Talat Abbasi's voice provides a fresh perspective in this collection of short stories. It doesn't reflect the usual milieu that one has come to expect from contemporary Pakistani writing, especially that pertaining to the diaspora. The voice that resonates in these stories is not that of yet another 'upper class' or 'upwardly mobile' Karachite, who has had the privilege to attend school in England or North America. On the contrary, the voice that comes plaintively through these stories is that of hitherto unforgotten - those from the lower class, poor relatives of rich society-wallahs or even servants. The style of writing is also markedly different from the likes of younger authors, such as say Kamila Shamsie or Mohsin Hamid - two of Pakistani newer shining stars in the field of literature.

The style of writing is 'old school' in a certain sense. There is no attempt to be witty with word play or to explore forms of narrative. The narrative is as direct as the stories that are told through it. No frills attached. And it works well for Abbasi.

The characters in these stories are ones you might see as you cross a street in Karachi, or hear as they recount their story while sitting next to you in a bus. The poor relative dousing herself with rose attar before performing her monthly ritual of taking bitter gourds and other foodstuff to the rich relative, fully knowing it will be distributed to the servants of the house. Or the rich relative, lying on the sofa of her cozy living room, with a face pack and two slices of cucumber on her eyes, scarcely moving on the arrival of the poor relative.

Or the mother whose body is tired from birthing daughters again and again, but she still yearns for a son. Her simple questions don't allow for a girl who can make her parents proud. Rather they ask whether studies will arrange her daughter's dowry or ensure that she at least has a son. Meanwhile the daughter, a clever lass who wants to go to school, with tears in her eyes, mutely agrees to sit at home and help with the housework the mother can no longer perform.

And the submissive wife in New York, who ventures out in pouring rain, with her salwar kameez hitched up, to collect some cardboard boxes for her errant husband.

These people shine through - their weaknesses, follies, and often times their hypocrisies

With her straightforward description, Abbasi conjures up a world of people so familiar to us. And those whose voices we often tend to ignore. Like the absent servant in "Going to Baltistan." The narrator is the rich 'memsahib' of the house, who likes to think herself an egalitarian, humane and charitable woman. Her platitudes for various causes she claims to organize disappear in the instant she admonishes the invisible servant to shut the door quickly lest the hot air outside come into the air-conditioned room.

The simple stories are easily accessible to any reader, and a welcome alternative in contemporary Pakistani literature.