While watching an episode of a popular drama ‘Gumrah’ with my mom, I realised our playwriters have created their own desi manic pixie dream girl. And even though I am not a regular drama viewer, I have watched this stereotype illustrated in one way or another in most drama serials (the recent one’s being ‘Gumrah’ and ‘Phir Wohi Mohabbat’) to consider this a problem. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SAFtojYL-RQ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9R21Bn2JDFI Boy, does the public love her! She’s the fodder for more than half of the plays running on our channels. She lives in the fanciful imagination of young and old men (old more so) and sadly, the audience gobbles that trash up like dessert. Smart, educated, young women watch her and think she’s the ideal woman. And when these women watch theses manic pixie girls end up in their happily-ever-afters’ in play after play, that’s the women they then subconsciously aspire to become. The term ‘manic pixie’ was coined by film critic Nathan Rabin in 2007 and has since then gained much currency, thanks to the brazen prevalence of this stereotype in literature, music, movies and the media in general. Though some movies like The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind did (somewhat) try to question the stereotype, the manic pixie dream girl has had a constant presence in popular culture. Movies like 500 Days of Summer have depicted the stereotype and authors like John Green have portrayed the manic pixie multiple times (both of Green’s lead female characters Margo and Alaska illustrated the classic manic pixie dream girl depictions). https://twitter.com/scottrenshaw/status/766740171790299137 https://twitter.com/yosemitetoad/status/583062397859971073 So who is this manic pixie dream girl? Who created her? For the most part, she is a creation of desperate authors who cannot help but borrow the stereotype to support their fledgling plotlines. She is born due to the writers’ lack of original thought or their general proclivity towards relegating female characters solely as props for the pleasure, growth, support or happiness of the protagonist (who is a male, of course). The problem with the manic pixie is that this character is written from the male perspective, which usually conveniently divests female characters of any depth. https://twitter.com/JenAshleyWright/status/873728220977393665 The typical manic pixie dream girl has one purpose in life: to help the protagonist find himself, his purpose, his dreams or his goals. She has no opinion of her own and no goals of her own in life. Rabin himself defined her as:

“That bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.”

The first woman to run for Pakistan’s presidential elections did so in 1965, and it was Fatima Jinnah versus Ayub Khan. The latter swept the elections and was sworn in as president. That was 53 years ago. Now, 53 years later, is Pakistan ready to make history and elect the first woman president of the country? Recently, social media was rife with speculation that Justice (retd) Nasira Iqbal, a Pakistani jurist and law professor who served as a justice of the Lahore High Court (LHC) for eight years until 2002, was being considered for the office of the President of Pakistan. Iqbal holds a degree in intellectual property law from Punjab University, a Master of Law degree (cum laude) from Harvard Law School, and a Master of Laws from Punjab University. She has also represented Pakistan at various international events. Iqbal was among the first five women to be appointed to the LHC. Additionally, she heads the activist group Concerned Citizens of Pakistan Society (CCP). Among other honours, she received the Fatima Jinnah Medal for Women’s Rights in 2006, the Woman of the Year Star Award in 2007, and the Wonder Woman Award in 2011. Iqbal is also part of the Supreme Court Bar Association of Pakistan. A woman of her stature and qualification would make a fine president and break the illusion that only businessmen can make it to the country’s top office. After all, the presidential stature requires someone who is involved with society and is aware of the crucial issues that plague the country. The president should also deliver concrete statements and have an opinion about the state of events in their country. A retired Justice of the LHC with brilliant academic skills would thus make a promising president for the country. Over the years, many Pakistanis have complained of the silence of current President Mamnoon Hussain, and multiple memes have since then become trends on social media platforms. The general understanding is that after Asif Ali Zardari revoked the controversial amendment that gave executive powers to the president, the president’s position is solely a ceremonial one. Even so, the ceremonial position holds unimaginable powers; the president is the representative of the country across the world. The prime minister and president should ideally be candidates who would represent the country adequately on national and international forums. While President Hussain’s tenure passed calmly, it left some with the feeling there was more the president could have done. Further, electing the first female president of the country would catapult Pakistan into a seemingly more progressive state, where women are granted high office. Decades after Shaheed Benazir Bhutto took the landmark step of running for the office of prime minister, these rumours suggest that Iqbal would be next female to set new precedents by occupying the president’s office. For the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), this would be the defining moment of their government; they would ensure immortality in history books and past recollections if they succeed in empowering women. Arguments circulating on the press and online claim the Imran-led party can give high offices to women, but that doesn’t imply that their policies would reflect the same. However, I believe that all steps taken to push women out of the glass ceiling will contribute to a better country. I am not a PTI fan and I did not vote for them, but if they nominate Iqbal, they would have my respect. It is not easy to be a woman in Pakistan, and history has taught us how difficult it was for Benazir to break the androcentric walls that patriarchy helped establish. On a separate note, while watching the FIFA World Cup 2018, I learnt that Belgium has a female president. Croatia’s president is also a woman. Standing in the office while searching these women on Google, I thought to myself, what a sight it would be to see a woman taking oath as president! Perhaps Iqbal’s entrance into the president house will give Pakistan that one push needed to ensure that women are respected and taken into account. I also believe the increase in rape-murder stories and domestic issues can also be affiliated with the lack of respect shown to women politicians. There have been incidents where mud-slinging reached horrible standards, where women have been called “tractor trolley” without any consequences. This lingo should not be acceptable in any society. And I believe that if a woman presides over the country, all the men and women who thought that it wasn’t possible in the first place will be in for a real surprise.

Some 71 years ago, people from all over subcontinent left their homes and took roads laced with perils to reach the ‘land of pure’. What made them leave their lives behind to move to an unknown land where all that awaited them was a promise? No tangible shelter but only a promise; the promise of freedom. What is meant by this ‘freedom’ that caused the greatest migration of the century? Freedom or independence means the availability of the opportunity to exercise one’s rights, powers, desires and even faith. Yes, I put emphasis on faith because any country where any group of people, no matter how great or less in number, do not feel safe while performing their religious duties, is not a free country. On this 72^nd  Independence Day of Pakistan, this is a question we must ask amongst ourselves. Is Pakistan a free country? Have we truly gained independence? Well, if this is about overthrowing the yoke of the British rule like we were taught in our Pakistan Studies curriculum, then technically yes. Yes, we live in a country which is no longer a British colony. However, in terms of mindsets, we are still colonised; hypnotised by the language of our colonisers. If you don’t agree with me, do this social experiment yourself. Go to the Emergency Room (ER) of Islamabad’s biggest government hospital, Pakistan Institute of Medical Sciences (PIMS), and try talking to any doctor about your ailment in your national language. The nonchalance of the staff will sting but don’t take it to heart, just switch to English and watch them crumble under its pressure. Still think we are free? Let us try to approach this another way now. Do our systems ensure freedom and liberty for our own people? Do our institutions follow a rule of law capable of protecting the rights of our citizens? Well for starters, we still follow the laws of our colonisers, who were occupiers and formulated their laws in order to subjugate. In our criminal investigation and trial proceedings, in customs, in income tax and in countless other domains, we live under their rule of law (with slight modifications of course). This is exactly what former  customs officer and reformist actor Ashir Azeem was talking about in his YouTube videos, that we follow a Customs Act so ancient that it ties our hands, preventing us from innovating or improving upon it in any suitable way. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAYM4J3bQ2c https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2DxrykniRf8 These laws also conveniently assist the black sheep within the system to carry out petty theft and corruption. Edmund Burke was wise to say,

“Among a people generally corrupt, liberty cannot long exist.”

“You are free; you are free to go to your temples; free to go to your mosques or to any other places of worship in the State of Pakistan. You may belong to any religion or cast or creed that has nothing to do with the business of the state.”

 “Don’t think you’re better than anyone, ever!”

“The oppressed are allowed once every few years to decide which particular representatives of the oppressing class are to represent and repress them.”

The sound of the phrase, “women are not allowed to work” was so unfamiliar to me, until I reached university. I grew up seeing progressive, working women, like my mother and other relatives, in the society. I am from a small town in Kashmir called Rawalakot, situated in the northern region of Pakistan. This area is known more for its beauty and less for its exceptional women. Women of this area are termed exceptional because despite the existence of an ingrained patriarchal society, they have paved way to be achievers in life. According to the annual socioeconomic report of Kashmir, Azad Jammu Kashmir at a Glance 2017, the female employment rate in Kashmir is around 70%, which is a lot higher than most regions of Pakistan. It might sound extremely strange and outlandish to some people but, fortunately, most women in Rawalakot work and earn a decent living. Growing up, I used to idealise women in urban centres of Pakistan; they seemed like role models, more reformist in their thinking and I considered the male counterparts in those societies to be highly supportive. When I moved to a big city, I realised this was far from the truth. Unfortunately, employment of an educated and skilled woman is a huge challenge in urban cities, not because of lack of talent or job market but the lack of recognition that women are also productive citizens of this nation. Sadly, the ultimate achievement of a woman’s life is marriage and the most talented, skilful and capable women in their 20s are progressing towards that goal. In most cases, it is not due to personal choice, unfortunately, but a compulsion put forth by society. This utmost impulsion of getting the daughter married exists more amongst the social elites than other segments of the society. There are many examples where women have been either pushed to or have actively left their careers in order to get married. In Pakistan’s medical schools, situated in the urban centres for instance, female students outshine and outnumber their male counterparts yet there is a serious shortage of female doctors. These women end up being doctor bahus (daughters-in-law) and do not pursue their career further. Take another example of leading business schools in Pakistan, where most women in every cohort get married right after graduation. I am certainly not demeaning the importance of marriage, but rejecting it to be the biggest achievement of a woman’s life. Even a woman who has established a career has settled for jobs lower than her potential in order to be able to manage her work and household. Those who have achieved success in their career have apparently sacrificed their family life. There are multiple reasons why women have such passive, submissive roles. Firstly, according to this society, a woman should put her marriage and family first, her career is merely deemed as a hobby. Under such circumstances, progressive and opinionated women in urban centres are often shunned and are considered less family-oriented. Secondly, even though around the world there are certain challenges in the workplace and stigmas attached to it, women in this society are thoroughly scrutinised because of them. Thirdly, a woman’s independence seems to be taboo. Her established position is a dependent member in this society, and her stable husband is her biggest blessing. On the contrary, women in my town have a different approach towards life. The realisation of me being raised differently came strong when I used to tally tales of my childhood with people in my university and workplace. I grew up in a joint family system with three older male cousins and three younger sisters. From a lens of common perception, families tend to pay more attention to a male child than a female child because of the inherent bestowed blessing attached to them. But it was slightly different in my house and community. I was raised under the shelter of emancipation, empowerment and true inspiration. My late grandfather cherished and celebrated all my accomplishments more than he did of my male cousins, even my uncles motivated me by rejoicing over my achievements. I learnt self-possession from my grandmother who was not only a decision-maker in our house but our entire neighbourhood benefited from her wisdom. People used to come and consult her about important matters in their lives. Instead of focusing and teaching us about marriage, my father always advised my friends and I about career choices. He prepared us for an independent future. My mother, who is my truest inspiration, taught me strength and determination. She worked in the most challenging far-out places with no roads and lack of security yet she managed not just her work but also the household. Growing up in this open environment helped shape me into the person I am and motivated me to not only think big but also to strive and accomplish my goals. This is not just limited to my family, but is a common reality for most households in the area. This community has a certain degree of openness and provides egalitarianism to both genders in attaining education and establishing a career. These women are outstanding and have either established their own businesses or ended up in top professions such as doctors, engineers, artists, top government officials and managers in major corporations. Some of them are not just married but have lived away from families because of work. These women possess an uncommon vitality in their personalities and they attained this energy because of the progressive mindset that has been instilled in them from the start; exhibiting less fear and more commitment. It will be unfair to say that they did not face any challenges, but despite these challenges and lack of resources, they progressed better than male members of their society. At the outset of the whole unannounced uprising, these women were stigmatised and stereotyped but they have managed to create a rhythm which is unparalleled, fanciful for many and has the multi-generational impact. The last two generation of women in this town have set new standards for society and people have developed tolerance towards it. This acceptability will certainly reach new and broader levels when more women are breaking these barriers, without leaving behind the male counterparts in their society. When we think of small towns, we usually think there would be much less freedom, especially for women. Who would have thought that a small town in Kashmir would have more women empowerment than the rest of the country combined? Despite the security challenges and stability issues, our town promotes its women and teaches them to take care of themselves. The women pictured above are just few of the dedicated, committed and brilliant women from Rawalakot who have achieved their dreams and made us proud in the process. From top-left to right: - Bushra Rahim: Physiotherapist - Basma Saeed: Telecom Engineer - Sana Kurshid: Assistant Manager Sales at Telenor - Ayesha Khan: Marketing Manager at Hello Pakistan - Raisa Khan: Resident Doctor at University College London Hospital - Madiha Shakeel: Research Expert at Pakistan Institute of Parliamentary Services - Ghazal Sarmad: Travel blogger - Javeria Rahim: Pre-med student - Akash Iltaf: Senior Auditor at Pakistan Railway - Qudsia Manzoor: Brand Manager at Shoe Box - Sundila Andleeb: LUMS graduate - Pizwak Imtaiz: PhD student at the University of Beijing, former LUMS graduate - Fareeha Naeem: Student of Economics - Zahra Amber: Founder of Cross Cultural Alliance and NAMYR The above-revealed dynamics make me wonder whether education and exposure are enough to be a progressive person. I believe a reformist mindset is far more important than any of the other factors for success, and what contributes most to this mindset is wisdom and vision. We often criticise our societies more than they deserve but it is highly essential to recognise, reflect and comprehend these transformative elements that can help our societies grow for the better.

While Pakistan’s political fate is changing, the people of this nation believe there is something more important that needs to be focused on. Yes, unfortunately, that topic is Bushra Maneka’s choice of attire. This is not the first time that women’s choice of clothing has become a hot topic of discussion. As a confused country, it seems as though we are never content with anything. When Mahira Khan was spotted in a backless dress with Ranbir Kapoor, people bashed her for wearing a revealing outfit. And here we are, a year later, and we still cannot seem to decide whether we are liberal and progressive or religious and conventional, considering Maneka’s burqa also seems to scare people. https://twitter.com/loloknicetry/status/1031128593437544448 I’ve read a lot of comments regarding this lately and those who are defending Maneka are constantly using the “modest” rhetoric to present their arguments, which I believe is equally problematic. Firstly, “modesty” looks differently for different people because it depends on what exactly they are comfortable wearing, so defining the burqa as the symbol of modesty sends out the misrepresented idea of the term itself. Secondly, this shouldn’t even be about modesty. It is a simple choice of clothing and that is what it should be taken as. https://twitter.com/imanahilsh/status/1030840629746716672 I fail to understand why women’s clothing is turned into political battles to be fought over when there are larger issues at hand that need our dire attention. Isolating the burqa or purdah to scrutinise or ridicule women is a shameful act and displays people’s ignorance about the impact and role of the purdah, historically, religiously and culturally. As Ziba Mir-Hoesseni, a legal anthropologist, states in her work, Women and politics in post-Khomeini Iran. Divorce, veiling and emerging feminist voices, the rationale behind the veil or the purdah is very complex and has different reasons including, class, region, nationality and culture. More specifically, these categories could be religious, psychological, choice of authentic dress, political, Islamisation of the society, economic, status symbol or protection from public gaze. From a feminist approach, the purdah in fact can be an empowering tool for some as it grants protection and freedom of action for women, to embrace their identity and to give access to public space for economic independence and education. https://twitter.com/sohnianika/status/965818873432780800 Secondly, fabricating the veil or purdah as regressive is what led western imperialism and post-colonial narratives to justify the vicious nature of Muslims. In fact, the stereotypical image of the burqa-clad Afghan woman has been used to justify and legitimise the US war in Afghanistan. This has been critiqued in detail by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, an Indian scholar, literary theorist and feminist critic, who offers the sentence, “white men are saving brown women from brown men” in order to understand the relationship between the colonised and the coloniser in a deadly competition to win power. In this case, the reason for “saving” brown women from brown men is that Muslim women have their agency forcibly revoked by barbaric Muslim men. This is factual for the Afghan Taliban since they forced women to wear the burqa and killed those women who protested against it. Still, it is crucial to note that a piece of clothing is not naturally repressive. The extent to which the burqa becomes an oppressive act of purdah depends on contextually-specific extremist interpretation of Islam, misogyny and patriarchy. https://twitter.com/SaadKolachi/status/1031352498563555328 Likewise, there are some people that believe Maneka’s burqa would portray a negative image of Pakistan in the international realm. Like I’ve stated above, the stereotypical perception of the burqa is very limiting and more importantly, let’s not forget that there is a growing number of rape cases, targeted killings, disappearances, sectarian issues, and many other types of discrimination that will most certainly reflect negatively on Pakistan’s reputation as a country more than Maneka’s burqa. https://twitter.com/SameeraKhan/status/1030891395337400322 Having said that, it is extremely important to educate oneself thoroughly on a topic before one becomes a self-proclaimed expert on it on social media. What a woman decides to wear has now become a phenomenon worth arguing over, showing just how petty our thinking is. Men have generally always been extremely interested in and critical of women’s choice of clothing, especially the conservative religious clerics who think they have the deciding power to declare someone a non-Muslim just based on their attire. However, what saddens me most is reading comments by women who are bringing down Maneka. This doesn’t even have anything to do with feminism, it is just natural courtesy for women to support other women, considering that any one of us could be made a target of such trolling and bullying in the future. https://twitter.com/bilalmahmooduk/status/1031162235832418305 I do not know Maneka personally, nor am I affiliated with Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) in any way, which is why I think it is important for me to talk about this; because I am a woman and I know just how imperative it is to support choices of other women. As long as Maneka does not impose this dress code on the women of this nation, it is safe to say that her decision to observe purdah is strictly justified. Let’s defy and oppose these typical conversations surrounding Maneka’s choice to wear a veil because they belittle and reduce her to her clothing. In an already patriarchal society, where women’s bodies are moralised based on what they wear, let’s try to comprehend just how critical it is to let go of these static viewpoints and attitudes.

I casually asked my friend when we met at a coffee shop last week,

“So, when are you going to marry her?”   “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when will you marry your girlfriend?” I clarified.

“Have you gone mad?” He said while controlling his laughter. “But what’s wrong? She is a nice, educated girl and you must also settle down and have a family life now,” I emphasised. “You are probably right about settling down, but it’s not going to be with this girl,” he responded. “But why? What’s wrong with her and why are you in a relationship with her then?” I questioned. “There is no law that binds one to marry his girlfriend, and secondly, marriage with this particular girl is absolutely out of the question,” he revealed. “What’s your point, what is the issue with this ‘particular girl’?” I enquired. “Yaar, she has already had sex with me.”

“What do you mean?” I almost shouted. “Yaar, she has a loose character. She has no problem having sex with a guy before marriage. How can I trust her for marriage given her past? I want a family-oriented girl, who is pious and has the ability to move along with my extended family,” he stated, throwing light on his hypocrisy. “Aur waisay bhi is terha ki larkiaan to ayashi kay liey hoti hain, shadi kay liey nahi,” he added. (Such girls are meant for pleasure, not for marriage) “So she has a bad character because she had sex with you? And what about you for having sex with her?” I asked bluntly. “Yaar please don’t start lecturing me now. And I am not in the mood to indulge in any philosophic discussion either.”

“When the moral code of Islam does not discriminate between men and women, why does our Muslim-majority society does?” I asked him.

“Our society takes a woman’s honour more seriously than that of a man.” “Even more seriously than Islam?”

“Does this not reveal the hypocrisy and double standards of our society that claims to be high on eastern and Islamic values?” I wondered.

“Every man is of course not an opportunist sexual predator and every woman is not a loyal and innocent victim either,” she told me with the utmost honesty that she is known for. “Women also tend to indulge in casual relationships where they enjoy physical intimacies and then move on,” she went on to explain. “And for your information not all men refuse to marry their female sexual partners of bachelor life. But yes, such men who respect and settle with their premarital sexual mates can safely be declared a minority in our society. Loyalty is a trait that depends upon individual not on the whole gender group,” she further elaborated. “But the way women are judged and analysed in our society, men do not face even a fraction of that scrutiny,” she concluded.

“Mard ka gunah aik pathar ki terha waqt kay talaab main doob jata hai, jabkeh aurat ka gunah kanwal kay phool ki maanind tamam umer satah e aab par rehta hai, yehi sach hai.”  (A man’s sin is like a stone which sinks and disappears in the waters of time, while a woman’s sin blooms like a lotus and stays on the surface for a lifetime. This is the truth of our society.)

“We are a society where all norms and ‘moral values’ are set from a male point of view,” a social scientist gave me the answer. “Men’s debauchery is accepted as a norm, while just a lively gait of a woman is enough to raise many eyebrows. This is the form of male dominance which enlightened activists fight against and are cursed for.”

As cases keep coming to the forefront on a regular basis, the question of why Pakistani women are killed for rejecting male advances will sooner or later have to be answered. The killing of a young medical student, Asma Rani, and the stabbing of Khadija Siddiqui were still fresh on our minds, but it didn’t end there; the incidents just kept on coming. Not too long ago, news emerged of 19-year-old Mahwish Arshad, the sole breadwinner of her family, being shot and killed for rejecting a proposal. Last year, 19-year-old Tania Khaskheli was gunned down in her own home after resisting a kidnapping bid and rejecting the marriage proposal of an influential man with links to the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP). The year before that, Maria Sadaqat, a 19-year-old teacher, was badly tortured and then set ablaze in Murree for the crime of rejecting a proposal, and later passed away after succumbing to her injuries. These are just a few of the cases that have gained the nation’s attention. Many have taken place in this year alone. Pakistani activists estimate that there are about a 1,000 honour killings every year. What is it that prompts such a brutal and violent reaction, one that makes humanity shudder? There is perhaps no one answer, but restricting the debate strictly to our own society, we can assume a range of factors that lead men to carry out such ruthless and barbaric crimes. Men in Pakistani society are possessive by nature. There is a strong desire in men to be authoritative and exert control over women, which stems from their upbringing in their homes and by society at large. They have grown up in a world which overtly favours men. As children, boys are always preferred over their sisters. Not just parents, but even grandparents are found to love male grandchildren more than female grandchildren. Not only do boys grow up with unconditional love, they also grow up seeing how their fathers control their mothers. While they are free to roam around and come and go as they please, their sisters have to stay inside the house and never leave without explicit permission. Boys have a choice when it comes to who they want to marry, while their sisters will have their partner thrust on them by the entire family. This has become the social norm in our society, and is the reality most men and women find themselves in. Therefore, it does not come as a surprise to see men demand control over women, and react badly when it is denied, for our men are not used to being denied. The irony remains that this practice is common in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, while the practice of coercing women into forced marriages is in violation of not only Islamic laws but also Pakistani laws. Yet most Pakistani Muslims continue to engage in what is clearly a cultural practice deeply embedded in our society. Any desire by women to exert their own choice over their lives – be it over their careers or their marital prospects – is viewed as a threat to the male dominance entrenched in our society, and ignites the worst form of fury, especially in the men who have been found guilty in the aforementioned cases. After all, rejecting a marriage proposal is not a crime, neither is it shameful for a man to have been rejected. Just as men have the right to ask, women have the right to deny. Then why is it that men who feel ashamed at being rejected feel no shame in committing murder and getting caught for it? While it has become a necessity to look into the backgrounds of these perpetrators in order to understand whether a problematic childhood, substance abuse or mental illness is to blame, it is undeniable that the intention is always malicious. A rejection is viewed as an insult, which becomes a punishable offence, for which these men do not rest until they have annihilated the victim. This is certainly an evil that no number of personal problems or childhood issues can justify. The basic problem is that men who are rejected fail to find a way to come to terms with it. Having grown up in a system that always favours them and gives them almost all rights and control over women, these men fail to navigate the dynamics of consent, of the woman’s right to say no. When men like women, they come to believe they own them, especially abusive men who cannot imagine a world where a woman has a choice and they are not in control. You will often see a man continue courting a woman, even when the woman rejects his advances and all odds seem fuelled against him. Everything, from our culture to our media and films to our mindset, tells men to continue and never accept no for an answer. Ultimately, women are treated as commodities and not human beings with rights. The coldblooded murder of women for such baseless reasons has become an epidemic that must be addressed urgently. After all, how many more women, how many more Khadijas and Asmas will it take to compel a change in this evil mindset? For decades women have been victims of violence and abuse in Pakistan; from domestic abuse to honour killings to rape, there is no relief. It’s time we accept that brutality is the reality of the world we live in. Yes, we need laws to be actively enforced and stricter punishments to be meted out, but we also need to raise our boys to look at girls and women as people, as equals, rather than as commodities to exert their control over. The mindset cannot and will not change overnight, but effective legal enforcement and more widespread condemnation is the least we can do to set a positive precedent in our society and serve as a deterrent to protect women from male violence.

I remember the first time I saw an ad featuring Sadaf Kanwal. I was walking past a clothing shop, and I stared into her big bold eyes, encompassing the entirety of a wall. I was thinking about how beautiful she was, and flawless, up on that wall for the world to see. Recently, this same beautiful model spoke about the #MeToo movement on a public forum.

“You know aap ke sath #MeToo jab ho, tab bol do. Baad mein aap ko yaad araha hai #MeToo, so I think jab ho bol do.” (You know when you experience a #MeToo incident, say it then. Why are you mentioning it later? I think you should speak up when it happens)

“Agar mere saath #MeToo kabhi hua tou mai bolungi na. Aur mai social media pe nahi bolungi mai aap sab ko bataungi” (If it ever happens to me, I would say it. And I won’t just say it on social media, I’d tell all of you)

“We support sexual harassment of women.”

 “I’ve said no all my life and now I’m starting to face backlash.”

Zarah Hussain, a 17-year-old girl from Lahore Grammar School International, won an essay competition organised by the British Royal Commonwealth Society. This is a proud moment for Pakistan and highlights how much talent we have in this country. We hope she continues her love for words and wish her all the best for the future. The following is the short story that won her the accolade: Red. Gold. Adorned in jewels, henna lacing her fingers with intricate, never ending flowers. And hidden in the henna somewhere would be written the name of her most beloved. A dream she’d dreamt since she’d seen the ring on her mother’s finger, and the glow on her sister’s face fresh after her mayun. Her sister had dulled out after the event, but that fact seemed trivial in her fantasies of the shining future. She is 17, young at heart, but mature in body, and the red seems to suit her. So a man follows suit, asking for her hand, so she can soon have a mayun of her own. The long, incessant books fail to amuse her, and she thinks herself much more fit to be pampered, and to pamper, to live life as her mother has. So she presents her hand, yet bare, and dreams of colouring it with the name of her betrothed, but when she imagines the hue, the red lacing her hand tells stories far removed from what she’d thought. The red looks not like henna, but like blood, drawing images of the scars on her mother’s arms, that she’d dismissed as the fault of a woman lacking basic sense. The scars seem more ominous to her now, speaking stories not of her mother’s unintelligence but her father’s anger and the broken bottles that never seemed to calm him down. The scars then distort into words, similar to those she’d seen her mother sneak out to read in the dim light of the moon; finding solace in the turning pages, convincing herself that a better world existed, even if only in stories. The red drains away, leaving her hand pale white and bruising, like her sister’s sunken face. The face that smiled at the thought of her loving husband, considerate enough to be faithful to her. He reprimanded her, because he wanted to improve her. And yes, he may be harsh at times, but after all, he knew best. She consoled herself with the assurance that he acted so stern and unforgiving only because he saw her as the child she had been at the time of their union, and thought her in need of a guide. The bruises darken, to leave impressions in her hand, causing pain when she touches them, for when she does, she can remember the darker truths she chooses to conceal. She tries to wipe them away, but the more she tries, the more they smudge, reminding her of her sister’s kajal at her rukhsati, speaking more of fear than of love, a tint that coloured her life. The darkness from the bruises then starts to clear, leaving behind only the picture of a rosy baby girl, crying for the first time. Her daughter. She falls in love there, and adores how the cries seek not to express sadness but to declare openly their existence. The faint lines become bold, and her daughter becomes so as well, dauntless and curious, exploring the nooks and crannies of her house, amazed by every detail. But on one day, the fearless child finds a corner not so brilliant, her mother hiding away crying into her hand as she is forced to complete every painstaking house chore, despite being weighed down by her expanding pregnant belly. And at this point, the fear appears. She sees her daughter grow, fading and thinning as she does, and sees her stop at age 11, when she sees a harsh, menacing figure appear. The figure exhibits such malice that she feels the need to recoil her hand, and clean it with a force that may undo the shape from her memories. This new figure declares the soft shadow of her daughter a bit too bold, and leaves her shamefully not so. She now feels the urge to vomit, to rid herself of the tales that the lines on her hand tell, but perhaps the future is not done yet, and wants her to view and understand the consequence attached to her shallow dreams. She sees her daughter lose all life then; still very much breathing, but barely moving, her outline formed from the lightest hue one could find. The red then reappears, as henna this time, tracing around her daughter’s image, hoping to make it livelier than it was in truth. Then night falls for her daughter, and she feels the fear in her daughter’s shadow, the hideous omen of what is to come. The henna disappears to leave room for the expected bloodshed one may find on a lady’s first night at her new home. But the blood does not appear, as it already had a few years ago and has perhaps been drained by this time, or maybe was not meant to appear at all. But this reality the husband cannot stand, and determined to make her bleed, drains her of all the blood she had. Her hand flushes red, and then the palest of whites, leaving behind the empty shape of her daughter, finally left without breath. The tears fall from her eyes, and wash away the remaining images, and yet she feels that they remain existing, just maybe not in her house, and not for a few years. But what she hoped a terrible nightmare, she found a possible reality and her agitation set in, forcing distorted images of her dreams into her head; the red of her veil now formed from blood instead of chiffon, and the gold from her jewellery was now merely the metal her chains were made of. Yet these remained just dreams, and her hands had not been chained yet, so she found them moving, seeking to rewrite fortune, and to clean the blood from her destiny. And so she writes. Words seem tiresome no longer and she finally understands the stories that had bored her. She forms new tales, realising that she needs no other person to pamper her, but her own self. She devours the books that predicted her escape from these gold chains, and nurtures her own young heart that has yet so long to live. The more she writes the more she has to say. She rewrites a future of career for herself, not as someone’s maid, but in her own right, as the individual she was born to be. She plans out battles against her upbringing, her plans for escape hidden in language instead of swords. Her hands now trace stories of a man she loves, who cares for her, and therefore learns from her instead of seeking to constantly teach her. And finally, she draws images of her daughter, in the boldest pen, with wild hair and daring beyond belief. She prays for a daughter born with freedoms she had to fight for, who seeks words she has yet to define, and seizes the capacity she has to achieve everything she dreams of. With this narrative, her path seems more beautiful than the henna ever had, and the black of the pen is much more permanent than the false security of the red veil. And she realises that her hand is still out, a man in the room still seeking to take it, and to chain it to himself. She sees that her hand remains bare, and that the red of the henna has not tainted her yet. Her choice remains open. Her mother looks at her, her eyes aching with the hope for her daughter to choose the path that she had longed to walk.

“Qabool hai?” (Do you accept the proposal?) “Nahi!” (No!)

From the very moment they are born, our girls are taught they are dependent upon the men in the family. As the girls become women, they grow up believing they need their fathers, brothers, husbands or sons to look after them and protect them. However, most Pakistani men are unfortunately good at depriving women of their social rights under the garb of religion or culture. Women are often denied an education or the chance to gain employment, deprived of their due share in inheritance, and even killed in the name of honour under the guise of “protection”. Amidst all the gloom, some women in the province of Sindh have broken the glass ceiling and not only fulfilled their dreams but have also inspired other women to chase their own. One such woman is SP Suhai Aziz Talpur, who emerged as the saviour after a foiled attack on the Chinese consulate in Karachi. Born in a village in Tando Muhammad Khan, when her father decided to enrol her into a school, he was taunted and pressurised by relatives to stop his daughter’s education. Fortunately for Pakistan, he was progressive enough to not give in to the pressure, and migrated to another district instead of compromising on his daughter’s education. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="429"] Photo: Twitter[/caption] Suhai’s case should be a lesson for all fathers in Pakistan. Her bravery and success is proof that instead of worrying about their daughter’s dowry, they should instead focus on getting them an education so that not only can their daughters contribute towards the wellbeing of their family, they can also protect and safeguard the country the way Suhai did. If her father had accepted his family’s pressure, the nation today would have been deprived of a brave police officer who, despite intense pressure and danger, marshalled her resources professionally and saved the nation from embarrassment in front of its most loyal friend. Suhai is also the first woman to join the police force from lower Sindh, and now, after just after five years of service, she is the first female police officer to be nominated for the Quaid-e-Azam medal. The entire nation today stands proud of Suhai, and we hope her example will only open doors for more girls from rural Sindh to get an education and more women to join the police force. Another woman representing Sindh and making Pakistan proud is none other than Krishna Kumari Kohli. While some people accept adversity as their fate, others fight to change their circumstances, and Krishna is one of those people who strived to make the best of what life put in her way. She was in the third grade when a powerful landlord abducted her along with her family. After remaining in captivity for three years, she was later married off at the age of 16. None of this stood in Krishna’s way, as she continued her education and spoke against bonded labour. She joined the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) and her determined work to benefit her community prompted her party to make her the first female Dalit Senator in Pakistan’s history. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: File[/caption] Due to her extended efforts, Krishna is now on the BBC’s list of 100 influential and inspiring women of 2018. This list also includes women like Julia Gillard, Australia’s first female prime minister, and Stacey Cunningham, the president of the New York Stock Exchange, alongside 97 other accomplished women who are an inspiration to us all. After facing bonded labour and a life of hardship, Krishna is aware of the problems faced by the women of Sindh as well as the Hindu and Dalit community. As a senator, her work will not only open doors for more women but will hopefully inspire them to pursue politics, which is still a man’s world in Pakistan. While pursuing an education helped Suhai and Krishna with their achievements, some women in Sindh rely on manual labour to support their families, which is empowering as well. Gulaban, a 25-year-old mother of three, is one of the 30 women trained to become truck drivers by the Sindh Engro Coal Mining Company. Despite being amongst many trainees, Gulaban had an edge because she was the only woman who knew how to drive a car, and that too because her husband defied societal norms in order to teach her. Today, Gulaban is an inspiration to other women, not only for them to learn how to drive, but also being willing to learn to drive a 60-tonne dumper in order to be employed. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Gulaban looks back while driving her family in Islamkot, Tharparkar on September 20, 2017. Photo: Reuters[/caption] A similar story is that of Meena Bheel, who was born a woman but acts as the ‘man’ of the family, quite literally. Hailing from the Badin district, she started working in the fields at a very young age and began wearing men’s clothing in order to better fit in. In a land where men are responsible for supervision and do not take orders from women, Bheel is the proud manager of the field. She even rides her motorcycle every day and drives a tractor when the job requires it, breaking all stereotypes associated with women in rural Sindh. A different kind of impact has been achieved by Aansoo Kohli, who is working to provide education to the children in her village. Born near Umerkot, she lost one of her legs at only two-years-old, but possessed a passion for education ignited in her from a young age. Her father passed away when she was young but fulfilling his wishes, Aansoo not only became the first woman to graduate from her village but also opened a school in her house where young children could get an education. A school that started with only eight students now has hundreds, and the number is only growing. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="331"] Photo: Janib Ali Dalwani[/caption] Perhaps the original inspiration for the women of Sindh was Mai Bakhtawar, a brave daughter who sacrificed her life in 1947 in her struggle for peasants. When all the men were away from the village for a conference, a feudal lord tried to step in and take away their crops. However, Mai stood her ground to stop him and lost her life in the process. Her sacrifice did not go to waste, as in 1950 a law was passed ensuring a split between the profits of the feudal lords and the farmers, while the feudal lord was also imprisoned for 20 years, despite being the nephew of Foreign Minister Sir Zafarullah Khan. Former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto was also a fan of Mai’s courage and named her eldest daughter ‘Bakhtawar’ in her honour. The stories of these women and many more like them are proof that only by empowering women can we succeed as a nation, particularly in a province as deprived as Sindh. The need of the hour is to spread awareness that women are not secondary to men in any field of life, and only by adding to their numbers can they work cohesively to bring laws which can then pave the way for improving their status.

It is the defining moment of the year gone by, not because it finally became part of a global movement but more so because it took a second wind to unsettle the dominant voices of patriarchal corridors and send a message that #Metoo was not about some misguided and delayed wave for justice, just as it was never about a woman in the wrong job at the wrong time. All it had ever been about was consent. October 2018 will be remembered as the renaissance of the #MeToo movement in India. A forgotten actress Tanushree Dutta touched down from the shores of the US and took on a veteran actor who wins critical acclaim for most of his roles, but will likely not win any plaudits for his character. Dutta’s accusations were predictably met by resistance; a motley band of brothers across social media and drawing rooms came together to keep a check on a narrative that was threatening to slip out of their centuries-old grasp. In societies of the subcontinent, the woman has to bear the shame and accept that it is ‘normal’ for her to be shamed. It is her stigma alone to bear. This is how things have always been in this part of the subcontinent. The resurgence that followed was like a dam waiting to burst. Bollywood directors, media personalities, the CEO of the cricket board and even artists, all came out of the woodwork. The most prominent name to fall was that of minister and former editor of the newspaper Asian Age, MJ Akbar. At least 20 women accused the politician of sexually misbehaving with them, the strongest allegation that of rape. The first ever woman to accuse the editor turned politician of sexual assault took to Twitter to say: https://twitter.com/priyaramani/status/1049922512212119552 Akbar denied these accusations and instead filed a defamation case against Ramnani. After countless other women came forward, the minister was eventually forced to resign, but resurfaced only a few weeks later as a columnist in a prominent Indian newspaper. These events would have been watched with keen interest across the border because if nothing else, the fight for gender equality remains a grievance common to both countries. Predatory male behavior is not unique to either of our countries. Decades of conditioning forbids even the educated middle class in both countries to speak out. Families remain wary about being a subject of society’s ridicule, a reason why many new accusations this year were made anonymously. What helped the movement gather momentum in India and to a lesser but equally determined extent in Pakistan was the intent. The voices may have been just a fraction of our submissive and subjugated populations, but the sheer determination present in these voices managed to challenge conventional thinking and upbringing. The message was clear: the powerful cannot always get away. Many would argue that in societies like ours, change should not start from urban English-speaking cities but at the grass root level because this is where the sense of male entitlement is at its blusterous best. It is here that any male misbehavior is simply dismissed as a momentary deviation. Speaking out against any injustice or inequality for women who have seen honour killings and forced marriages is almost impossible, even today. In poor homes in rural areas, a boy is still considered the only bread winner of the family: someone who can carry the family legacy forward. A Malala, on the other hand, is only born once. To say, however, that upper class societies in India and Pakistan have overcome this gender imbalance is a fallacy. When these names started to be revealed slowly and gradually sometime last year, many amongst the educated classes remained in denial, refusing to even accept the enormity of the step taken by the victims by coming forward. Lead by example took a whole different meaning in Pakistan when Prime Minister Imran Khan said rather bizarrely that feminism had degraded motherhood. This comment was met with instant social media backlash as people took to Twitter to express their disdain of his opinion: https://twitter.com/abbasnasir59/status/1008244881842671616 https://twitter.com/bilalfqi/status/1008217048332275712 Across the border, folks on Twitter thought they were amusing and funny when they speculated if actress Sunny Leone would also claim that she was assaulted. What wasn’t comfortable degenerated into a farce. The same people relentlessly questioned the timing of the revelations, not comprehending or perhaps choosing not to that for some it may take a month to gather their courage to go public, while for others, it could be as long as 10 years. The choice was theirs. The flag-bearers of this movement thus fought not only personal demons but also a society that has seldom given women the support to speak out by long upholding the notion that no ‘respectable’ woman would ever speak out publicly on such matters and issues such as these should remain confined within the four walls of their homes. There have been plenty of aspersions cast on the movement and its motives. Among others, it has been ridiculed as a social media phenomenon. There will always be people critical of the movement, but no one can deny that it has given a voice to those who perhaps had no other way of taking on the rich and the famous. Some victims have agreed to testify in court but our judicial system has not really been a deterrent when it comes to crimes against women. Producer Vinta Nanda says the onus is now on her to prove that Alok Nath, the sanskari (traditional) father figure in countless Bollywood movies is guilty of raping her. Nineteen years later, she is expected to go through medical tests. So often, cases go on for years and justice becomes too little, too late. There is a reason that rapes in the country are increasingly manifold and violent incidents are becoming more audacious by the day. Ironically, police stations on either side of the border are the last bastion for a woman to feel protected. Just how unwilling a common person is to help any of the courageous women who dared to come forward can be gauged from the trail of victim-shaming that routinely follows such accusations. Sometimes, women are their own worst enemy. In our countries, a wife is conditioned to defend her husband no matter what. For example, despite the serious allegations against MJ Akbar, his wife stood vocally behind him questioning instead the motives of those accusing her husband. When Pallavi Gogoi and Tushita Patel (two of the 20 women who accused him of assault) spoke out, his wife publicly humiliated the women who had spoken up by saying that "neither of the women carried the haunted look of victims of sexual assault". In Pakistan earlier this year, pop singer Meesha Shafi accused actor-singer Ali Zafar of sexual harrasment. Meesha took to Twitter with a detailed account of her harrasment: https://twitter.com/itsmeeshashafi/status/986918710991519744 Instead of the people of Pakistan sympathising with her, she was severely abused. https://twitter.com/faisalnadim88/status/986935434184978433 It is hard for people living in such environments to understand that women have no sweeping intention to malign a gender. This is just a long overdue battle for rights and a little fear can go a long way. So what changed this year? The sisterhood of victims stood tall, encouraging many others to give a voice to their darkest secrets. Closure means different things to different victims. For some it’s just an apology; for others, nothing short of justice. Either way it’s a victory. Vinta Nanda whose confessions shocked the country summed this up:

“Don’t hold yourself back. This is a moment for change so silence will only hold barriers to its evolution. Speak out. Shout out from the top of the roof.”

In Pakistan, and in my native language Urdu, woman translates into aurat, which comes from the Persian awrah, meaning “parts to be protected”. Literally, too, in my present Muslim, closed-knit, patriarchal society, women like me are guided — by their fathers, husbands, brothers, sons — to be protected from threats against their body and family honour. While these men encourage “western” trends to an extent — like education at reputable schools, recreational sports, or even temporary employment — cultural traditions halt these prospects after marriage. You are born, our men tell us, to marry fast, and vouchsafe both yourselves and your future daughters under our protection. Because culture is reinforced by practice, and because most girls in my family and neighbourhood were married off at 19 or 20, naturally I grew up understanding that my life would turn out to be largely the same. And like most families around us, my family was also wary of sending their daughters abroad for higher studies. Local education until we reached marriageable age seemed sufficient. My sister and I were taught that there were enough boys in the house to look after the family distribution business; thus, for us, a long-term career wasn’t a priority. I would, instead, have to marry well, and learn how to manage my in-laws’ household. My father, Baba, maintained from my birth that our culture was different from the ‘West’s’. He was adamant that we both expand our horizons and maintain our own set of traditional values. While our family travelled every summer to Europe or the UK, my parents were their own Pakistani selves there. At eight, I shuffled awkwardly behind Mama, who wore a traditional, full-length shalwar kameez, while Baba — his trousers religiously hitched above his ankles — stood in line to buy tickets at Disneyland Paris. Baba never reacted to the half-naked foreigners around us. He took it as a means to educate his daughters.

“People dress and live differently here,” he’d explain. “They value independence over family. We don’t. See everything, Mehreen. Gain exposure. But always stay true to your culture.”

“Don’t you know it’s Cambridge?” I argued. “People don’t go for financial reasons, and you’re stopping me because of what the people in our community will think?”

“I supported you as much as I could, Mehreen, and I’ll continue to do so of course, but every culture has its conventions.”

“Why so?” he replied, his gentle brown eyes unfazed and soothing. “You want to be a writer, and you can be. Cambridge isn’t the end game.” “But… but the networking...” I spluttered. “The contacts! The teaching! How could I be a writer without all that?”

I was told to walk straight, shoulders back and, in short, not like a man. I often talk with a natural deep voice and receive raised eyebrows in return. I have 80% male friends with whom I can just be myself and say “Aur jani, chai scene on?”. At least they create less drama in my life. I know how the clutch and gear works in a car and I am pretty quick at learning all the technical stuff (call me when your car gets too hot to handle). I am against the idea of sitting in front of aunties who expect me to be nicely dressed and well mannered, just perfect for their nikhattu boys who I will be expected to fix for the rest of my life. I am against the idea of only the daughter-in-law/wife cooking and not the husband/son,

“Beta larkiyon ki chutti nai hoti, unki double job hojati hai shadi ke baad.” (Girls don’t get holidays. After getting married, they have to work double jobs.)

“Larki bohat dubli nai hai?” (Isn’t the girl too thin?) “Kitni dieting karogi?” (How much will you diet?) “Beta kuch khao piu, agey tou aurat ki zindagi me itne masley ayenge.” (You should eat something otherwise you will face a lot of problems in your future life)

“Masley? Aap se bi barey?” (Problems? Bigger than you?)

Item 1: “Tum parhna chahti ho parh lena, bas job nai kerna. Main hun na kamaane ke liye.” (You can study if you want to but just don’t work. I am here to work and earn a living for us.) Me: “Okay?” Item 2: “I just want a pretty girl. Inter pass/A levels graduate is fine for me.” Item 3: “Parh lena shadi ke baad, job bi karlena. Par meri ami or ghar ka khayal tumhe hi karna hai. Unki koi beti nai hai na.” (You can study and work if you want. But you will have to also take care of my house and my mother since she doesn’t have a daughter.) Me: “Aur meri degree ka achar bana du ya tikka boti?” (And should I make of my degree?) “Tou mere maa baap ki khidmat karna apka farz hua, right?” (Then taking care of my parents should also be your responsibility, right?) Item 3: “Ami shareef larki ho bas. Ghar ko, apko or mujhe sambhaal le.” (Mom, the girl should just be respectful. She should be able to take care of the house, you and me.) Me: “You need a nanny, maybe?”

For every person, there is one emotion they can never handle with ease. For me, that emotion is anxiety. As I stand amidst the neon lights and blaring music, my hands are sweating profusely and my eyes dart from corner to corner in search of a means of escape. My heart is clogged with a lump that threatens to emerge in the form of tears. The atmosphere around me is so loud that I feel my own personality melting into the beats of the drums. But no matter how much I wish to, I can’t drink away the troubles of my life like these people do. My life is so much more complicated than that. Being a bartender isn’t an easy task. And if it isn’t hard enough already, the atmosphere and people make it even more difficult. The air was heavy with the smell of perfume and alcohol. The sound of popping beer cans and fizzy drinks was everywhere. But nothing bothered me more than the bulky, bearded man towards my left, covering my exit. I had waited long enough for him to move aside, and in that waiting, had worked 20 minutes over my time. I wondered when Anya would be here, so I could get out of this place. Mother and bhaiya would be worried, and baba too – if he wasn’t drunk and unconscious. The man to my left looked pretty drunk and I could easily decipher how much sense he had in him by looking at him stand with his weight pushed against the wall. I decided to squeeze through the little space he had on his right, but I was closing in when he shifted, facing me, with no escape now.

“What’s the hurry, eh?”  he asks, his words slurring.

“Why don’t we stop and chat? A cup o’coffee, whatcha say?” he asks again. “S-sir, I-I need to leave,” I say and he lets out a chuckle.

“Never put your honour at stake. We’re the Yusufzai tribe. We’ll fill empty stomachs with hope and listen to the taunts the world throws at us, but never put our women’s honour at stake. Even if that means accepting our doom in the form of death, child.”

For as long as Pakistanis can remember, Shaan Shahid has been a staple of Pakistani cinema. In the past, he was that guy in every Punjabi movie, and post-revival of Pakistani cinema, he became that guy who always ends up playing the patriot. While Shahid deserves respect as one of the most prominent actors of our film industry, his Twitter account has made it hard for us to respect much else about him. Some context: just like last year, Aurat March was held on International Women’s Day this year as well in many cities across Pakistan. And just like last year, we once again saw a lot of anger and backlash at the gall of women to hold placards. Why important women’s issues were not mentioned (they were), why women from all strata of society were not present (they were), why they were going against our culture, and so on. Many were offended and triggered by women getting to occupy public space freely without fear, and Shahid proved he was one of them. Unsurprisingly, he took to Twitter to express his distaste for the placards at the Aurat March. https://twitter.com/mshaanshahid/status/1105017961142775808 The debate over the placards is a big one, and beyond the scope of this piece. What came as a shock to us was not a man lecturing women on what is and is not appropriate, but the fact that it was Shahid who was doing so. Let’s address all of Shahid’s issues with these placards one by one. His first argument was that these slogans do not represent our culture. We do not need to add anything here; this collage of scenes from the movies Shahid himself has done in the past will perhaps accurately represent what our culture really is. We’ve all seen one of Shahid’s movies at some point or the other – sometimes to make fun of them, let’s be real – but it has not escaped anyone’s notice that these films are heavily sexualised and do not pull back any punches when it comes to objectifying women. While Shahid tries to bring up morality to silence the women who bravely took to the streets, he has forgotten the kind of movies he has done that have added further fuel to the already heavily sexualised male gaze. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="353"] Photo: Twitter/@ghauraghaura[/caption] When someone on Twitter pointed out the hypocrisy and sheer stupidity of Shahid’s argument, he was quick to get defensive. He questioned where his freedom of expression is, and irony died a painful death. After experiencing literal subjugation in Pakistani society, Shahid still does not think women should be this angry. But being called out for his questionable choices in the past, he is quick to remember that people are free to do and say as they like, as long as they are not harming anyone. And apart from the shots fired at the male ego, the placards at the Aurat March were harmless. https://twitter.com/mshaanshahid/status/1105415988550479872 Shahid also thinks a non-actor cannot comment on movies (film critics need to start looking for new jobs), but for some reason still believes his opinion on the Aurat March should hold value? By his own logic, as he is not a woman, he does not get to say what is or is not appropriate. Who died and made him the King of the world? He earned his fame and wealth from exploiting women’s bodies and sexuality in movies and now has the gall to point fingers when women are reclaiming public spaces? That’s utterly hypocritical! https://twitter.com/mshaanshahid/status/1105546899258568705 His second argument was that these placards do not represent our values. Remind us, what are our values? Ensuring women do not have any liberties? That they stay inside the house, for when they come out one day of the year, their very existence is perceived as a threat? Do our values move beyond telling women what they can or cannot do? You may not like what the placards said, but please acknowledge that just because something does not fit in to your values, does not mean it doesn’t matter and should not exist. Women being sexually abused and exploited on a regular basis is an active part of our values that Shahid can live with, but talking about it is where he draws the line on ‘vulgarity’. Lastly, Shahid suggested these slogans do not reflect ‘the respect we have for our women’. One wonders, what respect is he talking about? Pakistan is one of the worst countries in the world to be a woman. We are all physically unsafe – we literally cannot go outside to buy milk without fear. We are economically dependent, politically isolated. We are angry, and the one day we get to vent our frustrations and injustices, Shahid wants to talk about the respect women literally do not see anywhere around them? If the options are between a Pakistan where Shahid thinks women are respected and one where women actually feel safe or are respected, we’ll take the latter please, thank you. https://twitter.com/nakaamrade/status/1105768640752898048 It’s easy to have an opinion on the Aurat March, but if you are not a woman and the slogans do not represent your lived experience, please show how you respect women for just one day of the year by shutting the hell up. Shahid talks about how he respects the Aurat March, but if he cannot respect the different facets that exist to women and their freedom to express themselves, then he doesn’t really, does he? Women are allowed to march here, as long as they stay within the lane. But if we do not expect anything radical from women marching, why march at all? Without knowing the context of these placards and the stories behind them, and without going through what women go through in Pakistan every day, if you cannot even give us one day to just be, maybe it's time we reevaluate our culture and our values. Because men have that freedom everyday.

Her heels clicked as she briskly walked on the cemented sidewalk. It grew darker and darker as the sun drowned behind the mountains. The shadows grew taller and the evening got chillier. Her hair flowed back freely as the wind blew through it. She clutched her shawl closely to her chest, accumulating as much warmth as possible as her flimsy chiffon dress was not doing a very good job. The streets were deserted, no car or pedestrian in sight. It almost seemed like it was midnight rather than twilight. As the last line of light disappeared from the horizon, little stars began to twinkle in the navy sky. They danced around the beautiful moon that seemed to be making its grand entry from behind the mountains. The night was beautiful but it was getting late. She should have been home by now. She took a turn through a dark alley as a shortcut; little did she know this shortcut would cut her life short. The darkness was overwhelming, the street light seemed to have been broken. A loud bang resounded behind her, startling her. She turned around to find a trashcan fallen on the floor, but there was no one there. Strange, must have been a stray cat. She turned back and continued to walk. But something did not feel quite right, her mind kept thinking about the cause behind the sound. For some strange reason, she refused to believe it was a stray cat that caused the trash can to call. A revolting feeling arose in her gut; it felt like something or someone was watching her. Her heart raced as she quickened her pace. The feeling grew stronger and stronger. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. Her eyes widened in fear as she began to hear loud, heavy footsteps behind her. She broke into a run, it didn’t matter what way she was going anymore, all that mattered was that she got out of there as soon as possible. It was not long before her feet failed her and she fell flat on her hands. Tears began to flow down her face. She felt weak and nauseous and unable to get up. Trembling, she turned around to see a dark figure approaching her. Shadows covered his face but she could tell he was grinning. Her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest. She begged him to let her go but he paid no heed to her pleas.  He stood over her like a tower, with his tall masculine figure. She tried to back away but it was of no use, it was a dead end. She wanted to scream but no sound left her mouth. The last thing she saw was him leaning down to grab her by the hair. After that, it was all dark.

America is an exceptionally confusing place. Doctors in Alabama can now face up to 99 years in prison for performing an abortion, whereas people like poster boy Stanford swimmer Brock Turner face six months (three due to good behaviour) for being a rapist. Political party culture and conflicting ideologies have been the root of heated debates surrounding life, death, and the disturbing reality that 25 men can tell a woman what to do with her body in the 21^st century, and a judge can write a law on abortion in God’s name in a country where church and state are separated. It’s no secret that these new abortion laws are the most extreme this country has ever seen, at least since Roe v Wade, and both women and doctors can be charged as criminals for receiving and performing abortions respectively. If taken effect, the Georgia law could have a negative effect even on women who miscarry, and both the doctor and mother would have to go under criminal investigation for the miscarriage. https://twitter.com/SenWarren/status/1130889199949889536 Under these new laws, states are looking to overturn the aforementioned Supreme Court case which, as seen in precedent, violates the right to privacy implied in the First, Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Ninth Amendments of the US Constitution. Even with these constitutional violations, was it not also established in the American Revolution that church and state are separate? Then why are we reversing progress? https://twitter.com/ABC7Amarillo/status/1131945831182082049 The only place where religion is incorporated into the constitution or has any sort of place in politics is through its implication of natural rights, which protect life, liberty, and property. The idea that life begins at conception is an ecclesiastical belief and can’t be incorporated with political ideologies; in other words, church and state are separate, and last time I checked, controlling a woman’s body was said neither in the Bible nor the Constitution. Regardless of the fact that these abortion laws are incredibly expensive and invasive, the pro-life arguments have become far beyond contradictory, and equating the life of a foetus to a human being is simply illogical and absurd. To force a woman to sacrifice her body for nine months and dedicate her life to that child for 18 years is desperately unethical: an individual can’t even sacrifice his body to give blood or donate organs unless he consents to the procedure. These new laws force women to accept less bodily autonomy than a dead body donating organs. The value of that embryo simply cannot be equated to the value of the mother or even a child. To give a simple explanation, if you’re in a fertility clinic and the fire alarm goes off, would you save the four-year-old child in the corner fearing for his life, or a container of 1,000 embryos in a quickly burning building, given that you can only save one? The choice becomes clear: the argument here is not whether the embryo is alive, it is that one cannot equate the value of an embryo to the value of a child or a mother, and these bans on abortions from rape or incest are more likely to put the mother’s life at risk. The fact of the matter is that if a woman has decided she does not want to be pregnant, she will do whatever is in her power to get an abortion, even if that means putting her life at risk. https://twitter.com/Mikel_Jollett/status/1128483834457051136 Abortions will occur regardless of the restrictions placed on them, and unsafe abortions simply lead to a higher risk of injury or death of the mother. The restriction on abortions will just lead to more people like Dr Kermit Gosnell, a physician who killed three infants and a woman through malpractice and provided illegal abortions to women who had no access to safe ones. Statistics show that when countries provide safe, legal access to abortion, the rates of abortion are typically lower. In Switzerland, for example, a progressive and liberal country which provides almost no restrictions to abortion, the rate is approximately five abortions per thousand women, the lowest in the world. On the contrary, in Pakistan, a country which only permits abortion in the case of saving the woman’s life or due to her physical or mental health and has limited access to healthcare and birth control, the rate is a staggering 50 abortions per thousand women. https://twitter.com/AOC/status/1128890390982123522 If the US succeeds in its attempts to stop the termination of pregnancy, what happens next? Who pays for the doctors’ appointments if the mother can’t even afford rent? Who helps the millions of children stuck in foster care, in cycles of being abused day in and day out? Who will fund the education of this child, or sex education for teenagers and birth control? Who funds for scientific research for male birth control? What role will the government have in ensuring the quality of life for this child, who they begged to give life to? In the United States specifically, if states choose to place more limitations on abortion, they must give more funding for healthcare and the foster care system and provide better access to birth control to prevent such cases, and the pro-life argument must be carried through to after the birth of the child. https://twitter.com/BMcCarthy32/status/1128486599241584640 In other words, if a woman chooses to give her child up for adoption because she cannot abort it, the child could be placed in the foster care system, an overcrowded and often abusive place for a child. A study of foster children in Oregon and Washington State found that nearly one third reported being abused by a foster parent or another adult in a foster home. If the government forces the mother to give birth to the child, it must ensure that the child is somehow able to live safely under the foster care system or ensure that the parent can provide for her own child. To pro-lifers: consenting to sex does not mean consenting to pregnancy, and the value of an embryo comes nowhere near to the value of a woman and her body.

The 70s was a golden era for the silver screen in Pakistan – the wave of retro glamour queens. These women redefined the cinematic footprint marking the future of Pakistani cinema in decades to come. By the 1950s, the young urban rebels of Pakistan had begun to veer away from the staunch rightist saint culture of the 50s to the leftist hippie culture of the 60s. Growing up as a 70s child was fascinating. Music became significantly prominent alongside populist political movements, as rallies become a cultural under-belly of fanfare, glamour and style. The cinema of that era, now known as Lollywood, was a haven for the modern youth. Television in the 70s was dominated by the flamboyant Zia Mohyeddin on PTV dressed in flowery Led Zeppelin-like attires. The real magic of the swinging 70s, however, was the glamorous rule of the iconic queens of the silver screen. These ladies belong to the era when Pakistani cinema was exceptionally renowned and considered better than Bollywood. Looking at these female stars on the silver screen, I was extremely inspired and all I knew was that I wanted to grow up and meet them. One of these actresses was Perveen Rizvi from Karachi, better known as Sangeeta, discovered as a child star in 1969. Her directorial debut was in 1976 with Society Girl. With hits such as Waaris, Waardaat, Kohinoor, Raja Rani and Naag Muni, she spanned 40 years in the industry and was a six-time recipient of the Nigar Award. Her sister, Nasreen Rizvi, more commonly known as Kaveeta, was  also a famous actress of the 70s. Kaveeta, too, ignited the screens with over 70 films including hits such as Yeh Kaisa Ishq, Thori Si Bewafayee, Aaj aur Abhee and Ishq Ishq. Both sisters had a huge following during the 70s and 80s. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="503"] Photo: Pinterest[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="536"] Photo: Pinterest[/caption] Another legendary actress of the 70s and 80s was Shabnam, the trail-blazer of the decade. Born in Dhaka, she settled in Karachi in 1968, after the enormous success of her film Chanda in both East and West Pakistan. Shabnam worked with all the leading actors of the time and her film with co-star Nadeem Baig attained the most success. Her hits include Ladla, Talaash , Bandish and Aina, which went on to become the longest running Pakistani film in the 60s and 70s. In her illustrious career of over three decades with over 180 films, she was the undisputed winner of the Nigar Award (13 times) and three times winner of the Pakistan National Award. With countless hits, Shabnam was the 'Queen of Romance' and the most successful silver screen actress of Pakistan till the late 80s. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="709"] Photo: Online[/caption] Another famous icon of the late 70s was Bindiya. Well-known for her abilities as an English newscaster on PTV, she first excelled on TV and later sought fame in theater and films. Known as Parveen Babi, she continued a successful career till the early 90s, with blockbuster films such as Yadon Ki Baraat, Nazrana and her super hit film Bara Aadmi with Mohammad Ali.  She moved to the United States in 1991 and later returned to work in the famous TV series Taakey Ki Aye Gi Baraat. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="672"] Photo: Pinterest[/caption] The Pakistani silver screen is also remembered for introducing the most famous on-screen couple in our cinema history. Married to famous actor Mohammad Ali, film-screen beauty Shaheen Bano became famous as the iconic Zeba Begum. Together, the couple shared the screen on super hit films such as Insan Aur Aadmi, Insaf Aur Qanoon and Tum Miley Pyar Mila. Spanning a hugely successful career (1966-1989) and three times winner of the Nigar Award, Zeba was also the recipient of the Millennium Award in 1999. One of the most graceful screen actresses of Pakistani cinema, she made her last film appearance in 1989. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="602"] Photo: Pinterest[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="507"] Photo: Pinterest[/caption] Deeba, the mother of the famous actor Shaan, was another leading film actress of the 70s with features in both Urdu and Punjabi films. With huge hits, namely Sajna Door Diya, Ansoo , Ek Raat, Laila Majnu and Jageer, she attained major success and packed houses in all famous cinemas of Karachi. Deeba had her biggest career hit in 1981 with Qurbani. Raani, or Nasira Sarfraz, was one of the most beautiful actresses ever to grace the silver screen. Her dream to become a playback singer took her beyond that realm, into a sensational actress. Her first leading role was with screen icon Waheed Murad in Saaz Aur Awaaz. In the late 1970s, she married the famous Pakistani cricketer Sarfaraz Nawaz, and tragically passed away after being diagnosed with cancer in the late 80s. Winner of the Nigar Award for best actress in 1968, and then again in 1983, she will be remembered as a glamorous actress of the 70s. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="800"] Photo: Radio Gov Pak[/caption] Out of the divas of the 70s and 80s, one such icon was Babra Sharif. Versatile and glamorous as she was, Babra captured the hearts of millions. Starting as a model in TV commercials, she ventured on to the big screen in the early 70s with her debut performance in Intezar. Her hit films included Mera Naam Hai Muhabbat, Kundan, Miss Columbo, Bhool, Shabana, Mukhra, Sangdil, Salakhain and Miss Bangkok, all of them earning the Nigar Award. She also worked in the first Sci-Fi film made in Pakistan. Babra worked with all male leads, including Mohammad Ali, Waheed Murad, Nadeem, Ghulam Mohiuddin and Shahid Hameed, whom she married in 1978. She was an intelligent, gorgeous and lively actress and was awarded the Lux Beauty Icon Award in 2003, representing the glamorous world of Lux on their 50 years celebration. Women have dominated the cultural and entertainment genre in Pakistan and continue to dominate the cinemas. With many new talents now at the forefront, we are yet again reminded of the great queens of the 70s cinema, who started it all.

Whether it is the fashion industry with their unrealistic beauty standards, politics with their manifestos and sham alliances, biased education systems with fixed agendas or desperate-for-profit corporations and their misleading claims, we are on the receiving end of tons of lies everyday. Despite honesty being a virtue everyone strives for, dishonesty is omnipresent.  However, I aim to specifically shed light at what the honesty of women means under the patriarchy, the forced and institutionalised dishonesty they have to engage in under this system and what affect that has on them. I argue that women are expected to lie all their lives. These lies take various forms and are so embedded in our lives that they are barely noticeable. Adrienne Rich, an American essayist, authored a paper titled ‘Women and Honour’ in 1977, in which she claimed that for women, their honesty is nothing more than loyalty to a man. According to Adrienne, honesty for men has always been about facts while for women, it’s about chastity or fidelity. It is true that historically, honesty has never been an important characteristic for us, as long as we have remained loyal to our men. It's a pity that a value as crucial as honesty is reduced to the degree of my loyalty to my man. We invest a lot of our time and effort making changes to our physical appearance in order to modify various features of our bodies that are supposed to look a certain way according to patriarchal beauty standards. These standards have been fed to us through various platforms such as the digital media and the print media, and as we consume these on a daily basis, our conditioning of how a female body should look like grows stronger. We are expected to lie with our bodies; to bleach and redden our skin, pluck our hair, shave and so on. Engaging in these alterations become so common that most of us do it without even questioning the obvious force behind it. Just like we are expected to lie with our bodies, we lie to our bodies too under the patriarchy. All our lives, our sexual desires have been curbed in various ways; either physically through female circumcision or mentally by stigmatising the right of a woman to be sexually liberated. Being sexually active for a woman has been demonised to such an extent that anyone engaging in it is seen as a deviant. Having a libido has been so suppressed that we resort to being secretive about our sexual activities. If not secretive, we are far from being explicit about our sex drive in the fear of coming off as too 'desperate'. The stigmatisation of us as sexual beings is so ubiquitous that the idea of having desires to be fulfilled in bed is significantly erased and our want for sexual favours is silenced to such an extent that we feel like we're ‘asking for too much’ while talking about it. The sole purpose of sexual intercourse then becomes pleasing the man only. In fact, in the ancient times, women were not even allowed to express the joy obtained through intercourse and were expected to lie motionless through the process. Fast forward a few centuries later, women fake orgasms to please their men. The act has largely been transformed but the underlying motive remains the same — to serve our men. Sexual intercourse isn’t the only aspect of our lives where we are supposed to be silent and pretend we're content. All of our post-marital life is often times a lie where we are tremendously silenced about our emotional, mental and physical abuse. In fact, in most cases, we don’t even recognise the emotional and mental abuse because of how normalised it has become and accept it as a part of our fate. We live the lie of a happy marriage for as long as we can. In cultures where we have to live with our in-laws after marriage, the behaviour towards them is, often times, a façade. Even in cases where they’re not mentally taxing, the frustration of having extra members of the family to look after, care for and the lack of privacy that follows, all has to be concealed and what remains is merely a performance that we engage in every single day of our lives. The culture of forced dishonesty among us has gotten to the point where it is essential to tell lies merely to survive. Without even realising, we are all always telling lies to the men around us. These men do not include those we are romantically or sexually involved with. These men include the police, our bosses or guards; essentially, any man who has power over us. In fact, the lies we tell seem less like lies but more of a tool that's crucial to carry wherever we are, wherever we go. Without the tool of dishonesty, we run the risk of multiple events. Almost every single day, we encounter instances where, unless we lie about having a male partner accompanying us, we know the situation can worsen. From lying about having a boyfriend in our Instagram messages to keep unknown men from repeatedly messaging us, to lying to men in public places about having our fathers waiting for us in our cars. Unless men are told that a member of their gender, and hence having the same power and privileges as them, is our escort, there lies the risk of us not being taken seriously when averting unwanted gestures. At the end of the day, it’s not about the lies we tell our men and how that affects us or our relationships. Instead, it is about the possibility of increased trust, friendship and life we are creating among ourselves as we tell each other the truth. When we tell the truth, we are creating the space for more truth around us; we are attempting to enhance the possibility of love and existence around ourselves. Our aim, if nothing else, should be to be truthful to ourselves, with ourselves, for ourselves.

Her backache is better, and she is feeling relieved for more than one reason. An hour ago, Azra got an Intrauterine Contraceptive Device (IUCD) which she calls a challa (ring) inserted, with her own free will; the IUCD will potentially give her a break of five years from conceiving a child. This 30-plus years old mother of three, who does not know even her own exact age, knows well now that to remain healthy to look after her three children, and to possibly give birth to healthy children in the future, her body needs a break. Azra had come to the Naudero Rural Health Centre (RHC), District Larkana, Sindh, complaining of bleeding for the last eight days. The medical staff, after an ultrasound, told her she had been pregnant since nine weeks and her pregnancy could no longer be sustained. This was her second miscarriage. As her dilation and curettage was performed, she also got the IUCD inserted. She says,

“My husband did not want me to use a permanent method of contraception as we may want to have children after a gap of some years,”

“One of our focuses presently is to encourage women to go for long-term contraceptives, like we did for Azra.”

“Once they leave the hospital after delivery, they rarely come back. Reasons are many. Lack of mobility, lack of resources to pay for transport to reach the hospital, lack of awareness – these are all deterrents.”

“Contraception should be carried out within 24 to 48 hours after delivery or DNC, and within ten minutes after the placenta is expelled. That is the best time to do it otherwise most women do not come back for follow up.”

“Attitudes vary greatly across ethnicities and demographics matter a lot. Social attitudes and changing mindsets remain some of the biggest challenges. Now women are becoming aware enough to themselves giving permission to get contraceptives. However male involvement is still deep-rooted, as are the pressures of in-laws. One of the biggest tasks of LHWs is counseling the families.”

“Over 20 years as an LHW, I have visited thousands of houses, often visiting 15 houses a day. And I have seen how the awareness about family planning has grown exponentially. Initially people were so skeptical of LHWs visiting and counseling them, especially about FP, that they would not even touch the Paracetamol we sometimes gave them for pain or fever. The mother-in-laws in particular felt we are part of some sinister scheme to stop their daughters-in-law from having children.”

“Women are raised in the community to accept patriarchy and gender inequality, letting go off their rights to choose for themselves. This further empowers men and other household figures, like mothers-in-law, to decide about potential size of families.”