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Karak District: So, can women shop here or not?

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When we talk about women empowerment, our society, not unlike others, is divided between two extremes — those who go to extreme lengths to establish female independence even at the cost of others and those who enforce patriarchal authority. Then there are the women this society is fighting for. Ironically enough, these women are not asked by either side about what they want. Recently, during Friday sermons in Karak, four clerics took a decision to restrict women from entering bazaars without a male family member accompanying them. The decision sparked debates over news, social media and even managed to enter our homes. We were told just how lucky we were to live in a city where women were not restricted to their houses. The story further stated that the Karak District Police Officer refused to impose such orders and that women in Karak were free to go to bazaars on their own. I do not approve of what the clerics spoke of that day, but the issue, as I was told, was not based on ‘spreading vulgarity in the holy month of Ramazan’. As rumour has it, due to the increase in robberies at these bazaars by people disguised in burkhas, the clerics stated that the men should keep an eye on where their women were going, so as to decrease the probability of these crimes occurring again. The newspapers, however, got creative in reporting the incident and framed it to their liking. One even went as far as to say that the DPO banned women after the demand made by the clerics, while others hinted at militant presence in the area. After the news, women in Karak are now actually afraid of stepping out alone. They feel that if they do, they will be punished. A place once safe is now feared to be infested with extremists. Bazaars are low in business in the festive season and shopkeepers are confused as to what all the fuss is about. When we sit on the sidelines and comment on a city we haven’t been to, on traditions we have not heard of before and mindsets we cannot imagine, our statements become redundant. What was not a big deal in the district itself, made the headlines in newspapers across the country. The locals were appalled and continued to defend their area but we went on painting a sour picture of the region. No one, however, bothered to see the other side of the story. It’s about time we learned that two extremes do not make a positive.



Don’t hate me because I am beautiful

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Azaan’s over. Everyone has gone back to their rooms. The street’s a mess. I smile as a jalebi floats in a puddle nearby. People rarely treat food with respect anymore. I take out a cigarette and begin to light it. Bloody cigarettes; they’ve started costing me more than my clients pay me to begin with! One of the girls, Razia, walks out the curtain-door and sits next to me. My lighter isn’t working again! Damn it! God bless Razia for handing me hers. We both stretch our legs over the stairs, lean back and take long drawls of our cigarettes. We barely ever talk. We just bond over the sunrise, a good smoke and some time off from work. I look at my feet; chipped nail paint. I’ll probably scrape this off. I need to save up for a new paranda. Damn my life to hell! Ramazan really slows down the business. When was the last time I observed a fast? Was it five years ago? Or maybe ten? This habit of smoking has really affected my memory. I scrape some plaque off my teeth and scrub my fingers against a brick nearby. Razia is speaking. “I think we need a new sink.” I nod. “Baji, how long have you been here?” “Long enough.” “Does it get better?” “It would; if they made good cigarettes” She laughs. “Baji, how did you come here?” I love this story. It’s the kind of story I’ve told everyone. My friends can empathise with it; my employers acknowledge it; my housemates understand it; my juniors worship me for it, and my peers respect me because of it. “I’m tired. We’ll talk another day.” “Baji, I’ll braid your hair.” I’m sold to that notion. I love being pampered. Without another thought, I undo my hair fling my locks in her face and begin to talk. “I came here when I was five. My Amma dropped me off one day. We lived right there, outside Lahore, somewhere near the river. I think Islamabad. I was very posh, you know. No, no, I think it was Karachi. I don’t quite recall. Sigh! Let it go. Amma told me I was with new siblings. I was five, but I adjusted. The Baji before me was kind. She told me I was a beauty! Believe me, larki! I was fair as the moon! The wretched Lahore sun has burnt my beautiful face! Anyhow, you see my hair? They were like a fairy’s - so long and light! And my dance! Wah wah! People loved it. Do you know? A minister came to me once! He loved my dance so much that he sent pocket money for a year! That is how your Baji bought her home.” I lovingly look at my dilapidated house. I just recently had it painted yellow and blue on the outside. What’s Lahore without a bit more color? “Anyway, you see my hands? They were as supple as a baby’s bottom! Days and days of hard work ruined them. But they are still very beautiful, you see. I moisturise them with bleaching creams every day. I’ve worked hard, larki. I’ve seen people you haven’t; I’ve seen Lahore like you never will.” Razia gazes down and draws circles in the mud. “Baji, ever since I came here, I’ve always respected you.” “Of course, you have!” “I want to be like you one day.” “Your hair isn’t as nice. Your hands aren’t as soft and your features aren’t as smooth as mine.” “Baji, am I beautiful?” “Obviously, but not as beautiful as me!” “I think I need a walk.” “Bring me some gutka.” With Razia gone, I begin to think. My whole life, I’ve been flawless. I haven’t been accepted. I haven’t even been told I’m pretty. I’ve been ridiculed, I’ve been shamed. People have laughed at my dances; they’ve laughed at my way of life. Yet, I know, I am beautiful. I’m beautiful because I respect myself. I have the sort of dignity you wouldn’t believe. I can shut you up and you’d laugh. But you’d know; you’d know better than to mess with Baji again. A couple of young boys walk by. They look at me, whisper something and snigger. I know what they’re thinking, all too well. I throw a slipper at them and shout. "Arey o launday! Don’t call me a khusra! I’m a Khawaja Sarraah."


Can I please please please blog on ET?

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Call me a wannabe or a passionate writer who wants to break into a robust blogosphere sprawling across Pakistan; either way, I am shameless and relentless to the core. I will keep on coming back again and again, no matter how many times I get this message from the moderators:

“Hi, Thank you for your interest in The Express Tribune. Having read your post, we feel as though it doesn't quite fit our section. Thus, I regret to inform you that we will not be running this particular piece. Please write to us on a different topic. Thank you for your consideration. Kind regards, XXXXXXXX”
Such messages come in all shapes, forms and sizes from ladies of different shapes and sizes (going by their profile pictures). One of the pearl of wisdom that I received from their side was:
“We received your blog and I regret to inform you that we will not be running it. We are looking for more positive pieces for August 14. Also the opening is very confusing, almost like a tongue twister. Thanks for your consideration. We hope you will write to us on a different topic.”
Here is another one:
“Having read your post, we feel as though the topic is good, but it falls short in execution and analysis. Thus, I regret to inform you that we will not be running this particular piece. Please write to us on a different topic. Thank you for your consideration.”
Someone put it this way:
“I regret to inform you that we will not be taking your blog, the reason being we’ve already carried two posts on Aamir Liaquat. You write well and we do hope that you will send us pieces on different topics.”
Others in this manner:
“Thank you for writing in to us. I wanted to let you know that, though your blog post is good and makes a very valid point, I regret to inform you that we will not be running it as we have already accepted another very similar post.”
With rejection pouring in thick and fast from the opposite sex, I soon realised that I have become a male chauvinist. It is one thing to be snubbed by the male species as compared to being rejected by a lady. I must admit, at first I showered a whole vocabulary of cuss words on the blog desk for not entertaining my posts only to realise later that the blogs they select are far superior, well written and/or apt for the occasion. And, that I believe was a learning curve for me to improve my skills while writing for my personal blog. Despite being rejected on a number of occasions I still incessantly write to The Express Tribune blogs as they get me hooked with occasional remarks like:
“You write well!”
Or healing my failure with a mellow:
“Have a nice day!”
Another thing that I noticed during the phase of submitting my blogs on various blogging platforms across Pakistan is that in comparison with the rest, the team at The Express Tribune blogs expeditiously reply to a random writer and give the occasional valuable advice for improvement to boot. Not that I want a job at ET, as I have a lot of things to do in life but I want to sincerely thank Miss ‘Z’, Miss ‘I’, Miss ‘E’, Miss ‘B’ and other ladies working at Express Tribune blogs who haven’t yet had the privilege of rejecting my piece, for developing a progressive blogging community that encourages new ideas and justifies freedom of speech in letter and spirit. Being an ardent follower of Malcolm Gladwell’s philosophy of ‘the 10,000 hours rule’, I believe I have got my work cut out before I can realise my dream of contributing for the coveted Huffington Post. If this piece by any chance gets published then I have a long gratifying speech prepared to flatter the ET blog team. Otherwise, as usual I would resort to my typewriter to jot down new ideas, finding solace in Quaid-e-Azam’s famous quote on this Independence Day:
“Failure is a word unknown to me.”

Being a woman: Why does marriage equal lifetime security?

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“You’ll be left alone, to rot in a corner of the house owned by your brothers and their families.” “There’s a time when you’re wanted, and it doesn’t last long.” “People will ask questions like why our 'peghla lur' (young daughter)’ is still not taken!”
Are you familiar with such statements? No? Unfortunately I am.  And so is every other girl of my area who is in her mid-twenties, educated …. but still not ‘taken.’ I remember the time when I passed my Matric exam. I had aimed to study at the best college of the province and I somehow managed to fulfil this dream. I had never seen it before, only heard about it- from no one else but my parents. They were the only people to give me dreams, make me ambitious and then put every effort to help me make my dreams come true. I belong to an area where the optimum education for most of the girls is till the Matric or Intermediate level; I was given the opportunity to study further. From books to clothes to travelling to the other town and back, from admissions to exams to interviews, provision of good education is not an easy task. Not only in terms of money but also in terms of security. It involves great courage and faith for parents to send their daughters away. It is a big responsibility especially  in our society where gherat (dignity) starts with matters related to women and ends there too; where the educated or professional women are not given the equal amount of respect as those wrapped in a shawl and sitting near the hearth are given . Anyway time passes… Now I’m a graduate – more confident, energetic and ambitious.  Time, education and good teachers have given me a different perspective, a broader vision, spirit to do more and go further. Opportunities for a brighter career and a better future lie ahead of me. I aim to get a good job and secure a scholarship for my further studies to make the dream - which my parents and I had seen together come true. However, something blocks my way: proposals for marriage. Suitors of all sorts … a successful cloth merchant with daily income of Rs10, 000… a UK return guy who had to come back as they won’t extend his visa but he has that UK tag… HR officer in a local NGO….  An MBBS doctor …. And I keep on begging and saying,
“But, I need a little more time to complete my education.”
Parents when they grow older, become more insecure and impatient. They won’t listen to the girls and force them to accept one of the proposals --this coercion is an emotional one: showing an ugly picture of the future of a single woman;  complaining about the social pressure; arguing that no matter what, her final destination is the Kitchen; convincing  that the satisfaction of a happy husband and children is far more than personal fulfillment through education and achievement;  moaning the questions raised about the honor of the family believing she doesn’t get married because there is some “problem “ with the  girl; and the most important one - education has ruined her mind and she is no more a family-woman. Call it love, or fear, or concern, or respect, or any other emotion - it can make the girl yield to the wishes of the family. So I give up. As I leave my home behind heading to new life, I leave my dreams and ambitions along with my degree and transcripts in a file up in a shelf of my father’s cupboard. I will become a wife, daughter/sister in law, mother and everything else – but what I ever wished to be. However, what pains me is that why can we not dare to get out of the typical social structure? WE give our daughters dreams, but then we are the ones who stand in their way. Why don’t we let them complete their education, when we set them on the road to education, why do we give-up in the middle? Why are we scared of the future? Why do we think the only secure future is one with a husband? Why don’t we trust that women are individuals and can manage themselves as well, when properly educated? Why do we force them to marry men who are not intellectually on the same level as them? When we allow them everything till they are about 24-25-years-old why do we suddenly become misers when allowing them two or three more years? Why is a woman at the age of 28/29 years socially old when physically and biologically she is perfectly young? Why do we fear that an educated woman won’t fit in the family just because she won’t blindly obey what she is asked to do? Why do we forget to understand that education makes a woman a more understanding wife, a more sensible mother? We need to re-address our codes and values and remove the confusion in our minds that education does no harm to women; it does not upset the family structure nor does it poison the minds. If we enable the women to question, understand and rationalise things then we should trust their judgments, dreams and decisions too.

Pakistan must learn from India: Dark skin doesn’t make you ugly

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I recently came across an online movement called 'Dark is Beautiful', a campaign that has drawn attention towards the unjust effects of skin colour discrimination in India. The campaign features famous Indian actress Nandita Das who has urged women to throw out their fairness creams and abandon the belief that dark skin is ugly.  I was quite surprised to find that Nandita is perhaps the only actress to have resolutely decided to keep her dusky skin tone, despite the demands of the ruthless entertainment industry where there is an explicit preference for light skinned actors. The same stands true about Pakistani society - we are also obsessed with fair skin. Like many facets of our society which is built around hypocrisy, opulent display of wealth and a growing divide between the have’s and have not’s, there is also a clear disparity of 'fair' and 'dark' complexion of women. Racism runs deep in the subcontinent’s history, with its roots intertwined with caste and colonialism. It is no surprise that this finds expression in consumer and corporate advertising today. We live in a country where a culture of preferring a son over a daughter is already prevalent. Daughters are neglected and are many a times not given the permission to make important decisions, choose a life partner or to receive proper education, which is their fundamental right. Women are often expected to give away their right on ancestral property to their brothers. In such a society, women are brought up by internalising a notion within them, that the day they will get married, they will attain their freedom back. As long as they keep their husbands and the in-laws happy, everything that they were deprived of in their father’s house will be handed over to them at their new abode. The sooner they get married, the quicker their chance of having a good life will begin. Therefore, a majority of women from the time of their puberty, start focusing on their colour and body image. Teen girls try to fit in by having the newest clothing, fairer and flawless skin, and perfect bodies, all the while trying to be cool and popular. They worry more about their appearance than their academic work. Therefore, the girls who are not able to keep up with this fashion begin to suffer from low self esteem and lack of confidence. Many other women are put down by others; their social standing is degraded and sadly these women do not stand up for their rights or fight back. One in every four females aged between 11 and 17 is weighed down by the pressure to conform to an 'ideal notion' of how they should look, a survey suggests. Five per cent of girls say they hate the way they look, and a further 20 per cent say 'there is a lot I would change'. Negative comments about their appearance from others, especially their own mothers, contribute largely to the lack of confidence in these girls. The results have been interpreted to suggest that the lack of confidence among young women will mean that thousands fail to achieve their professional potential. For me, it is not just an issue of self confidence and self esteem alone. There’s more to it. I have personally come across many girls who have experienced adverse side-effects from the continual use of these fairness and bleach creams in order to find the ‘perfect rishta’ (marriage proposal). Some of them have gone to greater lengths to lighten their skin colour, even resorting to the use of steroids. Most fairness creams contain mercury which can easily penetrate into the skin and reduce the amount of melanin, making the skin more vulnerable to UV rays by thinning it. This may lead to serious problems like skin cancer, muscle weakness, osteoporosis and in case of pregnant women, it can cause damage to the foetus and the nervous system. However, despite warnings from experts and several reports highlighting the dangers of using products that contain harmful ingredients, the demand does not seem to be lessening and the credit for this goes to aggressive advertisement campaigns by the corporate sector. The media and clever marketers play a huge role in influencing young girls, by getting popular female media personalities to endorse their fairness brands. Most of these advertisement campaigns are designed to 'hook' gullible women into believing that happiness, success and romance are connected with having a fairer skin. Hopefully things will change and get better. It is campaigns like ‘Dark is Beautiful’ which establish steps in the right direction. I believe we should have a similar campaign in Pakistan to stand up against such notions that generate discrimination based on skin colour. It should be supported by top models and actresses like Aamina Sheikh, Eraj, Sunita Marshall, Neha Ahmed - women who are gorgeous and comfortable in their skin. We need these influential celebrities to educate the masses and help change the way young girls perceive and embrace beauty. It is obvious that we need to take some action and help young girls understand that looks don't always matter. What matters is having a strong character, a resilient will and an undying force within yourself through your talents and abilities - the beauty inside you. [poll id="284"]


What do Pakistan and India share? No respect for women

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They call us independent, free nations. Pakistan and India, after 60 odd years of being ruled by the white man, has been unable to break free of one acute problem: The white woman. Whether it is by selling our lovely brown women fairness creams and coloured lenses or by introducing at least one beautiful American/British girl into the storyline of your favourite drama/movie, the focus on the white woman is taking a slightly grotesque turn. The line between fascination and obsession is smudged as I go through the account of a CNN report where a female student from the University of Chicago talks about being groped, harassed and even masturbated at (publicly) during her few months in India. She explains how she was stared at, photographed, stalked, and how her experiences landed her in a psych ward for two weeks. Her roommate even escaped a rape attempt. My snap response to reading that piece was horror, of course, but also a sad shake of the head: this is what every Pakistani/Indian woman goes through every day. If an average South Asian woman has the misfortune of not having a car or a driver or an armed guard to protect her from leers and catcalls (or from rape for that matter), she is left to fend for herself. If an average American/British/Caucasian woman has the misfortune of having the curiosity of discovering India, she should do so with a chastity belt or under a burqa, if need be, because she is going to be stared at. She is going to be stalked. She is going to be followed. She is going to have to dress down, not because she is ashamed of being white, but because she is afraid of being white. She is going to have to grow thicker skin. She is going to have to understand that had she been a white man, she would not have to fear the drool on anyone’s lips. Earlier in 2004, an Australian woman was murdered and raped in India. White women have been bringing this issue to attention and India’s sexual harassment problem has reached a point where it needs to be addressed, not just for local women but for any woman who wants to pay India a visit. The real problem is that India is not safe for women, period. Once you paint it white, the problem just becomes a fully fledged danger. And like our boundaries, Pakistan also shares India’s ugly fascination for “gori chamri” (white skin). You can use a white girl to sell anything in this part of the world. You can use her to sell sex (pornography) or even surma (or insert anything that has nothing to do with the Western culture). Men have been known to proclaim that bedding a ‘white chicks’ is a conquest, no less. The white woman is a fantasy; something that has been built within the minds of Indo-Pak men since adolescence. The root cause of such pathetic obsessions can be explained by either a subservient mindset or a love for our masters which we will probably take another few decades to get over. It could also be quite simply explained with the rampant problem of sexism and objectifying women. Any culture, subculture or social structure that objectifies women, the way Indo-Pak cinema and society does, cannot be too far away from such crimes against women. While Indian cinema is filled with women (fair and dark alike) jiggling their hips to latest tunes, few flicks can survive with a dark, non make-upped woman playing a strong, independent protagonist. Once an actresses crosses the tender age of ‘appearing in her twenties’ she is shelved. Men pick on women because society itself gives carte blanche to such atrocious behaviour. We institutionalise violence against women (marital rape is still not considered a criminal offense under the Indian Penal Code) and propagate it by making a woman an object of a man’s lust and not his respect. We are a society (this includes both India and Pakistan) which considers women inferior and powerless, of lesser brains and even lesser strength, having a lower stature. Marriage, work, friendships, relationships, economics, or politics, men have established a status quo that seems immovable to those who are paying the highest price for it. We are a society that is moving at a snail’s pace when it comes to female empowerment. This is probably why a 23-year-old woman was raped repeatedly by five men in Mumbai recently. An unarmed, unassuming woman is an easy target. The earlier victim, also a 23-year-old, ‘Nirbhaya’ (as the people sought to call her, meaning “fearless one”) succumbed to her injuries and passed away two weeks after she was raped and then brutally attacked. Protests flared up in India to demand more stringent rape laws. Lawmakers showed movement, human rights activists have been shouting non-stop. Me? I still find it ironic that nations are waking up to objectifying women – at the cost of women.


Miss American 2014: A tale of racism and sexism hand in hand

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Though you may not care – and neither do I – on Sunday a "beauty" pageant was held here in the US. These are contests where a panel of judges evaluates a group of women on their looks, talents and answers to random questions. Then one of them is crowned "Miss something". This one happened to be "Miss America". As luck would have it, this year for the first time an Indian-American won the pageant. Her name is Nina Davuluri and her parents come from the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. Nina, however, was born in the state of New York, so she is not a native US citizen, but a citizen by birth. Understandably, the social media was inundated by racists who called her everything from "terrorist" to "Arab" to "Un-American" and downright "unattractive" because she's not white. Now like every good progressive man who is anti-racist, I found the tweets appalling. Not only were they racist, but also clueless, dumb and literally designed to zap your brain cells and make you dumber so you'd stoop to their level and pick up an internet fight. Perhaps because I was bothered by the racism, I tweeted something that no one cautioned me on: https://twitter.com/JShahryar/status/379455453198942208 I really wasn't thinking much when I sent that tweet. It was a gut reaction after watching people hating on a woman because of the colour of her skin and calling her un-American because her parents were born in a country that happens to not be in Europe. However, 24 hours after sending that tweet, I think I'm ready to concede that I was wrong. By "either way", what I meant then was, "regardless of what the racists are saying,” and I still mean that, as what they think is too stupid to be considered. However, I shouldn't have followed it with congratulations to the winner. Maybe I was happy that someone with my skin colour won something in a country where white people winning everything is the norm even though a third of this country's population isn't white. I was not alone. Many others felt the same sentiment in the moment and I saw and heard a lot of their sentiments that started with "Sexism aside..." or "Even though I hate pageants…”. Honestly, though, I cannot put sexism aside. Yes, sure, I hate the racism, but I don't want to congratulate someone on winning a contest that is based on objectifying women. Pageants are inherently sexist. As Ms. Magazine put it in 2011:

"Miss America still reflects many of the complaints that New York Radical Women made in their original brochure for the Atlantic City protest: The contestants “epitomise the roles we are all forced to play as women.” They must be “young, juicy [and] malleable.” Little girls who sit in front of their TV on Saturday night will be taught that “men are judged by their actions, women by their appearance.” The Miss America pageant still implies that a rigidly stereotyped notion of “beauty,” the ability to put a few words together in a coherent sentence and a “talent” are what a woman most needs to succeed."
To drive in the point, America's biggest beauty pageant is Miss USA - a contest wholly owned by misogynist-in-chief Donald Trump. Dare I explain more? Sure, racism is terrible. I have felt it. I suffer from its effects and I will fight until I die or it disappears. However, sexism isn't a joke either. It's serious and it's holding back over half the world's population from achieving equal rights to fulfil their dreams and pursue their lives as they see fit. How can I put "sexism aside" when I live in a world where women are brutally marginalised simply because they are women? How can anyone? I would like to apologise for my tweet. Racism is terrible, but sexism is, too. So while the racists who lambasted Nina Duvulari are dead wrong, the people responsible for holding these "beauty" pageants and the pageants are no better themselves.

Stop complaining ladies, men get harassed on buses too!

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‘Mardon ko toh koi tameez hi nahi hoti ke bus mien kis tarah safar karna hai!’  (Men have no manners at all regarding how to travel on a public bus)
This was a phrase that I came across last week when I was waiting at a bus stop. The words came from a middle aged woman, standing a few feet away from me, conversing with her colleague. On hearing this, a rush of anger took over me, but before I could say anything to her, my bus arrived and I had to board. Dear women, I understand that you get treated badly in our patriarchal society and that the men around you might make life a living hell, but believe me when I say this; you are not the sole sufferers - men have it way worse than you do. Not that there is anything wrong in travelling via public transport, but the way men are treated by the driver and the conductor is what makes the ordeal all the more torturous for us. Don’t believe me? Here are a few reasons why men have it worse than women do when travelling on public transport. The annoying conductor Have you ever been pushed, hit or threatened by a bus conductor? Never? Well that is probably because most conductors talk to you in a respectful manner. However, conductors are not as chivalrous with the male species as they are with women. From verbally haranguing male passengers, to physically pushing, abusing and even hitting them at times, nothing stops the conductor from getting his way on a bus. If he wants you to cram together and get away from the entrance, he will make sure that not a single corner in the bus is left empty. Even at stops, the conductor works towards getting as many passengers as he can, even if their number exceeds capacity. He shouts out names of destinations, all the while urging other male passersby to travel on that bus too, sometimes even physically pulling them in whether they want to travel in that particular direction or not! Men, to the conductor, are unintelligible animals that need to be treated like a herd of sheep, whereas women are royalty. All the shouting and pushing makes many of the male passengers angry and frustrated and even worse when, at the same time, the conductor greets the women with respect and gives them their due to time to settle in comfortably before moving on to his next male target. The occasional drug addict Have you ever had to share a seat with a drug addict? Have you ever had to take his greasy head off of your shoulder as he doses away in oblivion? Have you ever had to shower and change your clothes as soon as you reach home because you smell like hashish or charas? I am guessing not. Well yes, men experience all that and more whilst travelling. I am not saying that no woman has ever had to go through similar experiences, but the probability of coming across a male drug addict on a public bus is far greater than that of a female drug addict. This category also includes the pan eaters. While squirting their residue out through their blood red teeth, they don’t really care if some of it falls on you because you are sitting next to the window. At that point, you wish nothing more than to cut the piece of your flesh off where that repulsive thing fell. You never feel clean after that. The exceptionally congested bus Have you ever been slapped by a man because you accidently placed your hand on their shoulder, thinking it was a support rod? I bet you haven’t, and God help the man who ever mistakenly did manage to hit a woman. As they say, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ And if nothing else, a few tears is all it takes for the entire male population to stand by your side and beat the man up for being ‘disrespectful’, albeit, mistakenly. A man being hit, however, is a totally different story. I am sure many men have experienced this while travelling in a congested bus. Being packed in the back like a herd of sheep, there are many times men have to enter the female section of the bus, pertaining to lack of space. This is done primarily out of necessity. Yet many women, blind to the fact that almost half of Karachi is travelling via that particular vehicle, make an issue and give dirty looks to the men who are in their compartment. Labels such as loffar, beghairat (shameless), jahil (uneducated) and badtameez (disrespectful) are given to these innocent men, without hesitation. I always try to board a less congested bus whenever I can. However, this one time, I was getting really late for university and had no choice but to get on the first bus that came my way. Unfortunately, the bus was filled to its capacity (the conductor had done his job well) and so I had to enter from the women’s compartment. While getting on, I had to take support of the handle which is at the entrance of the gate. In the rush of the bus not stopping and other passengers behind me urging to get on, I grabbed on and finally entered the bus. What I did not realise was that a woman had placed her hand on the handle as well and I had taken hold of her hand while getting on, purely by mistake. With a loud shriek, the woman almost pushed me out of the bus and then began shouting at the top of her voice, as to how I had ‘taken advantage of the crowd’ and abused her. It was perhaps one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Hence, men are in danger from both sides, either of being crushed under the tremendous amount of passengers from the male section or of being in constant fear that they might get off balance and fall on a comfortably seated woman, letting all hell loose. The upper floor People who say Karachi doesn’t have double-decker buses need a reality check. In Karachi, every bus has the capacity of becoming a double story vehicle – that is, of course, if the annoying conductor wants it to happen. With brute force, the conductor takes advantage of the passengers’ need to travel and inconsiderately asks them to climb up on top of the bus, where there is virtually nothing but the upper part of the roof. Hence if someone slips or falls, they are either incompetent to travel on such a world class vehicle, or are too weak and so are ‘unmanly’. Again, no woman is ever asked to go and climb on top of a bus. It is the men who get this treatment, regardless of scorching heat, rain or a bone-biting winter breeze waiting for them upstairs. Getting off the bus When was the last time a conductor pushed you off the bus, while it was moving on full speed, so that he can clear the doorway for other passengers? Probably never. In fact, most definitely never. Well, this is almost a norm for men. Men are treated far worse than women when they are about to board or depart the bus. In case of men, the driver never cares to slow down, let alone stop. Hence it’s a now or never situation. If they get off in time, great. If not, then tough luck. The smartest thing to do in this situation is to wait until a woman gets off the bus. Why? Because no matter how hurried the passengers may be, and no matter what the situation is, the bus ALWAYS stops for women, whether they are getting on or off it. The driver categorically hits the breaks and halts the vehicle, even in the middle of the road, for the women to get down with ease. As if men do not have the need, or the right, to be subjected to such ease and kindness. I have slipped so many times while getting off the bus that I am surprised I am still in one piece! So, in conclusion, dear women, yes men treat you unkindly, but in public buses, men are the victims, not women. A bus symbolises the mental torture, humiliation, frustration, physical pain and in some cases, even injury, which awaits us before we board. So the next time you make a comment about how uncivilised men in buses are, think again.

Does a 5-year-old rape victim have a future to look forward to?

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She was just five-years-old. She still had many more years to go before she was meant to discover that the world is not a nice place and that heinous crimes are committed against innocent people. That life is unfair and some people have to bear more pain than others. That being a girl means what is between her legs would define her entire existence. It was too soon for her to know about all this. On the evening of September 12, 2013, a five-year-old girl’s right to dream was taken away from her – an evening where her usual plans would have included going to her friend’s home to stitch clothes for her doll or to cook small rotis to be served in her tiny toy cutlery. However, that evening robbed her of her innocence. It makes me sick to imagine what growing up in Pakistan will be like for her now. The stigma, the trauma, the misery of an innocent victim; she has too big a burden awaiting her. While her parents, doctors and the people are praying for her to get well soon, I can’t help praying for her future. I can’t help thinking about what this society would do to her. Would her life, ten years from now, allow her to be glad that she survived? That she got well soon? In a society obsessed with marriage and virginity, how will this little girl pave her way to a normal life, let alone a good one? These are the questions that haunt me and I am sure they haunt her mother too – who is begging the media to respect the child’s right to anonymity, every second now. A society where the woman is held responsible for provoking the crime against her, how does that society make sense of paedophilia and of this heart-shaking incident? A woman in a chaadar is no less likely to be raped than a woman without one. A woman who dresses in a modern* way, is NOT giving an invitation to be raped and this is what our society needs to learn. Because a five-year-old, who is not capable of inviting her rapist, was raped. Because we have seen how this disease develops when we ignore the criminal and blame the victim. We have this to deal with now. A professor of mine once proclaimed in a class on Ethics that an idea is the most powerful tool there is. An idea can construct or destruct an entire people. It is nothing but an abstract idea which sets in motion an atrocious genocide and it is nothing but an idea which fuels an uprising. Ideas are viral and ideas are powerful. It’s time that we use an idea to protect our women and children against rape. The idea that no woman asks to be raped needs to be instilled. That rape, like murder, is the responsibility of the perpetrator rather than the victim. That the society needs to punish the offender and not the offended, the stigma is to be attached with the rapist and not the victim. Let’s think about this idea and talk about it, for the sake of this five-year-old. Let’s make growing up for her easier and less painful. *The author has deliberately used this word in its largely misused context, whereby modern entails Western, a concept which is largely at odds with the true philosophical essence of modernity


Family day: ‘Staring male’ species not allowed — unless with a female …

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This Eid, I ordered my kurta from an outlet in Park Towers and I was meant to pick it up after alterations on chand raat. When I got there, I was stopped at the gate and told quite rudely by the security guard that,

“Today is a family day”
He put his arm in front of me to block me from entering.
“What do you mean? I can’t go inside?,” I questioned, to which he responded “No. You have to come with your family. Single men are not allowed inside today.”
I even showed him the receipt for my kurta in an attempt to substantiate my reason for wanting to go inside. I still wasn’t allowed to enter. Panicking at the realisation that I may have nothing to wear on Eid, I started asking strangers to help me. Eventually after an hour of cajoling outsiders, a Good Samaritan helped me get in with their family. This obviously defeated the whole purpose of the rule and got me thinking of the logic behind such a restriction. In Pakistan, it seems as though family day doesn’t really mean coming with your 'family' or anyone related to you per se. It means coming with female company, be it a friend, a girlfriend and so on. Obviously, nobody cares about whether you are entering with a blood relative or not. What they care about is that as a single guy, you are accompanied by a female. This incident reminded me of all the places I’ve been refused service due to it being for “families only”, starting all the way back in my teens. When I was much younger, I wanted to go to a store called 'Teens and Kids' but I was stopped at the door with a similar statement that “guys aren’t allowed inside; it’s for families only.” My friend playfully responded to this saying,
“So what? We’re two brothers... We aren’t considered a family?”
The man seemed taken aback by that response. However, needless to say, we weren't allowed in. I didn’t quite understand it. How harmful could two teens inside a shop called “Teens and Kids” be? Moreover, I was puzzled as to the purpose of this shop that was, for teens and kids, but refused to allow teenagers in because they were male? I guess the board should have read "Girl teens and girl kids" - that would have made more sense. This absurd rule, unfortunately, doesn't extend to just shopping malls and outlet stores in particular. In fact, once I was at Boat Basin and my friends and I were made to sit outside in the agonising summer heat despite the fact that there was an air-conditioned ‘Family Room’ which was completely empty at the moment. We argued but we weren't allowed in. Later, a group of young girls sauntered in and took their 'rightful' place in the pleasant room. The waiter didn’t really answer when I asked,
“So how many families are those?”
Even Port Grand - a decidedly chic and modern place - has the 'family day' rule. I’m not even going to discuss the hypermarkets or cinemas in Pakistan where boys are not allowed, because, hey, they are boys! So what is it really about single guys that make all these families feel so threatened? I asked someone who responded by saying,
“It’s nice that they don’t allow single men inside malls. There are many boys who come here just to stare at women inside and it’s good that we can shop in peace when they aren’t allowed inside.”
Taken aback by this observation, I couldn't help but wonder what the single guy should do in situations like these.  If a man doesn’t have a sister or girlfriend and doesn’t want to bother his mother, cousins or female friends, then what option does he have left? What if someone’s family isn’t even in the city? How is a single man, who has moved to the city for work, supposed to cope with all this rigidity? And what about the man who just wants to shop alone? Having travelled a lot, I have never experienced anything even remotely similar to this senseless discrimination anywhere else. It makes me wonder what sort of damaging message we are conveying here: “single men can’t behave themselves unless they are with a female.” Ridiculous indeed! In a country where having a girl friend or female friends is looked down upon and considered taboo by many, it is confusing to see the opposite being promoted here. Why the hypocrisy? If malls and cinemas want to protect women - which they should - then a better security system where CCTV cameras monitor with precision and guards protect women from getting harassed are a better policy then the absurd 'family day'. On a closing note, I wonder why the same 'staring male' species isn't problem outside Aashiana, on chaand raat, when hundreds of women queue to apply henna to their hands?

A Pakistani in Amsterdam: Sexual harassment has no geographical location

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As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I could feel my legs giving up and my heart throbbing in my throat. I did not know if my friends realised what damage I had just incurred as we exited the bar nearby our apartments. The experience rendered me silent in shock, which is why I only walked away, hoping to reach home safe and sound, instead of smashing the faces of those two men who stereotyped, harassed, heckled, and belittled me in broad daylight. After dinner, two of my American friends and I left the bar for home. At the doorstep, two guys (one in his late 20s and the other in his late 30s) stopped us and added,

“Hey girls, the weather forecast is bad, so be safe.”
It had been pouring all day and it was obvious that the weather was awful, but we took their warning as a kind gesture and thanked them before we began walking out again. That is when they attempted, once again, to initiate a conversation with us. This time, they asked my friends where they were from. Although something about the people’s behaviour seemed off, it is not unusual to strike conversations with strangers in Amsterdam; hence my friends casually answered the guys. They were delighted to know my friends were American students studying abroad in Europe for a semester, and now they directed their attention to me. I do not wear a hijab, but yesterday I happened to have my head covered with a pashmina shawl to avoid getting soaked in the ruthless rain. One of them assumed I was Muslim and said “salaam”, which is an Islamic greeting. I smiled and answered their greeting. Their next question was where I was from; to which I replied, Pakistan. I think my answer further sparked their interest in me. Surprisingly and rather rudely (because my friends couldn’t understand Urdu – native language of Pakistan), the men switched from English to Urdu and noted they were from India. I politely nodded, but did not say anything. While the older man asked my two friends (in English) where in the US they were from, the younger man asked me (in Urdu) if I, too, studied in the US. I said I study in Massachusetts and I, too, am here for only a semester, just like my other friends. The younger man mocked me because I drew a comparison between my American friends and myself. He stepped closer to me and derisively laughed, saying (in Urdu),
“Hah, you don’t study in Massachusetts or even here. You are seeking asylum because you have run away from your home you were locked inside by your parents.”
His words pierced through my ears and hit me like stones before I went numb. My friends of course did not understand a word of what he had said. My voice failed me in that moment, I stepped back and uttered a feeble
“No.”
This time, the older man stepped forward and tried to present me with his business card. He added (in Urdu), while disgustingly smiling and scrutinising me from top to bottom,
“We have hotels worldwide. Recently, we opened a hotel here in Amsterdam as well. You should definitely come over. We need people like you.”
I flushed as blood gushed through my veins. I had done nothing wrong yet I felt filthy, embarrassed and dizzy. Puffing at his half-smoked cigarette, the younger man spoke again,
“Come with us or take us to your room. That’s what you do, don’t you?”
My legs quivered and eyes welled as I hastily turned away from them. My friends followed in confusion. The younger man forged ahead and grabbed at my wrist to stop me from leaving. I hurriedly pulled my wrist back and started walking toward the bicycle stand really fast. I could hear them in the back laughing as one of them yelled (in Urdu),
“Come back! We are just kidding.”
By now, my friends had realised something was awfully wrong and I was not just killing homesickness by conversing in my native language to people I met from my part of the world. One of my friends put me on her bicycle’s carrier and we drove away. During the small five minute ride back to the apartments, I could only feebly attempt to deconstruct what had just happened and why it had happened to me. I also kept looking over my shoulder to make sure none of those men were following us or monitoring our route back. After being home, I told my friends what had happened and they were greatly shocked and sympathetic. Still when I tried to sleep last night, I could only get flashbacks – not just of this one time, but of all other times I have been in similar situations where I was gawked at, grabbed at, cat-called at or worse, masturbated at in public. Not just in Amsterdam or my hometown Karachi, but several other places regardless of their geographical, cultural, religious or other confines. Sometimes I retaliated, like that one time in Karachi this summer when I literally threw a stone at a man who licked his lips while gawking at me from across the street, while I waited outside my internship office to leave for home. However, countless times such experiences left me frozen and stuck in moments and disallowed me to think or normally function for days. Before I travelled abroad in 2008, I always thought that it is only the conservative societies like Pakistan that are plagued with harassment targeted at women. However, it was only after having travelled across the United States for high school and college, and here in Europe that I realise that sexual harassment extends beyond geographical and cultural boundaries. Recently I read a heartbreaking account of Michaela Cross about being perpetually targeted as a sex object in India because of her white skin, blue eyes and red locks (a brown man’s dream). I concluded that Cross’s dilemma was not drastically different from mine. While she was categorised as “promiscuous” for being a white woman in India, I was targeted and harassed by those two men for being Muslim and Pakistani hence vulnerable, oppressed and good for nothing but their sexual pleasures in the most liberal city of Europe. The truth is, women are stereotyped and harassed independent of their religion, culture, skin colour and sexuality. Women are harassed for being women, and the sooner we realise that and raise our voice every time we become victim of harassment, the sooner women will hopefully cease to be second-class world citizens.

Diary of a gap-toothed girl

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I must have been in fourth grade when I first visited the dentist. My front teeth had begun to protrude and wide gaps between my teeth began to show. Until then, I had never realised that it was something unpleasant since my parents had never spoken to me about it. Perhaps, they considered me too young to be hounded by insecurities. However, now when I see my fourth grade pictures I guess they knew what they were doing before my teeth could get any worse. I was the first one in my class to get braces and it bothered me a little when I saw children my age free of metal in their mouth. However, as the months wore on more and more kids started getting braces. I spent my entire pre-teen years and a portion of my teenage years wearing braces. You cannot imagine how thrilled I was the day I had them taken off, but to my dismay the gaps started to appear again a few months later. Initially I couldn't have been less bothered. After all, I had seen my teeth in a far worse condition. However, as the days kept passing by my insecurities began to kick in. Now if I think about it, I suppose it started bothering me most last year, when I turned sixteen. I remember spending a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror and finding faults with the way I looked. Needless to say, I was basically torturing myself. My elder sister – and much more mature, I dare say – would just roll her eyes and tell me to get a life. She always scolded me for wasting my time on petty issues and insisted that I would eventually get over them. However, the fact was that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from feeling self-conscious every time I laid eyes on boys and girls flashing their perfect smiles in front of the camera, dazzling everybody with their straight, gap-less teeth. It would hurt so much that I had to look away. I recently visited the dentist and he insisted that I should get braces again for at least six months. Although my father was ready to foot the bill yet again, I surprised myself by telling him that I was fine with my teeth as they were. After all, I figured that if it continued to bother me, I could always get them fixed later in life. My father, however, was of the opinion that he couldn't simply disregard what the dentist had said and that it was his responsibility to see to it that he does his job. I don't blame him. In societies like ours, physical attributes of the female child are of vital importance. You see parents, especially mothers, fuss excessively over their daughters' looks. Young girls are taken to dermatologists, forced to diet, and matters like thinning or greying hair are taken very seriously because being a woman in Pakistan is serious business. Pakistani mothers pull all the ropes they can to make their daughters look pretty and presentable. On the other hand, boys can get away with pretty much anything – sometimes even shabby attire and greasy hair! This is just how it is in this country for girls – perfection on every front - especially when it comes to the issue of marriage and screening girls. While girls are scrutinised from head-to-toe and are judged for the quality of their hair to their pretty, pedicured feet, boys are left somewhat off the hook in the 'looks' department. While girls need to be attractive, homely and intelligent (often in that order), boys can get away with just having a good background and a decent job. Even the media propagates this standard of perfection. Have you ever noticed how all the toothpaste ads never show a gap-toothed girl? Simply because they are deemed imperfect and thus, unacceptable. These ads would give me nightmares but as I matured, I stopped thinking about it and instead, started concentrating on things that I was actually good at. I also began to appreciate my other features that weren't half bad. In my efforts to move on, I even searched gap-toothed people on the internet and was more than thrilled to find out that there were many others like me out there. I actually found posts on Tumblr and videos on YouTube dedicated to gap-toothed people. It seemed like a platform where kids, mostly girls, posted their videos and pictures showing off their gap-toothed smiles and encouraged other teens not to feel so insecure. To say that these online platforms helped boost my ego would be an understatement. Although it didn't happen all at once but as the days passed I realised that it didn't actually make much of a difference in my life. After all, I had my family and friends, I was happy and looking at the bigger picture I understood that not having the ‘perfect’ smile was not that big a deal. I also discovered models who show off their gap-toothed smiles, like Georgia Jagger, who made it on the cover of the most leading fashion magazine Vogue. Even Johnny Depp’s ex, Vanessa Paradis, who happens to be a French actress and is also gap-toothed, proudly exclaimed,

 “Why would I fix them? I was born with them. I can spit water through them. They're useful!”
So over time, I have realised that although the desire to look good is normal, we must not obsess over every little thing we don’t like about our appearance. There are so many things in life that we don’t get to choose for ourselves, and often we have to do things that we don’t necessarily like. However, that doesn't always mean that we throw what we have away. With time, we can adjust to things and circumstances and can learn to like what we see in the mirror. After all, not everybody can afford cosmetic surgery or a nose job; get their lips pumped or have the fat beneath their arms sucked out. Not to mention how excruciatingly painful these procedures are. Not many are born with the complexion of their choice, or the desired height and not everybody has the perfect hair. However, we still get on with life. We make friends, get invited to parties and most importantly our families love us for who we are. There is a chance to live life to the fullest but if we are too busy worrying over what effect the sun will have on our skin or how messy the wind is making our hair, life becomes significantly more stressful. Now when I smile in front of the mirror my gap-toothed smile doesn't look so bad any more; it has just become a part of who I am. Although I may get my teeth fixed some day, I have learnt that there's no point in letting it ruin the way you feel about yourself. So smile brightly, take loads of pictures, live a happy life, don’t worry about how silly you look and just have fun!

Skimpy clothing in Saudi Arabia? If you’re in a compound, sure!

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I remember watching a movie a couple of years ago, called Kingdom, the plot of which centred around an armed assault on a Saudi Aramco housing compound. For those who are not aware of the oil and gas industry, Saudi Aramco is a Saudi Arabian state-owned oil company, which has exclusive rights of oil extraction in the country. At the moment, Saudi Aramco is the biggest oil exporter in the world. The movie Kingdom was released in 2007 and that was my first exposure to the life-style followed in the housing compounds of this company. Last week I got a chance to actually visit a Saudi Aramco compound, and I understood for myself, why people refer to it as a ‘state within a state’. Please note, there are many such private compounds all across Saudi Arabia -- this just happens to be the one I visited. My first surprise was at the compound’s gate when the security guard said,

“Welcome to Saudi Aramco. Have a nice trip.”
Why was I surprised? Brown-skinned expatriates are generally subject to somewhat insulting behaviour from Arabs; even if the expatriate is a professional engineer, like myself!  If you’re not white, getting such a welcome from an Arabic-speaking security guard is just not the norm, believe me. Pleased at this lovely welcome, I entered the compound. As I entered, I realised that the welcome that I had received was likely to be the first surprise of many. Looking around, I saw women not only skipping out on the traditional abaya and hijab, but dressed in western clothes including shorts and tight-fitting tops. I also found them driving cars within the compound; something that is treated as a criminal offence in the rest of the Kingdom. In fact, just recently, 12 women were arrested in KSA while they attempted to protest the ban on women driving. It seems that the laws of the Kingdom end at the boundary of the compound. My host then led me to something that I had not seen in KSA so far – a cinema! He told me that that this cinema generally showed the latest Hollywood and Bollywood movies and that there was even an option for ‘movies on demand’. Moreover, inside the cinema, I saw that the seating arrangement was not segregated for men and women, something completely alien to the cultural norms of Saudi Arabia. The segregation between the sexes can be seen at educational institutes, restaurants, offices and banks; in fact, men and women are segregated in almost every walk of life. Seeing a sign indicating the swimming pool, I asked my host if we could cool down by the pool since it was very hot. He grinned at me and clarified that the swimming pool was not segregated either. Moreover, he told me there were no gender specific time-slots. Surprised and shocked, I withdrew my earlier request and moved on. Finally, we came across the Aramco Police, which is responsible for the implementation of Saudi Aramco laws within the compound. After the tour, I accompanied my host to his home. Across the street from his house, I saw a skeleton hanging from a tree. Smiling at my confused expression, he explained that since Halloween was right around the corner people were busy putting up pumpkins and other decorations outside their homes. He pointed out a large skeleton strewn with lights that would turn on after dark, accompanied by scary Halloween music. In my personal opinion, it is against all principles for a parallel state to be run with its own laws and law-enforcement agencies. Foreigners who come to Saudi Arabia to earn tax-free salaries should learn to mould themselves as per Saudi laws; the same way they expect Muslim expatriates in their lands to adhere to western values. At the end, I decided to end my journey of surprise and asked my host to guide me to the mosque so that I could pray before leaving. He simply stated,
“Well, there is no mosque inside the compound.”
Author’s note: The above story is my personal experience in one of the compounds of Saudi Aramco and I am not aware if other compounds of Saudi Aramco follow the same pattern, or not.

40 things that Pakistani men hate to hear

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  1. We need to talk
  2. Do I look fat?
  3. Umm there’s this new store at the mall…
  4. I’m not hungry hungry, but I’ll share your garlic mayo fries.
  5. Why do you have to hang out with Fahad so much? Is he your boyfriend?
  6. Oh never mind, Yasir is just a friend. But I don’t get a good vibe from Ramsha so you better not talk to her.
  7. I’m not one of those girls.
  8. You’re just like a brother to me.
  9. *On the second date* some people are coming over tomorrow for my rishta, so I thought I should just let you know.
  10. If I ask you something, would you be honest?
  11. OMG! The dreadlocks on that guy look so YUM.
  12. So this one time, my ex and I went to…
  13. Can’t believe how you can spend this much on a pair of jeans! Don’t look at my footwear collection, I’m classy - I have to!
  14. I am an independent woman but you should pay for the meal. I’m old fashioned.
  15. Where is my exclusive time in your given day? You treat me like a filler.
  16. Who is she?
  17. You’ve changed so much. You’re not the same person anymore.
  18. Why do you still watch cartoons? Grow up.
  19. Go away, leave me alone… How dare you walk out on me?
  20. You’re always too busy to even think about me.
  21. Fine.
  22. You’re so thin. Why don’t you go to the gym?
  23. You’re such a mama’s boy.
  24. Let’s watch some TV. New Girl or Pretty Little Liars?
  25. Why do you always want to control me? It’s suffocating. Give me some space to breathe.
  26. I knew it!
  27. Are you sure?
  28. I don’t believe you.
  29. I didn’t mean anything I said. I was just PMS-ing.
  30. You know I’m still mad at you for what you said to me at Sarah’s wedding in 2004.
  31. ... But we can be friends.
  32. You know you’d save a lot of money if you don’t smoke.
  33. Mom is coming over for the weekend.
  34. Can you look after the kids; I just have to go to the tailor for “five minutes”.
  35. When I say chocolates, it means dark chocolate. You’re so useless.
  36. Wait wait stop the car!! I need to Instagram that.
  37. Why can’t we go there? All of my friends have been there already. Even Bushra.
  38. Why do you have to watch match highlights when you already know who won? Please switch to Hum TV. I wanna watch the rerun of Kadurat.
  39. Are you even listening to me?
  40. WHATEVER.

Death sentences for rape in India, ‘cutting grass’ for rapists in Kenya?

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In the wake of the tragic Delhi rape incident last year, the UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon had stated,

“Violence against women must never be accepted, never excused, never tolerated. Every girl and woman has the right to be respected, valued and protected.”
These proved to be shallow words as the story of Kenyan gang rape victim surfaced last month. ‘Liz’ the victim was gang raped by six men, three of whom were students at schools near her own. Brutalised and unconscious, they threw her into a pit-latrine 12 feet deep. She had broken her back but still managed to crawl up and call for help. The police arrested the three whose names she had remembered. However, in the morning, the men were let go after serving the sentence of ‘cutting grass in the police compound’! As the story gradually snowballed, the police eventually got the names of all six rapists, but they are yet to be arrested or punished for their heinous crime. Liz is now paralysed, in a wheelchair and has lost control of her bladder and bowels. Upon hearing the story, a petition was started for Liz by the activist Nebila Abdulmelik in Nairobi. The petition has now been signed by over 1.2 million people. However, regardless of how many signatories this and similar other petitions get, the bottom line is that women’s rights and their safety can never by safeguarded when assailants and rapists are given sentences as shockingly trivial as merely cutting grass. This is especially the case in countries like Kenya, where according to a 2006 report of the country’s National Commission on Human Rights, one woman is raped every 30 minutes. Undoubtedly, either the statistics are still the same or have only escalated since then. An additional eight out of 10 Kenyan women suffer physical violence or abuse during childhood. This only goes to define the collective national conscience of the country as being pathetically lamentable towards women. The reaction in the international community is gaining a momentum similar to that of the Delhi rape case, especially after the petition’s growing number of signatories. True that punishments for crimes as atrocious as rape need to be defined by the countries themselves, as in the Delhi rape case, but given the fact that never has the term ‘global village’ been more accurate than today, crimes as monstrous as rape actually need to be dealt with on an international level. The fact is that irrespective of national boundaries, the geographical location of rape does not change the severity of the act nor does it lessen the degradation and insecurity it causes every woman to feel. Just like war crimes are dealt with in international courts, so should rape. Though the act is already defined as a crime against humanity along with imprisonment, sexual slavery, enforced prostitution, torture and so forth in the International Criminal Court, it is yet to be truly dealt with as an international crime on a more civic level. Also, there should be one very aggressive punishment for rape regardless of whether the victim lives or dies. If we, as mere readers, have trouble even absorbing the details of the gruesome injuries, the grotesque mutilations and agony of the victims of grisly rapes such as Liz and the Delhi victim, how can we even start to imagine what these women, and millions others like them, actually suffer? Having an internationally ratified punishment is the only way that crimes like rape can be controlled. This is especially true for developing countries like Kenya and Pakistan where women are the worst victims in society. On the list of countries with low human development, Kenya is second while Pakistan trails close behind at number four. If one is looking for proof that indeed such crimes might be better controlled under one international law, then one needs to go no further back than the wretched Delhi case. Had the Kenyans taken any heed to the countless international declarations passed for women’s liberties, rights and safety in the wake of the Delhi rape, Liz’s rapists certainly would not be walking free or cutting grass. When we come to consider what this situation might have been like had it occurred in Pakistan, the picture is nothing short of nightmarish. First of all the poor girl would never have dared to open her mouth about what had happened for fear of public shame; and even if she had, the three immediately arrested wouldn’t even have had to wait the entire night before being freed upon one call by a minister or such to the police station. This is why, if the word spreads even among the women of countries like Pakistan that rape is an international crime and will not be tolerated no matter who the victim or the perpetrator is, then there is a chance that this thought alone will empower women to speak up and ensure these animals are punished. The response and punishment of rape crimes needs to be simplified: one hotline number and one punishment – regardless of the ‘gravity’ of the rape. Rape is rape nonetheless. It cannot be tolerated. If there are 1.2 million and increasing signatories on Liz’s petition, there can be even more for a petition to get an international punishment for rape that transcends borders, race, creed, and colour. Yes, it is a wild dream. But it can be achieved.

Salut to the tenants of the night

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Salut to the tenants of the night, Who bend faith and time, Who bend modest climes, Wrapped in a thunder cloud, And reach for the holy grail.   Salut to the tenants of the night, Who put to shame A million eyes in vigil, A sky with the cloudy sigils, Of mercy and benevolence.   Salut to the tenants of the night, When the wild sounds of a cock And a thousand eyes salivate, Raping with uncouth cheers, The only two women who dare To chase the storm for their empty bellies.   Salut to the tenants of the night, Those uncouth ladies - harlots, Who tried their best to hide The blemish and the hair white With rouge and dyes, And streaks of gold That aged upon the silken strands, And burnt in callous hands.   Salut to the tenants of the night, Such nights with only one stand, In the jaws of the beast Who nourish from their passion, And their love sourced from the valleys of neglect Nurse them all. But once in a while, They walk in the night with a thousand stands, Where beasts amused, whet their appetite. All eyes fixed on the heaving hollow mounds, Where love depleted, love extracted, Only footprints reside, Footprints of every size.   Salut to the tenants of the night, In their cheap perfume, Filth ridden glamour, And sad dance moves, Which give away their sense of art. The green stems of aesthetic, Amidst inspirations blooming in a tavern, Their gaze never touched The tulips in the fields, Where sky was a tease, And the heavens displayed Ancient mirth in a breeze.   Salut to the tenants of the night, Who do not dream, Because they have learned To dream is to be unhappy, Who sleep for the solitude.   Salut to the tenants of the night, Who never will read Brothers Grimm, Abridged or otherwise. They know no Cinderellas, Nor wait for the princes upon white steeds. They have a horde of highwaymen, Who rob them each night, Who take refuge in their flesh, And take off with their pride.   Salut to the tenant of the night, The innocent harlot, Being eaten alive, Her limbs a bounty, Her lips a bounty, Her fear a bounty, A million fragments of her soul. Each will be ripped, Each will beg and bleed, Each will be preyed upon. While those who devour her, With eyes, With lies, With sighs, Will dreams of heaven, And unmitigated paradise.   Salut to the mother Who never was, Salute to the sister Who never could, Salut to the wife Who never will. Salut to the love That never would.


Why do Pakistani men have a roving eye?

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What is up with Pakistani males and their need to objectify every female that crosses their path? I emphasise on the word Pakistani because having lived in the West, I have never come across a culture or society where men have such difficulty lowering their gaze.  It is something that has to stop! Not only does it make a woman feel uncomfortable, if not naked, it is an extremely degenerate and distasteful trait in men. Married men, who indulge in it when their wives are sitting right next to them, are particularly loathsome. It starts the minute I land at Islamabad airport right to when I reach my final destination. Whilst sitting in the car and minding my own business, you have motorcycles roaring past with their passengers peering into the car having seen the silhouette of a woman from the rear window. I honestly feel I have Elephantiasis, a gross enlargement of a limb, or some monumental flaw on my face which is the cause of such unjustifiable attention. There are some women out there who actually get some sort of an appalling pleasure out of these stares and dress to impress just to fish up more looks. I, for one, am not one of them at all. Some unfortunate husbands and brothers keep their women covered from head to toe to prevent these stares but they don’t realise that sometimes even that is futile. In England or Canada, the most a woman gets is a person looking at you once and then looking away. At most, she’ll get a couple of looks, anything more than that is considered staring and ultimately, very rude. https://twitter.com/faisalqureshi/status/249865091804188672 I know there are many other important things that are on the priority list of what needs to be changed in Pakistan, but this is something that needs to be discussed and alleviated.  If we claim to be a Muslim country with emphasis on men “lowering their gaze” to protect their modesty, then it should be implemented as well. The question remains on how to go about changing this habit.  Maybe it should be discussed and talked about in the media or in some sort of public forum but the topic itself is perhaps absurd for national TV. How do you even discuss such ogling or even acknowledge that men have this problem? Most of the time men are in complete denial! https://twitter.com/AyeshaHasan/status/224917324048773122 There has been a song written about this problem by Ali Gul Pir called “Taroo Maroo, which brings to light this sensitive issue with a dash of humour.

Aunty bhi taroo ga, uncle bhi taroo ga” (I will stare at an aunty, I will also stare at an uncle)
[embed width="620"] http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xvng4g_taroo-maroo-ali-gul-pir_music [/embed] The lyrics are particularly funny because it implies that guys like this will gawp at anything and anyone. Although the song is meant to be taken light-heartedly, it doesn’t really tackle the issue head on. ‘Punch em’ Perhaps the solution if for women to be pro-active. I’ve actually seen some women take matters into their own hands. My own mother, in fact, once punched a man for invading her personal space, only for him to walk straight on without looking back. On one occasion, a group of us girls were in a marketplace when we noticed a guy staring at us from his tinted car as he drove by. This started annoying us as the same behaviour had occurred a few times before. Next time he returned, I decided to pick up a rather large rock closest to me and started walking towards him whilst looking directly at him. I lifted the rock up and shouted,
 “Do you have a problem?”
This resulted in him speeding away in a panic-stricken state and not returning. It was quite relieving and hilarious at the same time. Only when women start shouting and fighting back will the men realise that it is unacceptable to behave like this. Women have to take matters into their own hands if they want to feel protected, but when a society is ingrained with this disease, the battle seems fruitless at times.  Many women just stay silent because they don’t want to have the issue spiral out of control. Tackling the roving eye syndrome will require radical change, through education and a shift in values to abolish such behaviour. Sadly, I don’t think this problem will be rectified anytime soon. One can only hope that a majority of women will unite together to make a stand against this repulsive habit. I, for one, am starting to take a stand by teaching my young son that it is extremely rude to stare at anybody. What will you do?

Far from reality: Kankar and its depiction of divorced women

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When I started watching Kankar, I was happy that there was finally a Pakistani play that depicted a strong independent woman who was not willing to bend down to the whims and fancies of our patriarchal society. The central character of this Pakistani prime time serial is a brave woman named Kiran standing up to her so called “Mijaazi Khuda” (Husband) to fight for her rights. Instead of the usual victimised daughters-in-law, the character is one that many women will be able to relate to and perhaps find hope or salvation in, knowing that it is alright to stand up against domestic abuse. However in the last two episodes, the play took a dramatic turn towards the usual clichéd Cinderella-finds-her-happy-ending route. The character, who stubbornly demanded a divorce from her abusive husband, has finally decided to remarry. She remarries her cousin, Adnan, who has been smitten by her since the beginning of the serial. The average abused Pakistani woman, who was until now, weaving dreams for a better future after leaving her husband, finally finds herself without a thread to hold onto. The unfortunate wife, who is mentally and physically tortured every day, knows that if she decides to leave her husband again, she might not find another cousin waiting for her. She will either live the life of an outcast being brandished with the tag of a “Talaaq-e-Aafta” (Divorcee) forever or she will have to marry a man twice her age and look after his grown up children. Such possibilities are also hinted in one of the previous episodes, when the matchmaker brings the proposal of a man twice Kiran’s age with children of his own. Instead of showing her relying on the support of a man to get back on her feet, the play should have focused on the struggles and problems faced by Kiran and how she manages to get through all of them unscathed. This would have rekindled hope in the hearts of women, a hope that divorce is not the end of the world. If they are not content with their husband’s behaviour, they have a way out to a better life without such a man. Sadly, what this play depicts is that a divorced woman is considered a pariah in our society. She is continuously taunted with sentences like:

“Is hi ki ghalti thi. Aurat chahay to apna ghar bana lay ya bigaar lay. Shadi to naam hi compromise ka hay. Pata nahin kiya kiya bardassht karna parta hay or is maharani ko dekho, ghar wapis a ker beth gayi” (It was her fault. If a woman wills, she can either make her home or break it. Marriage is also called compromise. A woman has the patience to bare various hurdles and look at this princess, she has come back to sit at home)
In our country, there are hardly any options for a divorced woman to remarry, even if she is as young as the men because men think it is below their honour to marry a divorcee. The bitter truth being that the only men willing to marry these divorcees are those who are old widowers with married children or men with other agendas on their minds like money, dowry or business, especially if the girl belongs to a rich family. I have a friend from a wealthy family, who went abroad after marriage. It turned out that her husband had psychological problems and her in-laws had not been honest with her. As a result, she got divorced within three months, at the young age of 24. It’s been four years since then and now she is a doctor, yet nobody is willing to marry her. Our society is so rigid about divorced women that even the ones who are separated after a nikkah without a rukhsati for whatever reason, are unable to find good proposals. A daughter of my father’s friend had to nullify the nikkah when the boys’ family started making unnecessary demands of them. The family filed for a divorce but the girl was unable to find a proposal for the next two years. She finally got married and had to settle for a boy who, not only was less educated than her but did not even have a proper job. She herself is an engineer. This is why Kankar is poles apart from the truth. In real life, even Adnan would have had second thoughts about marrying Kiran, yet everything is offered to Kiran on a silver platter. This play also emphasises the patriarchal mindset; a woman can only find happiness if she is able to find a man who loves her. It’s high time our plays started depicting reality instead of making our women believe in fairy tales.

My father divorced my mother because she gave birth to me, a girl

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A few days ago, a newborn baby girl was dumped in a garbage heap by an unidentified woman in Faisalabad. No one realised there was a baby until the heap was set on fire and the cries of the baby girl alerted the garbage collector. She was taken to hospital with more than three-fourth of her body burnt. Unfortunately, the doctors could not save her. Female infanticide is still very common in Pakistan. It is sad to see that even in the 21st century the birth of a female is considered a stigma. When my eldest sister Tena* was born (we are three sisters and one brother), my mom was criticised, mocked and ridiculed for giving birth to a girl. My dad started mocking my mom and soon enough, relatives, friends and neighbours followed suit. Life for my mom started to become very difficult. When my mom was expecting for the second time, there were hopes of restoring her lost respect if she gave birth to a boy. But Alas! A girl it was, once again. At this point, in sheer disappointment, my dad threatened to leave my mother if she gave birth to another girl. My paternal grandmother and aunts had suddenly assumed the roles of my mother’s worst enemies. My mother, however, suffered silently. She just prayed to Allah to protect her children and give sense to those people. Giving birth to me, however, was the toughest phase of my mother’s life. By this time, she was sure if it was not a boy, my dad would leave her. He desperately wanted the child coming to be a boy, but to his utter disappointment, I was born. My birth was the beginning of a dark life of taunts, threats and despair for my mother and sisters. The gloom and sadness was evident on the faces of all my family members. My dad was furious and blamed my mother entirely for my birth; as if giving birth to a girl was a choice made by my mom. My paternal grandmother and aunts pushed for my dad to divorce my mom. All my relatives wanted my dad to leave my mother so he could bestow her with a ‘punishment’ in proportion with the ‘sin’ she had committed of giving birth to yet another girl. He divorced my mother, married another woman and settled in Saudi Arabia. He did not even maintain contact with us or our mother, nor did he ever offer to pay for our upbringing. Why would he though? He hated us and didn’t want us to begin with. So what if we were his daughters? We, his very own daughters, were a stain on his reputation. We had stripped him of his ‘ghairat’ (honour) and let him down, all because we were born girls. We would obviously grow up to be good-for-nothing burdens on his shoulders, mere liabilities or perhaps just bad luck. So, according to him, it was best that he left us and cut all ties. Pretending we don’t exist is probably still better than the poor baby who was left in a garbage can. Luckily, after a couple of years of being the single parent of three daughters, my mother finally found an educated, reasonable man who was willing to marry my mom and accept her three ‘sins’. Life didn’t seem so bad suddenly - it was as if we were given a chance to make a fresh start. Of course, the occasional taunts referring to me and my sisters still continued, but when that did happen, my step dad tolerated it but stood strong by my mom’s side. Together, my mom and him had a baby boy and my mother’s image was given a feeble boost. The ridiculing and taunts, however, continued nonetheless. My step dad was called ‘character-less’ for helping my mother bring up her three ‘sins’. Eventually, he buckled under pressure and left my mom, and once again my mother was left to face the cruel, ruthless remarks of our society all on her own. She has lived without the support of a husband or man since then. Two of my sisters are married and I, too, will be married soon. My step brother is a graduate now. But what pains and bewilders me is the mindset that some men (and indeed some women) have. No matter how educated they may be, they still think women are the bane of their existence. How can they be so cruel to their own blood, their own daughters? How can they be so pathetic? Have they forgotten that their mothers are also someone’s daughters?  We boast about living in a ‘progressive’ society but cannot learn to accept women in this world? Do they not realise that without women they would not even be alive? And yet they bury their daughters alive? Why is the ‘ghairat’ of a male placed on the shoulders of women? How can men do this to their wives and daughters, and get away with it, with the support of society? Why can women not be allowed to live? Why did that baby girl have to die? Why have no answers ever been given? *Names have been changed to protect the identities of the individuals.


Egyptian verdict: They gave her 11 years in prison, she gave them a beautiful, victorious smile

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As I scroll down my Twitter feed, a smile captivates me. The face had thousands of words, endless thoughts and most importantly tranquillity of soul. She isn’t a celebrity or a popular activist rather a girl next door, who wouldn’t be noticed in normal surroundings. Caged in an Egyptian courtroom with 20 others like her, she received an 11 years sentence for her crimes. The gravity of their offense lay in treading the forbidden path - ‘challenging dictatorship’ - a much greater sin than eating the apple. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x17qsz0_egyptian-women-jailed-for-years-over-protests_news[/embed] These young women, all in their teens and tweens, rounded up late last month were tried, be it in a partial court, for protesting against General Abdul Fattahal Sisi. They will be spending the prime of their youth behind bars. Earlier military, judiciary and other remnants of Hosni Mubarak’s dictatorship, along with opposition factions, had ousted President Mohamed Morsi by military’s support. The elected President, called a ‘civilian dictator’ by these groups, was deposed and Egypt experienced turmoil. According to news reports the Egyptian Cabinet issued a strong statement for implementing the anti-protests law ‘with all firmness and force’ to prevent ‘freedom turning into chaos’. They went on to link it to war on terrorism and finished with,

“There are elements that want to spread domestic chaos in a desperate attempt to hurt the prestige of the state.”
The defence lawyers were shocked as they didn’t expect such harsh verdicts, especially when four of the 21 women were in their teens and as young as 15. They were convicted on multiple charges, including holding demonstrations, sabotage and using force. This isn’t the first sentence carried out by Egyptian courts for the pro-Morsi protestors who were arrested after their month long sit-in. Morsi’s election, oath, reinstatement of parliament, confrontation with judiciary and his ouster by the military are topics for some other times. This moment is about Ibtesam, the smiling one, that is what I would like to call her as her real name is unknown and is relatively unimportant, for that smile in the face of adversity is remarkable. You don’t have to be an Islamist or a left-leaning liberal but only an activist to know the true value of the calmness, the beauty of the sparkling white teeth and seamless forehead. They are guilty alright! Yes they committed a heinous crime. They stood up; they acted and got caught red-handed for challenging dictatorship, a crime which invokes similar punishments globally. The interesting thing about this sentence is its timing, coming in as the Global women rights activists are campaigning for ‘peace at home, peace in the world’ by calling a global condemnation of militarism and violence against women. How would the international rights activist react to this is beyond me, but tomorrow the right-leaning Islamists desktop jihadists will have gone barmy. There will be a sizable majority that will gaze at her saying, “sanu kií” (what’s it to us) and another group that will insist that she deserved much worse. The funniest part is that the Islamists, who for the most part have aided military dictators, have benefitted immensely during these turbulent times of Pakistan’s existence. Their opponents the left-leaning liberals, comprises of people who may have been at the receiving end and undergone similar treatment at the hands of military regimes which have ruled Pakistan for half of her independent life. Irrespective of our maddening circus, which is not limited to social networking sites, Ibtesam had received her sentence with a smirk as if telling her prosecutors that they may lock her up but they can’t bend her spirit. Such fabulous power of spirit is a rarity these days. Ibtesam’s deafening grin nullified the brute force exercised to disperse, terrorise and prevent anti-coup protests by the military regime. So early in her life, she has reached the pinnacle of activism. She embraced the verdict as if she has reached her destination, achieved her goal or, more appropriately, a reward far greater than any commemorative medal. One can always question her crimes, her motives, even disagree with her principles and reject her ideals but no activist can disagree with the strength of her belief, the courage of her heart and the sincerity of her soul. It takes all that and a lot more to tackle an adversity such as her, with calm composure and a beautiful smile.
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