Spoken Stage, in collaboration with Girls at Dhabas, hosted an event coined “Pop-up in the Park” at Frere Hall this Saturday in order to reclaim the public spaces in Karachi. Spoken Stage is an organisation that fosters the growth of individual expression through the projection of spoken word poetry and prose. Girls at Dhabas was created with the intention of enabling women to claim public spaces, and is quickly gaining influence as women all over South Asia are using the hashtag #girlsatdhabas. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="534"] The event took place at Frere Hall with the intention of reclaiming public spaces.
Photo: Maheen Humayun[/caption] An investment in the arts has grown rapidly amongst the youth of Pakistan, and the Pop-up Stage was a platform that allowed the youth to project their voices in the form of spoken word poetry, music and painting. It was a casual affair with rillies lining a small patch of grass in front of Pakistan’s famous Frere Hall. Chai was served throughout. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] These people are amazing and the delicious chai from their pop-up dhaba was flowing throughout. ‪#‎popupinthepark‬
Photo: Spoken Stage Facebook Page[/caption] Talent was bidding and the air was thick with inspiration. Karachi is abundant with talent and Pop-up in the Park allowed this talent to flourish on public land. The time for the talented to hide behind closed doors and anonymous pen names is over – the youth is slowly taking over one public space at a time. This was the first time I had encountered something like this in Pakistan. It’s so rare to find a group of people openly expressing themselves in a society where expression seems to be squandered by taboos. This in itself is a step towards progress. A girl recited a poetry slam for all the women that have ever felt like they had to hide their thoughts, or take a back seat to men because of the patriarchy that looms over us. We cheered her on as she echoed over and over again the importance of taking a stand. A band sang a song for all those that have ever felt any kind of pain; their harmonies floated through the air and attracted people from around the park. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="337"] Participants singing at the event for those that came to offer their support for the initiative.
Photo: Maheen Humayun[/caption] Another girl painted a portrait of Qandeel Baloch in her honour. [fbvideo link="https://www.facebook.com/spokenstage/videos/1753286398222806/"][/fbvideo] A young girl read a piece of powerful prose about loneliness and the shackles of the human mind. Later she sang the famous Hallelujah, and everyone grew still as her voice rendered thought into all those that had ever felt lost in their lives. There was little to say or do, except immerse ourselves into what was being recited and sung. A spoken word poem filled with fiery repetition sparked excitement in the eyes of everyone there. Another boy read a piece about adjusting back into Karachi after four years of schooling abroad. He went on to discuss his dream of becoming a writer, and the fact that there is always a story to be found in a city like Karachi. Off in the distance, someone blew bubbles into the air, a cotton candy vendor walked around in awe, people stood and people sat and swayed to the music. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="519"] Our ‪#‎popupinthepark‬ was a raging success, organically growing as more and more joined in to sing, to perform, and reclaim public space.
Photo: Spoken Stage Facebook Page[/caption] Everyone there had one thing in common – they were intrigued by the celebration of art. They were invested in the recitation of poetry, and the calming hum of prose. An environment of creativity is essential in inspiring our youth and hopefully many more events like this will follow. There are numerous public spaces available to our advantage and yet we have grown accustomed to staying indoors. Our people need safe spaces to express themselves, and by slowly taking over public spaces, we are allowing ourselves to flourish into an expressive, confident, and creative society.

When my brother hit me, I realised that Qandeel Baloch didn’t even have to become Qandeel Baloch for her brother to murder her; he would have done it anyway. I have realised that there are men out there who think they are born with the right to govern women, to humiliate them, to hit them, and if all of that is still not enough, to kill them. They choose easy targets, women who live with them, their wives, their sisters, even their mothers. Because they know these women will forgive them, and believe in their fake apologies and tears. They won’t do this to the powerful and successful women they meet outside, because how can they show the world their inner animal? Their biggest weapon is making the victim feel guilty. They will tell you it was your fault somehow that they yelled at you, you made them hit you, if only you hadn’t done so and so they wouldn’t have had to unleash the beast inside them. And you know why this works? Because we are told from the beginning that men are right, even when they are wrong. We are taught that we must accept the leadership of a man and live under his command or we will be doomed. The problem of domestic violence doesn’t only exist in the east, it also happens in the west. The difference is that the women there are taught to fight for their rights; they don’t grow up thinking they are inferior just because they are female, they are taught to speak up against injustice. We, on the other hand, believe in giving second, third, fourth, countless chances to our sons. But our daughters are punished on the first offence, sometimes even without proof they are declared guilty and for them there is only one punishment—honour killing—because obviously a woman is always at fault and there is no redemption for her. If you belong to the category of men above, you must think I did something to deserve it. All I did was ask my brother not to yell at his two-year-old daughter. I used to take pride in the fact that I grew up in a family where daughters enjoyed the same rights as sons, sometimes even more. But when my father asked me to forget what happened and not make a fuss so relatives won’t find out about it, I realised that it was all a farce. When it came to matters of justice, I, a daughter lost the battle. Now the first sentence may have made you think I belong to a backward area of Pakistan. But that is not the case. Like my brother, I live in a city; I have a Master’s degree. My family watches English movies and English shows. But all the movies, education, and modernity cannot enlighten someone when they have pre-established this thought pattern in their minds, that they have a right over the ‘weak gender’. This has nothing to do with area, education, or living conditions and everything to do with the narcissistic thinking of men and our inability to rise up to them. That is why anyone can be the victim; you could be liberal or a fundamentalist. You could be guilty or you could be innocent. You could be a stay-at-home female or you could be a working woman. When the man in your family decides you have hurt his ego somehow, you will be punished. You may not know this yet (and may you never have to find out) but physical abuse doesn’t only hurt physically, the psychological effects last longer. One of the reasons why I am sharing this story anonymously, even though I am the victim, is because I will become the ultimate villain in the eyes of my family if I raise my voice against this injustice. Because we are women, the oppressed gender, it’s our duty to endure the beatings and humiliation and not utter a word.

Mahira Khan’s larger-than-life performance and her red-carpet appearance at the LSA2016 (replete with a dress and entourage big enough to fill up all of Expo Center), proved to me that she’s an excellent brand manager who understands her target audience very well. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEXIzZelyPk At a time when people are desperately trying to go back to old values, Mahira brings back the charisma of yesteryear. Her audience loves when her lip is bitten in sharam. They oppose the women who bite it in lust. They love when her dupatta falls strategically at the right time during a performance. They do not like women whose dupattas are intentionally hung away. They like when she giggles as soon as she sights the male lead and runs away shyly with her sukhi sahelian (content friends). They do not like women who tell the joke to the male lead and then laugh uproariously even when he doesn’t. This woman perfectly knows what works in Pakistan and she does it brilliantly well! She’s the Pakistani darling, sweetheart, beloved – and she won’t stray from that image even for a second. She’ll turn up in a poufy gown that covers her body but shows enough shape to keep the audiences mystified. She chooses roles where her chastity belt is tightened and her charm churns through. She’s not just an actress, host, dancer – she’s the director of the greatest personal brand to exist in Pakistan. She’s as brilliant as Waqar Zaka – another brand manager who knows his audience equally well. Controversy works in Pakistan and so he dates it with delect. And that’s the reason why women like Mahira will always win “Best Actress” awards and women like Qandeel Baloch will be shot in Pakistan. But I ask the stunning marketer - what happens when her brand becomes old – does brand loyalty stay with her when “sharam” no longer sells? Where does her career go when she can no longer be the beautiful “bahu” or “beti”? Will we be ever able to digest Mahira as a stereotypical “saas”? The roles she has herself helped create in the industry. What happens when “behaya” and “beghairat” women take the stages? What happens when there is no longer a need for “Mahira the Masoom” ? I’m sorry I bring up these difficult questions to you, Mahira, but I guess these are the ones I hope your daughter or the women in Pakistani will ask you one day! [poll id="668"] This post originally appeared here.

The recent murder cases of Samia Shahid and Qandeel Baloch, both victims of ‘honour killing,’ put yet another question mark on our resolve to fight violence against women. Such cases also serve to rejuvenate the controversial debate that societies tend to tolerate violence against women which, in turn, leads to more violence against women. For me, before being acquainted with data on countries where such beliefs persist, it was unimaginable that some women think domestic violence is acceptable. I think most readers would be surprised to know that wife beating, the most common form of domestic violence, is not just a norm in most countries, but also found acceptable by the victims. Most recently, a tempestuous social and media brouhaha prompted a proposal from the religious council in Pakistan that sought to legalise wife beating. The proposal that husbands be allowed to “lightly beat” their wives was immediately derided and rebuked in almost every major circle. In a country where as many as 70%-90% of women have been inflicted with some form of violence or abuse, the proposal to ignite, rather than quench domestic violence, is utterly despicable. Hypothetically, let’s forget the gender issue for a while. If almost all the members of a certain faction are suffering from afflictions and violence, it is the duty of religious scholars to address it and not sell them on the altar of their personal interests. To the proponents of the ‘wife-beating act,’ I have only one question; would you be able to sleep at night knowing that your daughter is being subjected to some form of violence at that very moment? Since we are made of flesh and blood, how can we not wince at even the slightest innuendo of violence toward our loved ones? In 2015, Pakistan saw two landmark improvements towards eradicating domestic violence; the passing of the law criminalising domestic violence and the Punjab Protection of Women Against Violence Act 2015. However, Pakistan’s exacerbating performance on the gender parity front stipulates more than just laws to address the plight of women. According to the Global Gender Gap report 2014 by the World Economic Forum, Pakistan is the second worst country in terms of gender equality. In 2013, 56 women were murdered and their only fault was that they gave birth to girls. According to the Thomas Reuters Foundation Poll, Pakistan is the third most dangerous country in the world for a woman. Afghanistan tops that list while India ranks fourth. In a country marked by early marriages, where more than half the girls (nearly 53%) between the ages of 15-19 believe that domestic violence is justified, the political right insinuating that “Pakistani women are out of control” and that the “misery of husbands” should be alleviated by giving them a legal baton, lampoons the plight of women. Interestingly, even though major media echelons picked up a story on the 53% of Pakistan teenage girls accepting domestic violence, none of them bothered to delve deeper into the demographics of such beliefs. The New York Times, for instance, did a piece on it, avoiding any details on the demographics that could divulge the root causes of such beliefs. Hence, most critics don’t shy away from jumping to the conclusion that women in Islamic countries only adhere to these beliefs. I will briefly touch upon the aforementioned notion to address that the concept of wife beating doesn’t persist in a homogeneous fashion across countries when it comes to religion. I would also argue that these beliefs are more likely a result of being deprived of an education and/or poverty instead of religion. This deprivation is what I would term as the ‘twilight zone’ referring to women in areas where the light of education has not reached and where abjection of poverty has depleted the vigour and motivation needed for resistance. This submission breeds the status quo instead of challenging it. As for beliefs shared in a homogeneous fashion with respect to religious concentration, the findings are rather surprising. In countries where a high proportion of women accept wife beating, religious beliefs (Christians, Buddhist and Muslims) play a pivotal role. Ninety two per cent of women in Guinea believe that a husband is justified in beating his wife for any of the following reasons: - When she argues with him - When she burns the food - When she goes out without telling him - When she neglects the children - When she refuses to have sex with him Of the figures available through World Bank Gender Stats, Afghanistan ranks second with 90% of its women believing that wife beating is justified. Table 1 shows a list of countries with the highest proportion of women (countries with nearly 70% or higher) who share these beliefs with respect to religious concentration in each country. Table 1 clearly negates the myth that acceptance of domestic violence persists in a homogenous fashion with respect to religion. Are these beliefs set in stone? The answer to that question is no. In Burkina Faso, the proportion of women who shared those beliefs was 71% in 2003 which dwindled significantly to 43% by 2010 – a 39% reduction in seven years. In Sierra Leone this proportion shrank from a hefty 85% in 2005 to 62% in 2013. On the other hand, there are a number of countries where this proportion seems to be on a rise. In Cambodia, for example, merely 13.8% of women were reported to share those beliefs in 2005 which more than quadrupled to 50% by 2014. In Madagascar, this percentage rose from 28% in 2004 to 45% in 2013. Kazakhstan, Indonesia and Peru exhibited a rise in the proportion of women who consider that wife beating is justified. So what do the women of twilight zone look like? In Cambodia, a typical woman who thinks wife beating is justified (53%) is a rural aged woman (around 58% of women who share these beliefs are aged 40-years or above compared to the 46 % of women aged 15-19 years), is employed (for cash or no cash, married, has five or more children, bears no education (58 % of women with no education share these beliefs compared to 40 % of women with secondary or higher education) and falls into the lowest wealth quintile (58% of women in the lowest wealth quintile accept wife beating as compared to 37% in the highest wealth quintile). In Pakistan, 42% of women consider wife beating acceptable. 50% of those are rural women and 57% fall into poorest quintile of wealth. These beliefs dilute with improvement in the economic status: dwindling to 48% in the middle quintile and 16% in the richest quintile. In India, 47% of women consider that a husband is justified in beating his wife and 52% of these women are from rural backgrounds. With respect to economic status, surprisingly, this percentage is not the highest in the poorest quintile; rather, it is highest in second, middle and fourth quintiles. Of the richest quintile, 30% accept wife beating. With respect to Pakistan, 88% of the rural women are illiterate. This situation is most critical in Balochistan and Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa where the percentage of illiterate women touches 84% and 65% respectively. Given this abysmal depth of the twilight zone in Pakistan, the whopping figure of 53% of teenage girls accepting domestic violence should not come as a surprise. The reasons why we need to care about the high proportion of women accepting domestic violence are two-fold: one, that acceptance of violence by women breeds more violence against women; second, women’s compliance with violence undermines women’s motivation to stand for their rights. In one of my recent studies (a work in progress), I carried out a cross-sectional analysis of 83 countries, for which the data was available, to see if a correlation exists between acceptance of domestic violence by women and the maternal morality ratio. Surprisingly, the correlation coefficient turns out to be a positive 0.63 which means that maternal mortality ratio is high in countries where a large portion of women accept domestic violence. Secondly, the correlation between women’s acceptance of violence and female literacy is -0.79 which means the higher the acceptance of domestic violence by women is, the lower the female literacy rate. In sum, the purpose of this exercise is to argue that there exists only one weapon that can extirpate negative social norms and cultural stereotypes: education. It also makes a case for developing countries like Pakistan to raise their education expenditure. Pakistan currently spends merely 2% of its GDP on education. The average percentage of education expenditure in GDP is 4% even for heavily indebted poor countries. Pakistan not only missed the UN target of 58% literacy rate but ended up with a sliding literacy rate-the literacy rate declined by 2% in 2013-2014, according to Pakistan Economic Survey 2014-2015. Amid these woes, efforts to reach out to the women in twilight zone need to be expedited if we are to save them from being murdered or being subjugated to violence: the light of education must reach the twilight zone at all cost.

When I lived in Saudi Arabia, religious policing of women’s bodies was the norm. I remember a time when my mother and I were casually strolling down Suwaiket street – one of the most busiest and populated areas in downtown Al-Khobar – when we suddenly witnessed the religious police, most commonly referred to as ‘mutawa’ (or mutaween for plural) approach a young woman, and angrily demanded that she cover up, as she wore the abaya (full Islamic body covering), with the scarf resting loosely around her shoulders, her face and hair bare. When the woman, who was too shocked to speak or didn’t comply right away, he proceeded to raise his cane, ready to strike her across the legs and lower back for not covering up. What happened next is unclear, as I was too young, and my parents made sure we cleared the scene as quickly as possible so that I wouldn’t be exposed to such vulgarity. This wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed or heard from others about incidences where these mutaween approached women, sometimes striking them first before demanding that they cover up. The only time women were allowed to uncover was either at home or within the confines of the compounds that they lived in – a town within a town, where women were allowed certain freedoms and privileges to do and dress as they pleased. However, this was two decades ago. And in these two decades I have come to realise that the policing of women’s bodies is not only limited to places like Saudi Arabia; a reality that I have finally come to terms with, as for the longest time I believed women in the west possessed full liberation and rights over pretty much everything, including their own bodies. And while this is true for the most part, things haven’t been as affable for Muslim women within Europe, more specifically France, over the past decade. Thus, my vision of women’s liberation in the west was quickly shattered when I learned about the French ban on the wearing of ‘conspicuous religious symbols’ in 2004, and further in 2010 when the ban was decriminalised through the Senate of France to specifically include the Muslim face veil, commonly known as the niqab. And just when we think that France will give this whole ‘banning’ business a rest, it decides to go ahead and ban something else: the “burkini” – or, to put it more precisely, disallowing women to wear swimsuits that pretty much resemble a wetsuit. As a matter of fact, to even call the suit a ‘burkini’ is highly erroneous, as it looks nothing like a burka, which is supposed to be loose and flowy. If you’ve seen pictures of women wearing the burkini, you will realise that it is quite form fitting – an image that would most likely be deemed un-Islamic and unacceptable by many Muslim clerics. Yet, France seems to have a huge problem with this because it happens to be a garment that stems out of Islam – the very religion to which they’ve been the recent targets of terrorist attacks. What the French don’t realise, however, is that this so-called burkini has no correlation to those attacks, nor should all Muslims be painted as raging terrorists, ready to blow themselves up in the name of Islam. This is anti-Muslim bigotry at its worst, and it is not only a vilification of human rights, but is also extremely undemocratic; especially when democracy is a value that the country seems to proudly uphold. Yet, how can France consider itself a democracy when just a few days ago, on a crowded beach in the city of Nice, armed police forced a Muslim woman, wearing this so-called burkini, to strip it off. These policemen are no different than the mutaween who force women to cover their hair/face in places within Saudi Arabia. It is just as oppressive, demeaning, and an encroachment on the rights of women who want to dress as they please in clothes that they feel most comfortable in. And it may even perhaps be a choice; women may choose to wear the conservative swimsuit for many reasons that are not even religious in the first place. Reasons may simply include safeguarding from the sun or not feeling comfortable showing their bodily ‘flaws.’ Or, it could be enforced. Whatever the reason, the wetsuit just makes it that much more easier for, and instils confidence in, women to get out of their homes and enjoy the outdoors. Mind you, these are women who may not even be allowed to leave their homes without a male chaperone in the first place. These may be women who have been forced to wear the headscarf, of course by the males in their family, and going to the beach, despite being covered from head to toe, may serve as a sense of liberation and entitlement for them – a luxury that they rarely get a chance to indulge in. So, why take this privilege away from these women? Why make an already seemingly oppressed woman even more oppressed? What good will it serve these women, when they should instead be praised for having the guts to partake in a public activity that they would otherwise never be allowed to partake in had the burkini never existed? I mean wasn’t this the reason why the burkini was invented in the first place, as Aheda Zanetti, the creator of the swimsuit says, “When I invented the burkini in early 2004, it was to give women freedom, not to take it away.” I admit, I personally am not an advocate of women’s garments that include wearing the veil and a headscarf, but I would certainly never ban a woman from wanting to wear it. I do not have the right to impose my beliefs on someone else. At the same time, I am not a fan of the burkini either – I actually wouldn’t even call it that, because to me it is clothing that stems out of oppressive forces. Most Muslim women wear this garment, because it covers their body, confirming their piousness and virtue in the eyes of the men who have enforced it on them. The garment is purely patriarchal, as much as we try to deny its origin. Yet, it is wrong to ban it. French men have no right to tell Muslim women that they are being oppressed by wearing this specific garment, when they, too, are acting no different in their tyrannical approaches. It is oppression when men force women to veil. And it is also oppression when men force women to un-veil. Both times, patriarchy has taken full precedence and it’s time that men stayed out of women’s affairs, and just let them be. At the same time – and, here I will be the devil’s advocate – I also feel that it is unfair that so much outrage is directed towards the burkini ban, when Muslim and foreign women alike, in ultra-orthodox Islamic nations like Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan, are forced, punished, and demeaned for showing their hair or uncovering parts of their body, i.e. arms and legs, that they are not supposed to reveal, in public. I wish we would raise our voices against this forced oppression as well, because it is oppression as much as we try to deny it. We need to condemn countries like Saudi Arabia for publicly hitting women, and humiliating them, just like I had witnessed all those years ago for not covering up. We need to raise our voices against enforcement of the headscarf/face veil on women, just like how we are condemning the French for being hypocritical and tyrannical in their enforcement of the ban. Nevertheless, the most distressing thing about this whole ordeal is that France will respond to the outrage on the burkini ban, and even go as far as to overturn it. And the most recent news on the issue has revealed that France’s highest court has actually overturned it. Yet, chances of overturning the enforcement of the head covering/face veil will never see the light of day in the orthodox Islamic countries in the east. This is where the root of the problem lies. This is why anti-Muslim bigotry exists, and keeps flourishing – and this why women, and their bodies, will always be targeted and objectified time and time again. Perhaps it’s time we directed our rage where it should have been directed a very, very long time ago. Because if we had, maybe, just maybe, we wouldn’t have to deal with outlandish issues such as the burkini ban in the first place. If we sincerely tackled the issues that our women are constantly suffering from on a daily basis, in places like Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, etc perhaps things would have been very different for them in the west. A woman’s clothing should never be banned, nor should any article of clothing ever be enforced on her. It’s time we realised this hypocrisy within us and find ways to rectify it. After all, change begins at home, doesn’t it?

Another day, another tragedy in Quetta. The city has seen too many to be listed but the attack on Balochistan Police College that took at least 61 lives, is the third time in less than three months that terrorists have been successful. On August 8^th, Quetta’s legal community was wiped out in a devastating bomb blast. Two months later, on October 5^th, four Hazara Shia women were dragged from a public bus and shot dead on the road. Today we mourn the police cadets that were killed. Calling them martyrs will not help. They are dead. Dead like many, many others before them. The pattern is depressingly familiar. Shias, Sunnis, school children, women, law enforcement agencies, and military outfits have all been targeted. Schools, hospitals, religious sites, hotels, government buildings, shopping places, processions, military sites, airport and the list of targets go on… The state is under siege by terrorist groups and yet the phrase one hears from official channels is that Zarb-e-Azb has “broken the backs of terrorists”. The civilian government and army outdo each other in patting their backs and announcing the success of the on-going military operation. Congratulatory messages and attacks carry on almost in tandem. One has to question if the state is trying to convince the people or itself? The operation is successful we are told again and again. Successful? Tell that to the terrified people in Quetta. Tell that to those who have lost sons, mothers, brothers and fathers. Tell that to the orphaned children and widowed ladies. The other thing we hear is the commitment to wipe out terrorists. After the APS Peshawar attack, Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif said,

“We announce that there will be no differentiation between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ Taliban, and resolve to continue the war against terrorism till the last terrorist is eliminated.”

Real videos of rape are being sold in Uttar Pradesh, India. For Rs20 to Rs300. No, this is not a joke. Really think about that for a second. The person you know or heard of, that girl? Who got raped? Yes, the video is of her being raped. Again. And again and again. By not one, not two but four people. Four people who take turns holding the shoddy camera phone with which they are recording their victim being torn apart – physically and mentally. They are clawing at her clothes, biting parts of skin that can be seen. Biting hard, until the skin finally gives way and rips with drops of blood sliding down her skin. They yank her hair, stuff their filthy hands into her mouth so she stops making a sound and then they repeatedly violate her shaking body. Until she has one breath left inside her. But before they leave her there, naked and vulnerable, they show her the video while she lies there lifeless, tears full of dirt falling down her bruised cheeks. Then they threaten to distribute the video to the masses if she talks about what happened to her. They tell her they will bring shame to her family and then they will kill her. And they leave. Only to sell the evidence of their despicable acts to the highest bidder. People buying and watching porn doesn’t surprise me. With easy access to sexually explicit content, people avail anything that would gratify them, fuelling their imagination even more. Some people find themselves creeping to the back sections of DVD stores and availing all kinds of pornographic content to satiate their kinks and sexual frustrations. While there are many categories of pornography, and rape fantasy is one of them, I never thought people would willingly buy real videos where real women are getting raped. With all the disgusting kind of fetishes people have that cannot be explained, whether it’s the school girl, or the customer being surprised by a delivery boy, porn stars play different roles to cater to various genres. In many places such content is legal because the fact that it’s bordering on the idea of assertion and submission and physical violence is not a factor for them. But, no one can even begin to justify that actual rape videos are being sold and distributed. These men cannot even be called beasts because even animals have a conscience. Rs20 to satisfy a fetish? Is that how much the victim’s dignity is worth? Let’s get this straight: victims are taken, violated, and documented for two reasons. One is for the assailant to assert his authority while they’re physically violating someone, as if it’s a proof of their victory. The second is to stop them from seeking legal action by blackmailing them with it, telling them that they’ll show the video to everyone: guaranteeing their silence and the leeway to be able to violate them again when they’re bored or in need for some release. Anyone who has even a streak of logic can tell you that only things that there is a market for are invested in and sold; and that realisation is sickening enough as it is. How can anyone digest the fact that one person’s moment of horror, one that, from that day forth, has defined and labelled them for life, is another person’s fantasy? I am absolutely disgusted. Rapists deserve far worse than death because they’ve ruined a person’s life that has no choice but to keep on living. And when you think that such savages couldn’t stoop any lower, you find out that they sell these videos to such shops to make a quick buck. And instead of reporting these stores, or handing in these videos to the authorities so that the perpetrators in the videos can stop parading the streets and for once be held accountable for their sick actions, others are enjoying watching the proof of their crime. Only vermin can be aroused watching the Mukhtaran Mai’s of the world be raped or the Kasur children be subjected to sexual violence. If one of you is reading this, how does it excite you to watch someone physically violate someone else in a matter of minutes? Do you wish you were the one assaulting, or the one being assaulted? Do you fantasise about being bruised and being left to bleed, or being the one enduring the bruises and the bleeding? Do your thoughts include innocent children? Did you lure them with candy, or touch them while they are watching an episode of Doraemon? Do you fantasise about his/her small hands, and the way horror flashes across their tiny faces out of sheer helplessness as you hold their mouth shut and have your way with them? Perhaps not a child – no, that is where you draw the line. The individual in your fantasy is above the legal age. Because that makes a difference; then you have someone to blame, right? She asked for it? She was purposely titillating. That changes the bouts of self-blame, the distrust, the emotional detachment, the PTSD, the thoughts of suicide, the social stigma, the loss of respect, the fear, the vulnerability and the depression that follows after. You were provoked; she made you tear her clothes off. She wanted someone else to document her dignity being stolen from her from start to finish. Maybe if you’re lucky you can watch them cry as you penetrate them over and over again. Perhaps it’s gang rape that you fancy. What’s your limit? Three? Four? Seven? Do you fantasise about taking turns while the rest watch her trying to fight each man off? Are you pinning her arms down while the others have their way or do you get excited at the prospect of all of you going at her all at once? No. The best part is probably thinking about when you’re above her, sneering, and laughing triumphantly, jabbing your body inside her while you snicker about how she wouldn’t dare tell anyone because she’d be ruined after you show everyone what a s*** she really is. You probably climax at the thought of climbing off her and telling her you’ll be back soon for round two and she’d better be ready and inviting. Does it excite you knowing that these are very real videos, of very real encounters? Rape is not a kink. It is not a sexual fantasy. It is a violation. And even fantasising about it is reprehensible. The men that make these videos and circulate them are disgusting. But the men who have taken these videos and made it into a profitable business are promoting a sick culture and mentality that is inexcusable. Every time another rape occurs, their blood is on your hands.

A few months ago, when Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy won her Oscar, I got into a heated argument with one of my friends. His contention was that people like her were ‘maligning’ the image of Pakistan by unnecessarily inflating some isolated incidents. In his opinion, her efforts were just creating negative stereotypical images of Pakistan and which made ‘enemies’ of Pakistan feel comfortable in their hate. In his opinion, Pakistan’s gender related issues were not systemic and were blown out of proportion.

“It is just a tiny minority which is indulging in honour killings and it is unfair to present Pakistan in such a negative light”, he argued.

“While it is impossible, given their diversity, to paint one picture of women living under Islam today, it is clear that the religion has been used in most Muslim countries not to liberate but to entrench inequality.”

Recently the management of the Karachi EAT food festival came under a lot of criticism over their ‘families only’ rule. Memes and jokes were made and circulated on social media and a lot of online activity was witnessed where young boys who prefer to move in groups and often dubbed as ‘munchalay’ were planning a crusade against the above mentioned rule. This sparked a debate between the men and women of the country as they argued over whether they are justified or not, and how discriminatory the rule is. https://twitter.com/ashaqeens/status/819916899194695680 [fbpost link=https://www.facebook.com/girlsatdhabas/photos/a.397364840473103.1073741828.392367604306160/596679303874988/?type=3&theater][/fbpost] Being a man myself, I disagree with the way men are reacting to the strict ‘no stags’ policy. The policy has been established for pressing reasons. In Pakistan, where large scale events like these are concerned, in order for them to be executed smoothly, such policies are necessary. Our men aren’t mature and civilised enough to be allowed into events with a mixed crowd setting. We continue to witness what happens at Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf (PTI) political gatherings where groping and shoving are a regular feature and often the security staff has to use batons to disperse the crowd of rowdy men. Similar cases were reported at the recently held concert at Moin Khan Academy in Karachi. Singer Atif Aslam also had to briefly pause his performance and rescue a poor girl from the front row who was being subjected to physical abuse by a boy from within the audience. He is noted to have said,

“Insaan ka bacha banja ya mai bana dunga” (Behave yourself or I’ll make sure you do.)

A blogger posted a screenshot of Lindsay Lohan’s new Instagram bio. She had deleted all her posts and the bio read “Alaikum salam” which translates to “peace be unto you.” As a joke, I took a screenshot of the bio and put it up as my cover photo on Facebook. One of my friends asked in the comments,

 “What?”

“All she has to do is be herself.”

“It was my first day at work. I covered my head like a good Muslim, didn’t speak to the opposite gender unnecessarily, still somehow by the time I returned home, I had a few extremely vulgar text messages from unidentified numbers on my mobile. It shocked me because only a few family members had my new mobile number and I was 100% certain that it wasn’t a coincidence to receive such messages on my first day at work. I was frightened at the thought of someone at this new workplace having such a perception of me. That someone must have assumed I am open to the idea of having sexual relationships at workplace. I was frightened and filled with self-doubt. I traced back all of my steps during that day to figure out what exactly had I done to ‘encourage’ this kind of behaviour.”

Expecting a survivor to ignore harassment because the problem is so widespread is basically giving a green signal to aggressors. Every time you tell a survivor of sexual harassment to stay quiet, you are also telling the abuser to continue pushing boundaries further and further.

I won’t end this blog by begging men to have empathy for women and by saying things like ‘but what if it happened to the women in your family’. No, women don’t need to shoulder the burden of men’s actions anymore. But believe me, when morality is lost in a society, everyone gets affected. There comes a point when these beasts stop caring about their target’s age, marital status, and even gender. We hear about cases of young men and boys being abused all the time. Think about it, what sort of world are we planning to leave behind for our future generations?

The Handmaid’s Tale is a harrowing TV series set in Gilead, an oppressive totalitarian society where women, referred to as ‘handmaids’,  are not allowed to vote, to hold jobs, to read, or own property.  Their role is reduced to that of a child-bearer, and any form of retaliation against the regime is punishable by death.  The storyline is an exaggerated take on patriarchal societies in the developed world; nevertheless it rings close to the truth for regimes around the world. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PJTonrzXTJs The story highlights the way in which totalitarian states have been able to oppress minorities and reprimand dissidents of the regime. Gilead, a theocracy, is governed by archaic laws that are derived from an interpretation of the Bible which furthers the regime’s interests. A terrifyingly similar real-world example of such a state is Saudi Arabia. The male-guardianship system present in the country – a set of state-enforced discriminatory policies – limits women from travelling, obtaining a passport, or undergoing medical procedures without the consent of a male guardian. This creates a pervasive and often inescapable cycle of gender inequality and has serious repercussions. It ultimately results in the incapability of women to report and escape abuse. The show explores this issue in context to class struggles. Women who are members of the elite class have significantly more, albeit limited, freedom and authority. This is, once again, reflected in Saudi Arabia’s societal hierarchy. Saudi women who are protected by wealth and proximity to power exercise rights which are denied to the majority of women in the country.  Zeina, a Saudi businesswoman, told the Human Rights Watch in 2016:

“As you go up the social ladder it becomes easy; as you go down it becomes almost impossible.”

I sit in the room at the end of the hallway. The door is closed. My head is bent. I am waiting to be called. I was six-years-old. I stood on the balcony with my mother, father and cousin as we tried to spot the chaand that would symbolise the start of Ramazan. I was excited. I was thrilled; there was nothing I wanted more than to fast for the entire month. I started singing,

“Ramazan ke rozay aye, hum roza rakhna chahain!” (The month of fasting is here, and we wish to fast!)

“Aglay saal, aglay saal, aglay saal!” (Next year, next year, next year!)

“Aglay saal” came soon enough, and along with that came a long awaited friend.

“Aren’t you fasting?”

“Why isn’t she pretending to fast?” she questioned my grandmother.

“Why?”

“Some things aren’t meant to be questioned.”

“Beta, girls are precious. So it is your duty to protect yourself.” “Protect myself from what exactly?”

“Girls aren't supposed to let the world know when their friend is visiting,” she cooed as she ruffled my hair.

“Ramazan ke rozay aye…”

A movie that was initially banned in India because it was too ‘women-oriented’ and led to a discussion on feminism and looking at women with their imperfections and sexual longings, was bound to be good. After all, it was set to create a revolution. But Lipstick Under My Burkha is anything but that. In actuality, it only hopes to inspire a sentiment of female empowerment, only to take you back to the chains towed by patriarchy, just like it eventually does to its protagonists. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpHqeHF8NM0 As the movie opens, we are introduced to the four protagonists – Bua ji (Ratna Pathak), Leela (Aahana Kumra), Shireen (Konkona Sen Sharma) and Rehana (Plabita Borthakur) – through the narration of an erotica novel called ‘Lipstick Waley Sapnay’ (Lipstick dreams). The narration of this story is brought to light through Pathak’s powerful voice, while showing glimpses of the lives of our four ladies. Rehana is the unconventional Muslim girl trapped in a burqa in her conservative family. She hums Led Zeppelin with the same fervour that she sings Miley Cyrus’s ‘Seven Things’. Rehana is, in simple terms, a rebel. She works with her parents at their burqa tailoring shop. However, she wears jeans and adorns a bold lipstick under the guise of her burqa. Every time she is within her parents’ sight or anyone in her community, her secret guise is removed and tucked away in her backpack. Crippled by the pressures of a middle-class household, she steals clothes and lipsticks from the mall. Like her idol Miley Cyrus in Hannah Montana, she juggles two lives at the same time, one of parties, alcohol and boys, and the other of a conservative reserved youngster following the rules set by her conservative family. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: IMDb[/caption] Shireen is the mother of three children trapped in an emotionally abusive marriage. Her husband – who resides in Saudi Arabia and only returns to India a few times a year just to satisfy his sexual needs – views Shireen merely as a sex object. Numerous times, Shireen is left pregnant and alone. Stifled by the role she is forced to play within her marriage, Shireen’s only respite are the days when her husband is back in Saudi Arabia, as she has the freedom to focus on her job as a sales girl. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: IMDb[/caption] Leela is an independent working woman hoping to start a new business as a bride consultant with her boyfriend. Unafraid to channel her feminine sexuality by demanding sex when she wants it, she is bold and ambitious but only outside her home where her single mother resides. Leela is the perfect representation of a middle-class woman wanting to achieve big but is instead forced into an engagement. She is pressured into this engagement to help free her mother from her loans. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Screenshot[/caption] Bua ji, also known as Usha ji, is a widow in her 50s with an interest in erotic fiction. Reading is the only way she can ever hope to get close to fulfilling her sexual desires. So she dreams of being Roxy, the protagonist in ‘Lipstick Walay Sapnay’, while attempting to live a life that fits within society’s prescribed idea of a widowed old woman, who spends her days listening to bhajans (devotional songs) and satsans (Hindu religious sermons). As the oldest member and the owner of the colony building where the four characters live, Bua ji is the one everyone comes to for guidance. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: IMDb[/caption] Besides the small colony they live in, Bua ji, Shireen, Leela and Rehana have another thing in common – their aspiration to break free from the patriarchal milieu they live in. But where Lipstick Under My Burkha starts off as a narrative in which these women achieve their aspirations to be free (in whichever limited ways freedom can be plausibly achieved), the film ends up being anything but that. As the story follows the life of these four women, the movie gives its audience, especially women, a reason to hope but shatters that very hope towards the end of the movie. There is an odd similarity between the film and the regressive society we live in. We are told to dream big and aspire through stories, like Bua ji’s guilty pleasures to Rehana’s Hannah Montana-inspired lifestyle, only to be crushed once the reality hits us in the form of relentless and unyielding patriarchy. And that is the trajectory of the journey of the four women in Lipstick Under My Burkha; they feel restricted by patriarchy, they want to break free of it and yet they end up trapped even further by it. For example, Bua ji is thrown out of her house after her family finds out about her proclivity for erotica; the inevitable exposure of Rehana’s dual life leads to her getting grounded and her father discontinues her education and decides that the one solution to her ‘unreasonable’ freedom is marriage; Leela is left torn between her lover, who she plans to elope with, and the man chosen by her mother who will free her of their debt; Shireen attempts to take up the job of a sales girls’ trainer only to be ‘shown her place’ once her husband finds outs because “biwi ho shohar banne ki koshish mat karo” (you’re the wife, don’t try to be the husband). And that’s precisely where the problem lies. These women no matter how rebellious, on the quest to fulfil their desires, are thrown into imprisonment. They don’t try to reason, question or demand. They don’t demand the right to their own agency outside of their secret lives. In their secret lives, they are empowered but that is as far as it goes. Movies have a power to give way to a dialogue, an elaboration of a different worldview than the one prescribed by society. Conversely, this film, in a strange and disappointing way, ends up endorsing a restrictive worldview or, at the very least, suggesting that resistance is futile. It puts women ‘in their place’ by pushing them back to the very patriarchal setup they want to be freed from. A year ago, a friend told me that the truth of the matter is that in the big picture, there is no space for women. Lipstick Under My Burkha, no matter how bold, reminds me of those lines, but do we really want to believe that? Isn’t it better to allow for the possibility of change, to believe in women putting up a fight and maybe even coming out on top? In this day and age, when there is an increased discourse surrounding the importance of narratives of female empowerment, it is all the more imperative to highlight these stories rather than the endless stories of women falling victim to the injustices of patriarchy. Lipstick Under My Burkha plays with stereotypes often attached to women – a Muslim girl wanting to break through her conservativeness, a middle-class woman forced into marrying someone chosen by her mother, an old single woman who is known by the relation she has with others than her own identity, and a wife confined to the four walls of her home. The story pits woman against woman – one of patriarchy’s best defences. Instead of pointing fingers at the men in question, it puts the victims, the women, on the spot, thus complicating and destroying their lives further. For Leela, the only way to get her boyfriend’s attention was to make him jealous by clinging to another man, her fiancé. Because how else would a woman show her worth other than making a man realise she has another waiting at the altar? Movies should allow us to change the dire realties of our lives, not endorse these restrictions further. In between the complexities of these characters, there is only one solace, other than the much debated feminine sexuality, and that is the unique friendship these women have. Yet it fails to hold much significance for the movie. Lipstick Under My Burkha is bold and portrays woman as humans but fails to make a place for them in the bigger picture.

Have you ever hoped for silence? Have you waited for minutes, hours and even days for the absence of words, conversation and noise? I find myself here more often than I should. Sitting at my bedside questioning my life and sanity, wondering what path I took that brought me here. A path I question but very well know; the curves and bumps on each and every step. This isn’t a new occurrence, it happens often and every time I tell myself I will soon escape this moment of craving pure silence. I feel like a caged bird, clipped off of her wings and fragile but no caretaker to bring me back to life. When did I start feeling so lifeless? I’m here talking, occasionally laughing, socialising but nights like these remind me how dead I am inside. With each day, my insides are rotting away regardless of how sunny things are on the surface. I continue sitting here soaking in tears, with things all over the place in a mess as big as myself. I don’t really remember where it all started. Maybe it was when we were arguing that one cold November night. My memory plays games with me; at times I can feel the winds, hear the hollowness of that winter but other times, it’s as if someone put snow over my memory like a blanket. That night you got so upset, you slammed your own fist down on our dining table. I had never seen rage like that from you. How did you manage to conceal it all those years of us dating? I felt like it was my fault and I’d pushed you too far to get like this. Then a couple of days after that, my leg became a replacement for the dining table. It left a bruise the size of a golf ball. You didn’t apologise, because it ended with me saying sorry and you promising it would never happen again.

“It’s not me. I don’t know what came over me.”

It’s 2017, which means every day one wakes up to a new outrage on social media – it is simply the way of the world now. You pick a side and tweet incessantly until the next outrage-inducing news comes along.

Now, normally, I try my best to act reasonable and get some facts before I join the outrage train, so imagine my surprise when I see pictures of Mahira Khan smoking with Ranbir Kapoor, and I immediately begin to judge her.

How could I not? Did you see what she was wearing? My first thought was, ‘wow, what a lovely dress!’ What do we have to do to get pretty dresses here in Pakistan? And no, please don’t say, “go to Mango”, because I love my kidneys and would very much like to keep them both.

Then I saw that the pictures were taken in New York, which not only doubled my outrage, but also made me extremely jealous. Mahira gets to wear pretty dresses in New York while we have to slowly melt inside our dupattas in this blistering heat? When September feels like June, you know climate change must be real.

I spent another minute looking at the pictures, sincerely judging Mahira some more. ‘Look at her’, I thought, the stunning human being that she is, and she’s hanging out with Ranbir Kapoor? That by itself should be a crime. I judge people by the company they keep, and Ranbir’s reputation as a philanderer does not do him any favours. Mahira is Lollywood royalty, and she’s done a movie with Shah Rukh Khan – surely she can do a lot better than Ranbir? Can you imagine this picture of Mahira smoking with Aamir Khan or even Shahid Kapoor? Instantly gets classier.

So yes, for a minute, I was like every other person on the internet, but then I saw what everyone else was judging her for and that gave me pause. While I was judging her for the silly reasons discussed earlier, what were my fellow internet users judging her for? For the length of her dress, for smoking, for having an alleged love bite which I, uncultured as I am, did not even notice.

To think that after the global backlash against the shamers of Mahira Khan, the world of shamers would take the back seat, is indeed just a hopeful thought.

Khan got slut-shamed over her choice of clothes (the dress, by the way, is really sexy!) and for smoking a cigarette because smoking cigarettes automatically turns women into ‘unreputable women’.  Kareena Kapoor was shamed on Instagram shortly after the Khan incident for having ‘fat legs’.

The Indian actress, who just gave birth to her son Taimur Ali Khan, has remained an inspiration for new moms as well as moms-to-be. During her pregnancy, she flaunted her baby bump unapologetically when she walked the ramp for Sabyasachi, a famous Indian designer, as the show stopper at Lakme Fashion Week 2016. Soon after, she was seen making a conscious effort on various platforms to talk about embracing pregnancy instead of feeling embarrassed by it.

If that’s not enough, following her delivery, there was a massive hype on social media about Kapoor hitting the gym. In fact, she was back at the gym only after a few weeks of giving birth. Since Bebo has a huge fan following, her workout videos and regime have become a source of inspiration for not just moms-to-be but women everywhere. They absolutely love her dedication to fitness and find the motivation from her. If this wasn’t enough, this super woman even continued shooting for her upcoming film until her baby bump started to become obvious.

“...spent on the exact same spot on the couch and rarely would I muster up the energy to make it upstairs for bed. John would sleep on the couch with me, sometimes four nights in a row. I started keeping robes and comfy clothes in the pantry so I wouldn’t have to go upstairs when John went to work. There was a lot of spontaneous crying.”

Hazoora, a 24-year-old native of Kohistan (an arid piece of land located near Thatta), complains that her hair is falling due to transporting heavy cans of water on her head since she was eight-years-old. She travels approximately one to eight kilometres every day to fetch her share of water, and her body aches from carrying six to seven buckets of water daily for domestic needs. Even her pregnancy did not put an end to her ordeal since water is not a commodity one can live without. This is not just Hazoora’s plight, but the plight of thousands of women living in this dry and barren land where fetching water for domestic needs is seen as the responsibility of women only. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="338"] Photo: Khurram Zia[/caption] Even most of the young girls are made to fetch water for their households, leaving them with no time to study or play since this is a daily obligation. As a result of this life-long responsibility, women develop bone deformity and other complications. This is not difficult to believe in light of the fact that they regularly lift 10 to 15 litres of water from the depth of approximately 40 feet. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Khurram Zia[/caption] Local men are unfortunately not of any assistance, despite this being a tough job, as they consider it “unmanly” to perform such chores. The village elders, when asked about this odd custom, seem to be unaware regarding the origination of this cruel custom. But they are proudly carrying it forward nonetheless, without any thought of how this may affect the well-being of their women. Fetching water is a complicated task, but a greater complication is that water cannot be fetched where it is not available. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Khurram Zia[/caption] Living in Karachi, it is easy to picture gallons of water being wasted on long baths/showers and washing vehicles or dishes without realising that just a small distance away from the city, every single drop of water is considered a necessity in order to survive. Kohistan, in particular, is incredibly stressed for water. Its people are almost entirely dependent on rain for water-based needs. Providing water to the people of Pakistan is the responsibility of the government, but unfortunately, ours has failed miserably in that area. Mohammad Yousuf, a local man, revealed that politicians who won seats from this constituency only visit the area during election time or to offer condolences for the death of a community elder, but they never bother to take interest in the troubles of their voters. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Khurram Zia[/caption] It is this indifference and incapability of local representatives towards their people which creates a vacuum that is subsequently filled by NGOs. Where the institutions fail, it is the private sector that steps up and organises public campaigns to help drought-affected areas in Sindh. One such initiative is the ‘Water for Women project’, a collaborative project between Indus Earth Trust, an NGO, and the Coca-Cola foundation. This will ultimately benefit 34-40 villages, as not only will wells be improved, allowing for easier water extraction, but the extracted water will be collected in covered tanks and later distributed through channels for household use, and through troughs for livestock. Tayaba, an NGO operating in Tharparkar, came up with the idea for an H20 wheel, with the aim to provide one barrel per household and then provide them with access to clean water. The H2o wheel helps the women transport water easily, as they just have to drag the barrel back and forth instead of carrying it on their heads or back. Such projects will eventually bring about a marked improvement to the lives of the struggling locals, particularly the women who bear the brunt of water scarcity. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Tayaba.org Facebook[/caption] Kohistan remains one of the many marginalised communities in Pakistan where poverty is rampant and governance is absent. The suffering of the people as they struggle to find water is so gut-wrenching that a brief visit of this area will haunt you for days. The presence of NGOs only serves to highlight that it is not impossible to invest in such drought-affected areas and help its people; it is simply negligence on the part of our leaders and government. Hopefully, one day, the Sindh government will wake up and take action for a change, and hopefully that day won’t be too far for the people of Kohistan.

As I strolled out of Emporium Mall the other day and waited for my car, a street urchin approached me. Assuming she was going to ask for some money, I pretended not to see her, but then she did something shockingly out of the ordinary – she adjusted the dupatta on my chest, draping it in a manner so that my entire chest was now covered by a sheet of cloth.

“Baaji, kitni pyari ho (you’re so pretty), but it doesn’t look good na”, she said, pointing to the men standing nearby. “All the brothers are looking at you. Look even I have my dupatta on properly.”

“Doesn’t look nice, beta.”

“Woh toh larka hai.”  (He is a boy.)

“Kokhla chapha kay jumairaat ayi hay... jaira picchay murr kay wekkhay odhi shaamat aai hay... kokhla chapha kay jumairaat ayi hay... jaira picchay mur…” their chanting went on and on. (I have hidden the dupatta behind you on Thursday and if you turn your head around, you'll be in trouble)

“Kamini maaoun ki aulaadein... mar jaain sab kay sab,” she rasped harshly. (Children of rascal mothers… I hope they all die)

 “If she tries to hit, why don’t you duck? Buddhi teray se tez hay kia? (Is that old woman faster than you?)”

 “Larki zaat hay... nishaan paray achay nai hotay!”  (You’re a woman… scars are not considered good/respectable)

“Aay larki... khaana idher palang pe rakh,” Riffat Bai snapped at her. (Hey you… put the food here on the bed)

 “Meri taraf dekhti kyun nai tu? Hain?” she inquired of Naghmana who stood close to her quivering with fear. (Why don’t you look at me, huh?)

“Maa pe gayi hay tu, sab rang roop wesa hay. Baap toh namuraad pata nai kon tha, magar tu Salma ki chaap hay bilkul, haq hawww teri badqismati.”  (You have taken on your mother, your complexion and features are just like her. I don’t know who your wretched father was, but you’re Salma’s replica, unlucky for you.)

 “Bilkul usi raat ki tarha… (just like that night…)” she recalled. Shuddering, she looked away.

 “Naam kiya hay tera, phuljarrii? Aye larkiiiiii, batti jala day kamray ki, namuraad!” her voice bounced off the empty house loudly. (What was your name, firecracker? Oy girl, turn on the room lights, you wretched girl!

“Riffat Bai humaari maa ki jagah hay Naggi! Uskay sath badtameezi ki tou taangein torr dungi! Kuch nai sunna uskay baray mein meinay!” her mother had gotten angry when Naghmana recounted last night’s events to her. (Riffat Bai is like our mother Naggi! If you misbehave with her I shall break your legs. I don’t want to listen to anything about her!) “Amma kasam le lo, meinay kuch nai kaha Bai ko. Usse tou bohat darr lagta mujhay. Aisi badsoorat aurat aaj tak nai dekhi!” she said hatefully. (Mother I swear, I have not said anything to Bai. I am frightened of her. Never seen a woman uglier than her!)

“Abhi tou ek hafta rehta hay, zaada jaldi nai agaye?”  (There is still a week left, haven’t you come early?)

“Bas le kar aai!” she ran back to the kitchen. (Just bringing it)

 “Ab tou bari hogayi hay Naggi. Isko baroun ki baatoun mein shaamil kiya karo, Salma,” he said while looking at Naghmana, imploring her to stay with his eyes. (Naggi is all grown up now. You should involve her in such grownups’ conversations now, Salma)

“Naggi abhi bari nahi hui, bachi hi hay, ye tu yaad rakh, Jawad!” (Naggi has not grown up as yet, she is still a child, remember this, Jawad!)

“Riffat Bai ki khidmat karna Naggi. Main koi shikayat na sunoun, jesay kahein tu karna wesay, e mera bacha,” Salma advised her daughter. (Take care of Riffat Bai and tend to her Naggi. I better not hear any complaints, do whatever she asks of you, my child)

“Ab batata hun tujhay, main tujhay dhanda karnay kay qaabil bhi nai chorunga. Main tujh...” she screamed and suddenly Riffat Bai realised she wasn’t dreaming. (Now I will teach you, I will not leave you in any position to even do business. I will…)

“Riffat Bai!!” screamed Naghmana and tried to get up to run and get help, but Riffat Bai held her hand and stopped her.

“Aye larki, tu kabhi Riffat Bai na bannna!” (Listen girl…don’t ever become Riffat Bai!)