describe a managed care companythat you think is successful and explain why.
What do they do that works? What are their potential problems? What is your outlook for their
future? What suggestions doyou have for their future?"

Behavioral or situational questions are used to assess how you would behave indifferent
circumstances and to predict your behaviour in future, similar situations. An interviewer may ask,
"Tell me about a time whena team you were working on was unable to proceed due to some
interpersonal conflict. How did you respond, and what role did you play on the team?"

Role-play questions entail the interviewer asking you to put yourself in another role and decide
how you would handle a specific problem.

Industry-specific questions are questions regarding the latest trends or issues in the industry. An
interviewer mayask, "If you were a CEO of Microsoft’s main competitor, what actions would you
take in the on-line services market?"

Brainteasers are quick questions where the obvious answer is not necessarily the right answer such
as, "Which would you rather receive: fifty thousand pennies or a 10x10x10 room filled with
pennies?"

General questions

 Tell me about yourself.

 What are your key experiences and accomplishments?
 How would you rank your achievements?
 What are your strengths and weaknesses?
 How would your friends describe you?
 Explain your reason for leaving your current job.
 What are the most important things to you in a job?
 What do you value in a supervisor?
 How would you describe your management style?
 What appeals to you about this job and organization?
 Describe the ideal position in our company.
 What qualities do you think make someone successful in our industry?
 What would you like me to know most that is not on your resume?
 Explain your understanding of the issues and trends in your specialty andin the overall
industry.
 Why are you qualified for this position?
 Give an example of a situation where you demonstrated leadership.
 Give an example of how you worked on a team.
 What questions do you have about the organization? Questions for the interviewer are

59
 queries that usually focus on the culture or mission of theorganization, and job
responsibilities. This is not the time to bring up questions about salary, benefits, and
vacation about which you can inquire after you have been offered the job.

The Phone Interview

Due to a company's geographic location, travel costs, and divergent schedules, a phone interview
may often be your initial contact with a prospective employer. Therefore, we're
offering some phone interview
tips.

Objective - The idea behind a phone interview is to gain an invitation for a personal interview, and
togather more information for future steps in the process.

Preparation - Have a pad, pen, and a copy of your resume near the phone. Use a phone in a quiet
area. Avoid anybackground noise. Also avoid using a cordless phone,because they tend to transmit
poorly.

Speaking

a. Smile and be enthusiastic. Your enthusiasm will carrythrough to the interviewer.

b. Speak in a conversational manner, and be sure to speakloudly enough to be heard.

Speakwith some inflection andtone.

c. Let the interviewer do most of the talking. When s/he asks you a question, expound
upon the answer. Use the opportunity to sell yourskills and experience.

d. When the interview is over, let her/him know that you are very interested in
scheduling a personalinterview at her/his place of business

Reference

https://www.fip.org/files/ypg/Project%20Documents/career%20development/CareerDevelopmen
t-Interviews.pdf

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 Group Discussion

What is a Group Discussion?

Group discussion is an important activity in academic, business and administrative

spheres. It is a systematic and purposeful interactive oral process. Here the
exchange of ideas, thoughts and feelings take place through oral communication.
The exchange of ideas takes place in a systematic and structuredway. The participants
sit facing each other almost in a semi-circle and express their views on the given
topic/issue/problem.

How does Group Discussion differ from a Debate?

Debate is competitive in nature while group discussion is a co-operative group

process. In a debate, a speaker can speak either ‘for’ the topic or ‘against’ the topic
whereas in a GD, the speaker can expressboth. The final decision or result in a debate
depends on voting while in a GD, the group reaches group consensus.

Why is a group discussion an important activity at college level?

As a student, it helps you to train yourself to discuss and argue about the topic given,
it helps you to express your views on serious subjects and in formal situations. It
improves your thinking, listening andspeaking skills. It also promotes your confidence
level.

It is an effective tool in problem solving, decision making and personality

assessment. GD skills may ensure academic success, popularity and good admission or
job offer. Thus it is important to be able to take part in a GD effectively and confidently.
Participants should know how to speak with confidence, how to exhibit leadership
skills and how to make the group achieve the goals.
The panel which normally comprises of the technical and HR (Human Resource)
experts of the company will observe and evaluate the members of the team. The rules
of the GD – the time limit, panel’s expectations etc are explained after the initial
introduction by the panel, soon after the topic or case to be discussed is given to the
group members. The panel does not interfere during the discussion, it only observes.
The panel at its discretion may provide some time to think over the topic or may ask
them to startimmediately. Each candidate is supposed to express their opinion either
supporting or against the topic. Thediscussion carries on till the panel signals

61
termination. It is left to the discretion of the panel to extend orcut short the given
time.

The objective of a selection in GD is mainly to check your team playing skills. You
have to understand the otherpersons’ point of view, while making your point and
ensure that your team as a whole reaches a solution or agreement that is

both feasible and accepted by all team members.

There are four major areas of evaluation in selection GDs:

subject knowledge, oral communication skills, leadership skills and team

management.
Subject Knowledge:

Participants must possess a thorough understanding of the topic on which

they are supposed to speak. You must prepare yourself to talk on a wide range of
subjects. Be abreast ofthe current events, national and international affairs, burning
social and economical topics, scientific and environmental issues, key newspapers’
controversial topics and any experience that may be expected of an educated person.
As a member of the group, you are expected to contribute substantially to the
discussion. The originality of your ideas, your knowledge and initiative and your
approach to the topic or case contribute to your success in the group discussion. The
best wayto equip yourself is to read daily newspapers, good magazines, national
andinternational journals and also watch new bulletins and informative
programmes on the television. Internet is the greatest boon which provides you with
everything you are looking for. The World Wide Webis a vast database of current
authentic materials that present information in multimedia form and reacts
instantly to a user’s input.

The greater your knowledge of the subject, the more enthusiastic and
confident you will be during the discussion. Once you have understood the topic or
issue, you should be able to generate ideas as well as organize them so that you
present it well. You will have the ability to analyze facts or information in a systematic
way. A person putting forward new ideas that may work will be accepted as the natural
leader of the group. The panel will observe the ideas put forward, their originality, the
depth ofanalysis and their relevance to the topic.

Problem solving skills are essential and do not hesitate to give solutions. Your
approachto the case study will be observed keenly by the evaluators.
Oral Communication Skills:

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 If subject knowledge is important, communication skills is more
important as withoutexpression, the knowledge is of no use. As the
exchange of ideas in a group discussion takes place through speech, one of the pre-
requisites of success in a GD is the ability to speak confidently and convincingly.
Good communication skills includeactive listening, clarity of though and expression,
aptlanguage and proper nonverbal clues.

Listening Skills:

One of the weaknesses of most human beings is that we love to listen to our
own voice rather than listen to others. Listening is as important asspeaking in a

GD, unless you listen, you cannot contribute to the stated purpose of
communication. It is extremely important to listen very carefully, only then you will
be able to pick up the thread of discussion and continue. Only active participation as
a listener in a group makes a person a good leader. A leader is identified by the panel.

Clarity of thought and expression:

Clarity is the art of making yourself clearto the audience. Only when your expressions
are clear, you can convince your team and the panel. More than words, it is the tone
in which they are spoken that conveys the message. You should not be too loud or too
soft. A lively and cheerful voice with appropriate modulations will attract the audience.
Proper articulation of words, achievedthrough phonetic accuracy is very essential
slang, and artificial accents are to be avoided.
Apt Language:

The flow of language must be smooth. Use simple language and avoid long
winding sentences. Appropriateness of language demands that there should be no
errors of grammar. Do not use unfamiliar phrases and flowery language. Be precise.
Be polite and courteous.
Proper non verbal clues:

Non verbal clues include eye contact, body movements, gestures and facial
expressions. Thepanel very keenly watches the non verbal behavior of the team.
They generally evaluate the body language cues of the team to determine personality
factors such as nervousness, co-operation, frustration, weakness, insecurity, self
confidence, defensiveness, etc. A candidate who appears professional is more likely

63
to be noticed by the panel. A confident posture, appropriate facial expressions and
meaningful eye contact with the team will create a good expression.

Team behavior:

Your group behavior is reflected in your ability to interact with the other
members of the group. You must be mature enough to not lose your temper even if you
are proved wrong. You must be patient and balanced.
Your success in a GD depends on how well you play the role of initiator,
information seeker, information giver, procedure facilitator, opinion seeker,
opinion giver, clarifier, summarizer, social-supporter, tension reliever,
compromiser, attacker, humorist and dominator.

The selection panel notes the differences in the amount of participation of the
members. They observe the silent spectators, the ever dominating but not contributing
much, member who participates actively exhibiting his knowledge and the moderate
ones. Your ability lies in analyzingthe problem well and making others to endorse
your view. Finally while appreciating others point of view, you should effectively
present yours without contradicting other’s opinions. Your ability in convincing the
team is your success
Leadership Skills:

The success of any team depends to a larger extent on its leader. The panel
evaluates a candidate’s personal skills which allow him to prove himself as a
natural leader in the GD. Though there is no appointed leader in a GD, a leader
emerges.
Assertiveness, emotional stability, objectivity, self- confidence, decision making,
discretion, initiative, good communication skills, patience, persuasiveness and
adaptability are some of the leadership qualities that are immensely useful in proving
oneself as a natural leader in GD.

A good leader should neither be very authoritative nor submissive but

must be democratic. Such leaders see to it that all the members in the team participate
and when there is a problem, tryto deal with it amicably. Leaders should know how to
deal with the ‘bull dozers’, who make noise but do not have any logic.

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 TO SUMMARIZE:

Advantages of a GD:

 Ideas can be generated, shared and tried out.

 Groups provide a support and growth for any endeavor.
 Combine talents to provide innovative solutions.

Roles in a Structured GD:

 Initiator
 Information seeker and giver
 Procedure facilitator
 Opinion seeker/giver
 Clarifier
 Summarizer
 Social supporter
 Harmonizer
 Tension reliever
 Energizer
 Attacker
 Dominator Expectations of the Panel:
You should have the following qualities:

 Team player
 Reasoning
 Leadership
 Flexible
 Assertiveness
 Initiative
 Creativity (out of the box thinking)
 Inspiring ability
 Listening
 AwarenessPhases in a GD:

 Initiation/introduction
 The central group discussion
 Summarization/conclusion

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 What to do in a GD?

 Speaking is important; do not sitsilently. Speak freely.

 Do not monopolize the conversation or talk too much.
 Give everyone a chance to speak.
 Maintain eye contact with everyone in the group.
 Show active listening skills.
 Do not interrupt anyone while they are speaking.
 Keep the topic on track and don’t be irrelevant.
 Encourage someone who is silent to talk.
 Do not argue with anyone.
 Do not debate with anyone, while the group looks on.
 Do not repeat what has been said; be attentive; try to develop on ideas expressed or
giveout newideas.
 Clarify your doubts and then proceed.
 Be brief.
 Do not commit grammatical errors while talking.

Reference

https://www.sastra.edu/nptel/download/Prof%20GPRagini/pdf_New/Unit%2026.pdf

66
 Email
Structure of Email
Here are the essential elements of a professional email:

1 Subject Line: Summarize what your email is

. about in a clear and concise way.
2
. Salutation: Greet your recipient with an
3 appropriate salutation for the
. situation.
4 Introduction: Provide a brief summary of who
you are.
.
Body: Write a few short paragraphs
5 about why you’re reaching out
. and end with a CTA.
6 Closing: End your email with a
. personalized closing.
Email Always include an email
Signature: signature with contact
information

In any communication, your aim must be to create an important connection, a special bond. This
applies whether youare dealing with a person face-to-face, over the telephone, in business
meetings, or through email.
You can develop great relationships and bonds if you remember these five important tips.

1. Use the customer’s name

Everyone likes to hear their name, so use it. Begin your messages with a greeting andfinish
off with yourname.

2. Avoid jargon
You may understand your technical jargon, but your reader may not. Simplify
yourlanguage and yourexpressions.

3. Be friendly
You don’t want to come across as apathetic or indifferent. Smile and show warmth inyour
emails – it will make a difference.

4. Be confident and competent

Don’t beat about the bush. Be clear and courteous. And don’t be hesitant or unsure.Avoid
language like‘maybe’ and ‘perhaps’.

5. Show empathy
This is not the same as sympathy. Empathy means showing appreciation for the otherperson’s
point of view of problems, and a clear understanding of their feelings.

67
 We are now sending more email messages than ever before. We even email people
sitting atthe next desk instead of walking a few steps. This familiarity and convenience is
encouraging us to nurture sloppy, dangerous habits – habits that could ruin our
reputations.

◆ Careless emails, especially if you slander someone, could land you in court.
◆ Email is never completely private. Something you wrote could come back to haunt you.
◆ Email messages can be used in legal investigations or as evidence in lawsuits.
◆ Email passwords can be stolen.
◆ Email messages are monitored by your IT department.
◆ Violating company policies may cost you your job.
◆ Careless and sloppy emailing can tarnish your reputation.

Before you hit ‘send’, ask yourself these important questions:

1. Could I say this to the reader’s face?
2. Am I violating any policies or laws?
3. Would I want this message forwarded to someone else?
4. Is the information in a logical order and easy to read?
5. Am I writing this while angry or upset?
6. Will the reader know clearly what to do in response?
7. Will my message give a good impression of me?
8. Is email the best way to deliver this information?
9. Is email more appropriate than phone or face-to-face communication?
10. Will my message get the right results?
If your answers are ‘yes’, you can now hit ‘send’!

If you have been courteous throughout your message (and no matter what the
circumstances,you must always becourteous) there should be no need to finish every email
with ‘Thankyou’ or, worse still, ‘Thank you and Regards’. Thank you for what? Thank you
for reading mymessage?
Think of something more proactive to close with. Like:
◆ Thanks for your help.
◆ Thanks for your patience.
◆ Thanks for your understanding.
◆ Thank you for your support.
◆ When my workshop participants ask me if they can use such language, my answer is
always:“Would you say it ifyou were speaking to someone?” They always laugh and say, “No!”
And there lies the golden rule of writing: If you wouldn’t say it, don’t write it!
◆ Check out these sentences that we often see in emails, and consider their modern equivalent:
◆ ✘ We refer to your email message.
◆ ✔ Thanks for your email.
◆ ✘ The above-mentioned workshop will be held next Tuesday, 4 May.
◆ ✔ This workshop will be held next Tuesday, 4 May.

68
 ◆ ✘ The below-mentioned goods will be despatched to you next Monday.
◆ ✔ These goods will be sent to you next Monday.
◆ ✘ Please furnish me with this information at your soonest.
◆ ✔ Please let me have this information soon.
◆ ✘ Kindly revert to me asap.
◆ ✔ I hope to hear from you soon.
◆ ✘ Please find attached herewith a copy of our latest catalogue for your reference and
perusal.
◆ ✔ I am attaching our latest catalogue, and I hope you find it interesting.
Empathy is an important quality to remember in all business dealings. This is particularly
so when writing email messages. When checking through your message before sending, always
put yourself in your reader’s position. Imaginehow they will feel as they read your message.

This can often make all the difference.

You’ve written your message as the writer. Now take off your head and put on the head of the
reader. Imagine how thereader will feel as they read your message. Ask yourself:
1. Is your message clear and concise?
2. Is there anything that could be misinterpreted?
3. Will anything create confusion or misunderstanding?
4. Have you beaten about the bush instead of getting to the point?
5. Does your email convey a good impression?
6. Is your message written in an appropriate tone?
7. Is the language appropriate considering your status and the reader’s?
8. Have you used words you would use if you were speaking to the reader?
When you have put yourself in the reader’s shoes and considered your message carefully, you
may decide to reword certain parts. You may find it necessary to lighten up your sentences. You
may restructure it so everything flows morelogically from one idea to the next. Bravo! This
will help your reader, and it will also help you to get a better response!

TONE
You alter your tone of voice to convey messages differently. Much of what you say is also
interpreted through non- verbal clues – eye contact, gestures, inflections of the voice,
etc.This type of ‘reading between the lines’ is not possible with the written word.
Consider the way these expressions come across, and study the better options:
✘ We cannot do anything about your problem. Try calling a plumber. (abrupt)
✔ I’m sorry we cannot help you. A plumber would be the best person to fix this.
✘ This problem wouldn’t have happened if you’d connected the wires properly in the firstplace.
(condescending)
✔ You may resolve this problem by connecting the wires as illustrated the manual.
✘ I am writing to complain because I was very unhappy with the way your staff treatedme in
your storetoday. (blunt)
✔ I was very disappointed with the standard of service I received in your store today.
✘ You are invited to attend an interview on Wednesday, 28 August at 1400 hours.(unfeeling
and blunt,also passive)
✔ I hope you can attend an interview on Wednesday, 28 August at 1400.

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 Incorrect punctuation not only changes the meaning of your writing, but it can also causeyour
reader to lose focuson what you are saying. Instead, the reader will start thinking about how
you are saying it and why it sounds oddto them. They won’t get your meaning, and they
may not reply to your key points. So yes, punctuation matters! Here are some ofthe key
uses for the comma:

Use a comma between two complete thoughts (i.e. full sentences) that are connected
by a coordinating conjunction like and, but, or, yet, for, and so.
◆ The email was sent on Monday, but John did not receive it until Thursday.
◆ The expansion of our business is a long-term project, and we need an effectivemanagement
consultant to advise us.
◆ Becky has submitted her resignation, so she will be leaving at the end of the month.

Use a comma after introductory phrases.

◆ After replacing the cartridge in the printer, please close the door firmly.
◆ As soon as we obtain additional revenue, we can buy new stock.
◆ If you want to pass all your exams, you will need to work hard.

Use commas to separate items in a list.

◆ The committee will comprise Sue, Kara, James and Lynn.
◆ We need to order more envelopes, paper and staples.

Use a comma before and after information that could be placed in brackets.
◆ The new employee, Mary, will start work on Monday.
◆ The new shopping mall, which opens on Monday, has 43 stores.
◆ We need John, and possibly Doreen as well, to help with this project.
◆ Mr. John Brown, our Training Manager, will interview you tomorrow.

Finally, check out this sentence, which could be read in two ways.
◆ Mary, my assistant, will call you soon. In this example,Mary is ‘my assistant’.
◆ Mary, my assistant will call you soon
Without the second comma, Mary is the person you are talking to.
Nominalisations (that’s what this style of writing is called) appear all over our writing. They
make sentences longer, they make your writing less lively, less human, and more
bureaucratic.Normalisations are very common, especially in the civil service. What happens is
that insteadof using a verb, e.g. to recognise, the writers uses the noun, recognition.
Let’s look at some examples of how you can change some nominalisations into verbs:the use
of to usethe clarification of to
clarify
the improvement of to improve
the provision of to provide
the adoption of to adopt Now let’s putsome examples into sentences:
✘ I will help you in the negotiation of a better salary.
✔ I will help you to negotiate a better salary.
✘ Introducing lunch talks ensured the motivation of staff.
✔ We motivated staff by introducing lunch talks.

70
 ✘ My new manager is helping me in the realisation of my career goals.
✔ My new manager is helping me to realise my career goals.
✘ In recognition of the necessity of better staff training, the company made a decision onthe
recruitment of aTraining Director.
✔ The company recognised that it needed better staff training, so they decided to recruita
Training Director.
✘ We monitored the use of facilities through the documentation of attendance.
✔ We monitored how people used the facilities by documenting attendance.

KISS

As you work on developing your writing skills, remember the KISS principle.
Keep It
Short and
Simple
This means instead of long or complex words, use short ones. For each pair below, use the
shorter simpler word (in bold):

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 Negotiation Skills

Negotiation is an important aspect of communication that occurs as a process of

finding solutions in between professional disputes that commonly arise. Negotiations
are integral to create harmony in the workplace creating mutual benefit and growth
for all parties involved.

Things to Remember :
Understand the situation: Few situations are exactly as they seem or as presented
to you by others. Before you try to settle the conflict insure you have investigated both
sides of the issue.
Acknowledge the problem: I remember an exchange between two board members.
One member was frustrated with the direction the organization was taking. He told the
other, “Just don’t worryabout it. It isn’t that important.” Keep in mind what appears
to be a small issue to you can be a major issue with another. Acknowledging the
frustration and concerns is an important step in resolving the conflict.
Be patient and take your time: The old adage, “Haste makes waste,” has more truth
in it than wesometimes realize. Take time to evaluate all information. A too-quick
decision does more harm than goodwhen it turns out to be the wrong decision and
further alienating the individual involved. Keep the communication open: The
ultimate goal in conflict resolution is for both parties to resolve the issue between
themselves. Allow both parties to express their viewpoint, but also share your
perspective. Attempt to facilitate the meeting and help them pinpoint the real issue
causing conflict.
Clarify what is the source of conflict: The first step in resolving conflict is clarifying
its source. Definingthe cause of the conflict will enable you to understand how the issue
came to grow in the first place. Additionally, you will be able to get both parties to
consent to what the disagreement is. And to do so, you need to discuss the needs which
are not being met on both sides of the issues. Also, you need to warranty mutual
understanding. Ensure you obtain as much information as possible on each side’s
outlook. Continue asking questions until you are confident that all the conflicting
parties understand the issue.
Find a safe and private place to talk: Many people often wonder and ask, “What is an
approach to solvingproblems peacefully?” To have a constructive conversation, you
need to find an environment that is safe for you to talk to. Such a place also enables
you to take the necessary risks for honest communication regarding the issues at
hand.

72
Listen actively and let everyone have their say: After getting both parties to meet in
a secure and
private place, let each of them have the opportunity to air out their views and perceptions
regardingthe issue at hand. Give each party equal time to express their thoughts and
concerns without favoring the other. Embrace a positive and assertive approach while
in the meeting. If necessary, set ground rules. Taking this approach will encourage both
these parties to articulate their thoughts in an open and honest manner as well as
comprehend the causes of the conflict and identify solutions.
Name Your Emotions Before Meeting: We’re humans; imperfect, and often
irrational. Taking astep back to figure out how we’re really feeling is one of the best
things one can do early on when handling conflict. It’s one of the simplest conflict
resolution techniques in that you can accomplishthis step on your own, though it may
not hurt to talk to a friend removed from the situation.
Collaborate With The Other Party On How To Handle Conflict: Many workplace
conflicts areborne ofmisunderstandings due to different communication styles – you
may say one thing and a coworkermay interpret it differently than you intended. This
is inevitable, as the digital world means that we’re constantly messaging on slack,
working remotely, and potentially haven’t met many of our team members in person.
This can exacerbate the pitfalls of interpersonal and especially team conflict
resolution, where there are more diverse personalities, communication
preferences, and thus more opportunities for communication breakdown and conflict.
Keep Your Conversation Goal-Oriented: Keeping things goal-oriented is second
nature to many PMs as its inherent to our jobs. Unfortunately, it is frequently
overlooked when translating an often technically-focused and directly measurable
framework into something as emotional and messy as dealing with conflict at work.
Understand the background. Fear is at the heart of polarity and conflict and
contributes to peoplestaying firm in their original viewpoint. It is important to uncover
the context, history and the personal story of the individuals themselves.
Understanding from where the conflict and beliefs are coming can be key to
resolution.
Define the source. Gain as much information as possible in order to distinguish
exactly what thecause ofthe conflict is. Without clarity and transparency, there is no
way to ensure effective resolution and a healthy workplace culture.
Be an active listener. Truly listen to and understand all arguments in order to establish
the common problem. Ask questions for further clarity and reiterate key points back to
both parties to ensure you understood them correctly.
Create safety to feel comfortable to disagree. To start working with conflict we first
need to feelsafe enough to disagree to promote the chances of a healthy dialogue. We
also need to feel resourced and supported – and both of these are not easy things to get
if we are living in isolation, and especially when people are already marginalized for
other reasons.
Be detached and create a calm zone. Often times when people are upset, their
language can be inflammatory and exaggerated. Sometimes we amplify our thinking
and then the other side amplifies theirs. Create a space to reflect, this may require you
to step outside your own views andtake a different or more distant perspective on the
problem.

73
 Find a common goal. It is worth exploring polarities when we work with conflict and
to see if both parties can find a common goal. In our ambition to find balance, we may
start to swing and adapt a little and then be able to find a better resting point.
Understand that not all conflicts can be resolved and people can take different
viewpoints verypersonally. Looking at the bigger picture and purpose of their working
relationship may enable some stability so that differences can be put to one side for a
greater good. On some occasions preserving our own self-worth and identity may be
more important.

Many organizational leaders can use the following ingredients to create a strong
employee relationsstrategy:

 Interactive communication. Communication that is clear and two-way can help build
trust between employees and their managers.
 Trust. The absence of trust among employees and managers can compromise
communicationineither or both directions.
 Ethics. If employees do not perceive their manager as having good business ethics,
they will indirectly question the manager's motives, which may cause stress and reduce
performance.
 Fairness. All employees should be treated in a consistent manner under the same
circumstances. Superior performance, however, should still be recognized and
rewarded.
 Empathy. Managers need to be alert and sensitive to their employees' feelings, and
showing empathyand awareness is central to establishing a trusting relationship with
employees.
 Perceptions and beliefs. Perceptions can be essential in employee relations.
Employees respond positively when they believe the organization's policies and
practices are fair and its communication is truthful. Frequent, honest communication
helps ensure that employees'beliefs and perceptions are consistent with reality in the
workplace.
 Clear expectations. Employees need to know what to expect from their managers.
No one likes to besurprised with new or conflicting requirements, which can cause
stress and distract employees from the job at hand.
 Conflict resolution. Although conflicts arise in every organization, the methods to
handlethem vary. Employers must deal with issues head-on and resolve disputes fairly
and quickly.

1 Ways of People Deal with Conflict

According to Robinson (2010), Pruitt and Rubin (1986), there are several ways that
people commonly use to resolve conflict.
1. Passive-aggressive style – People with passive-aggressive behaviour can be passive
one minute and aggressive the next second. They do and say things indirectly, act
powerless to form hostility and then complain to others or act out in subversive ways,
for example forget to bring important data to a meetingwhen it is promised (Katz and

74
 Kahn, 1996).
2. Avoidance style – People who always stay away from conflict. For example, they
pretend that everything is okay to the point that if they are openly asked, ‘‘Do you have
any worry that you want to convey?’’ they usually say, ‘‘No’’. People who favour the
avoidance style tend to ignore conflict (Rahim, Antonioni and Psenicka, 2001).
Avoidance style is prevalent in East Asian culture, Chinese cultures main concern in
maintaining relationship. They usually use this style to maintain a harmony situation
(Huang, 1999).
3. Compromising style – This involves a give-and-take situation in which both parties
will give up something after negotiation in order to reach an agreement (Yuan, 2007).
It will create I-win and I-lose section to create compromise. These people change their
own opinion either because they found sufficient reasons to do so or simply to avoid
continued confrontation (Lussier, 2010; Reich, Wagner-Westbrook, Kressel, 2007;
Friedman, Tidd, Currall and Tsai, 2000).
4. Collaborating style – People who resolve the conflict with the best solution agreeable
to all parties. It iscommonly named as problem-solving style. They attend to the issue
openly, frankly and neutrally by communicating with the other party (Flanagan and
Runde, 2008). Previous study showed that, there is significant positive relationship in
using collaborating style and people’s satisfying their task, their supervision and their
job in general (Alexander, 1995).
5. Forcing style – People who use aggressive behaviour to solve the conflict. They force
other people in order to achieve their goals. They use authorities, threats, and
intimidate styles to force the parties agree with it (Lussier, 2010; Rahim and Bonoma,
1979).
6. Accommodating style – People who use interventions of other parties toresolve the
conflict. These people are not assertive but cooperative (Yuan, 2007).

2 Different Styles of Conflict - Advantages and Disadvantages

According to Lussier (2010), each conflict style has advantages and disadvantages.
The benefits and weaknesses of each conflict style are given as follows.
 Avoidance style – The advantage of this style is that can maintain the relationship
between managers and subordinates. The weakness of this style does not resolve
conflict. Montoya-Weiss, Massey and Song(2001), found thatusing this style will hurt
relationship of a team. People usually let the conflict be lessened while time goes on.
In fact, avoiding the problem does not make it go away, but make it worse.
 Compromising style - Benefit of this style is conflict can resolve in short timewhile
the relationship is still maintained. Weakness of this style is compromising styles
usually starts to another results (Suboptimum decisions). If people overuse this style,
it may cause the people being greedy and ask for several times to get achieve their
desires.
 Collaborating style – The advantage of using this style is make all parties happy
with the final decision(Montoya-Weiss et al., 2001). On the other hand, due to
letting all parties to be satisfying the final decision, it may use longer time and put
in more effort than other styles.
 Forcing style – The benefit of this style is enhanced organizational decisions will be
choose if the forcer is correct rather than choosing a less effective decisions. The

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 weakness of this style is aggressions and anger occurs towardits users. Research
suggested that forcing is a negative conflict management style that would decrease
team performance (Cohen & Bailey, 1997).
 Accommodating style – Relationship is maintained by the users. The more effective
ideas may not be used due to accommodating style. Misuse of this style may leads to
lose of relationship that they try to maintain.

3 Process of Conflict Resolution

Based on Robinson (2010), an effective team leader learns how to resolve the conflict
by using the followingeight stages to navigate with challenging interaction in senior
team.
1. Develop ground rules;
2. Select a facilitator;
3. Uncover the details of the problem and its history;
4. Check the facts and clarify perceptions;
5. Focus on individual and shared needs;
6. Develop multiple options for solving the issue;
7. Develop doable next steps; and
8. Make mutual-beneficial agreements.

Step 1: Develop ground rules for constructive commitment

The first critical step is to develop a set of ground rules for how people will engage
each other in an organization, and of course, follow and enforce those ground rules. It
is a simple fact of the human conditionthat people need some guidelines to help govern
their behaviour. Simply hoping that everyone will rise tothe occasion and behave
rationally is naïve. The leaders must consistently model and enforce the ground rules
(Schwarz, 2002; Robinson, 2010).

Step 2: Select a facilitator

Supervision is needed when a team environment become not efficient or aggressive.
In most of the argumentative situations, the parties involved are emotionally caught
up to unbiased and objectively deal with the conflict resolutionprocess by themselves.
In some circumstances, another party such as a colleague can be enlisted to help assist
the process, while others will involve the executive incharge. Help from outsidethe
organization will be needed rarely, but if you can develop the internal capability to
“mediate” conflicts, most issues can be resolve effectively (Robinson, 2010).
Research has suggested that when managers adopt a conflict management style that
focus on satisfying needs of parties involve in conflict situation, supervisors and
subordinates tend to build a relationship based on trust and respect (Fisher and Ury,
1981; Pruitt and Rubin, 1986).

Step 3: Uncover the details and history related to the issue

According to Robinson (2010), everyone’s position must be taken notice. The parties
involved must offer all the related details such as the situation includingany
information about earlier challenge to solve the problem. All people arguments must
be heard and get all parties to involved in resolution. It is very importantthat all voices

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are heard, no matter how doubtful is. Frequently, extremely assertive and articulate
people push their agenda while the less assertiveor articulate people feel
uncomfortable. Therefore, the more pushy/articulate person may win the argument
while the other party is offended and then may just exhibit a resistance to the outcome
in a passive-aggressive way.

Step 4: Check for the facts and clarify perceptions

Rather than approaching the issues as what the lawyers might trying to do and prove
the other arguments are wrong, try to verify the reality of an issue, so thatall parties
involved will understand the problem and its serious consequences. The facilitator is
a key role during this step as he or she must help the participants to separate the
“evidence” from perceptions and maintain a calm attitude toward probing the evidence
and resolving the conflict (O’ Driscoll and Beehr, 2000; Robinson, 2010).

Step 5: Importance of individual and shared needs

It is necessary that the parties involved understand each other’s real needs such as need
for achievement andneed for independence (Johnson and Stinson, 1975). Managers
need to know the acceptable suggestion by all parties. If suggestion is dissatisfying,
resistance to resolution occurs. Managers will reach a mutually acceptable solution by
understanding and attempting to maintain each party’s needs.

Step 6: Develop vary options for solving the issue

In finding solutions to a controversial problem, think about three to five options. Ifone
option goes wrong, you will still have other options as back up (Darling and Walker,
2001). When people are under stress and at the same time conflict is involved, then
they try to hold off all preconceived ideas. Brainstorming is one of the effective
methods to generate several options on reducing conflict. Multiple options make the
resolution process smoother when two parties are in extreme contentious level.

Step 7: Develop achievable next steps

Think of achievable next steps as stepping-stones along the pathway of resolving
conflict. They make the final decision become reasonable, reachable small solutions
or actions chief to a comprehensive solution. People involved will see a hopeful
vision, which reinforces the positive actions managers are using as manager
completed each achievable step. Achievable small steps build trust, force and enhance
the relationships for working together (Robinson, 2010).
Step 8: Make mutually beneficial agreements
After developing multiple options and before taking any achievable steps, parties have
to plan and come into an agreement. Team members have to recognise and choose to
emphasize their common goals. Therefore, team member will think about the conflict
resolution. Mutual affirmation and success will increase the level of confidence
among team members, and they are confident to handle difficulties (Deutsch, 1973,
1980; Robinson, 2010). Some of the characteristics have to be removed towards
compromise. In fact, not every wish or needs are all satisfied during this phase.
Therefore, the ground rule “Develop and use a decision-making rule that generatesthe
level of commitment needed” is very important.

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 Managers who follow these steps will facilitate and raise their team’s performance.
Developing an environment where resolve a conflict effectively is the model and
difficulty notwithstanding the professionalof leader. Effort is worth when results in
positive outcomes. Through contentious issues, employees feel more confident at
working, they will benefit from working more and be more productive for the reason
that they spend less emotional energy toward activities that are not helpful, for example,
avoidance, backstabbing, and/or releasing pent up anger in outburst, etc. Positive
emotional energy will spread through the workplace and people will be more
delightful and willing to contribute for the organizations.

Reference

 Indian Journal of Social Sciences and Literature Studies Vol. 8, Issue 1, March
2022,ISSN 2349-5634 (Print) ISSN 2455-0973 (online) Conflict Management skills
at Workplace.Dr. Taur A. D., Dr. Ashtaputre
A.A., Dr. Gaikwad U. S., Dr. Bhutekar S.V., Dr. Bochare B. R., Dr. Sheikh M. R., Dr.
Talware S.L. andDr. Ambhore A. M.

 The Difference of Conflict Management Styles andConflict Resolution in Workplace

Lim Jin Huan1 andRashad Yazdanifard,ISSN: 2241-3022 (print version), 2241-312X
(online) cienpress Ltd, 2012

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 Telephone Etiquette

Telephone etiquette implies the manners of using Telephone communication

including the way you represent your Business and yourself, greeting the receiver, the
tone of voice, the choice of words, listening skills, the closure to the call, etc.
Importance of Telephone Etiquette
Telephone etiquette is essential when you communicate on the Telephone. The
customer analyses you and your Business according to your communication.
Following point shows how important it is to have Telephone etiquette while talking
on the Telephone:

 Professionalism
Communicating with Telephone manners always shows your professionalism. It
makes the customers believe that their work is in good and safe hands. Most likely
they would repeat the deal.

 Impression
The impression that you create on Telephone communication has a lasting effect. The
Telephone etiquette you follow makes the receiver feel respected.

 Loyalty and Trust

Telephone etiquette builds the trust of your potential customers. It makes them loyal
to you and purchases the products and services from you frequently.

 Customer Satisfaction
When the customers get satisfied with the Telephone conversation, they are sure that
their needs and requirements will be satisfied in-person also. It gives them a consistent
and well-rounded experience.

Points to Remember
Use the phone professionally: be polite, respect other people's time, and use voice
mail wisely. Justbecause you're not face to face doesn't mean you don't have to
show basic courtesies.

❶ Treat everyone equally. Treat the initial operators or receptionists with the same
respect you show their bosses.
❷ Focus on the caller. Eating or chewing gum while talking, carrying on other
conversations, orobviously working on other tasks while talking on the phone all
show disrespect for the person on the line.

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❸ Be helpful. When answering the phone, ask how you can helpthe caller.
❹ Don't demand special treatment. Sometimes we all have to wait on hold

Respect other people's time

❶ Don't leave people on hold. Even if you can't help a caller right away, check
in on him or her periodically—every 30 seconds, preferably—to let the caller know
that you are still aware of his orher presence and that you will help as soon as you
can.
❷ Identify yourself. When taking a call, identify yourself and your company; when
answering someone else's phone, inform the person of whose phone you have
answered. When making a call,give your name, organization, and purpose of call
as clearly as possible. If you speak to a receptionist and tell him or her the purpose
of your call, don't assume your message will be passed on when you are put
through, repeat your name and purpose ofthe call to the next person you talk to.

❸ Make sure the person you've called has time for you. Ask if the person you've
called has time to speak
to you, whether you are calling unexpectedly or following a prearranged
plan. If the person doesn't have time to talk, try to set up a time in the
futurebefore getting off the phone. Conclude business phonecalls by thanking
the person you are speaking to for his or her time.
❹ Keep your calls to business hours. Unless you've specifically arranged it, try
not to call before nine am or after six pm.

C. Use voice mail wisely

❶Leave detailed messages so people can take action. Your voice mail message
should allow the listener totake appropriate action. At the bare minimum, leave
your name, company, phone number, time of call, and purpose of call.

❷ Respond promptly to messages and voice mail.

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