Nothing in our world happens without meaning or impact. In every moment, we absorb different forms of energy from whatever our surroundings hold, especially in the tender stage of childhood. Toys, for one, might simply be seen as objects children play with, but is there a chance that they too have a deeper meaning and effect on the minds and personalities of minors?  Toys also play a part in implementing gender roles – we all have seen little girls playing with dolls, and boys being given toy cars or guns to play with. I, myself, was fond of dolls as a child and couldn’t care less about other toys. As someone who has had her fair share of the Barbie-obsession, I can affirm that the toys we play with serve a huge role in informing our behaviour, and if adults are observant they can know more about their children from the way they play with their toys. For me, playing with dolls was all about creating tiny and adorable dresses for them – I ended up enrolling in a fashion design institute. Today, I see my nieces playing those Barbie dress-up games on their parents’ smartphones and PC’s, something that has replaced playing with actual dolls. Behaviour formation occurs here too. Like their plastic counterparts, the Barbie-like figures affirm the importance of glamour and makeup to children, because of the dress-up games that become such an innate part of doll culture. The changes made in the production of dolls and their features cannot be missed. Though critics are dismissive of famous brands such as Barbie, due to the unrealistic body image they may weave into the minds of young girls, Bratz dolls have been the blatant glamorisation of all dolls. Many of us have fought with society’s perceptions of beauty based on the standards that have been established by the media. While Barbies seem like an imitation of runway models, these Bratz dolls are something beyond sensualised versions of what the fashion industry and pop-culture presents as desirable – all embedded into a child’s toy. This will serve as nothing but harmful for the younger generation of girls. So, is it fine to let the delicate minds of young girls be exposed to the pop-culture inspired toys that might end up giving them the wrong idea about beauty and gender-roles? Artist Wendy Tsao didn’t think so. A true artist is someone who can shift the perspective and look beyond what the masses have adjusted to. And Canadian artist, Tsao, decided to do just that. She believes that we shouldn’t let our younger generation be pushed back to ideals that make them want to conform to certain beauty standards; whether it’s the perfect Barbie-bodies, or the sensual looks of Bratz dolls. She reimagined the Bratz dolls as women of essence. The new dolls were not Disney or mythical characters, but iconic women from real life. Tsao removed the makeup from Bratz dolls and reinvented them. Her new dolls were based on Malala Yousafzai, JK Rowling, Jane Goodall, Waris Dirie, and Roberta Bondar. I would have loved to get my hands on the doll inspired by the astronaut Roberta Bondar as a child – I was really obsessed with space and astronomy. [poll id="680"] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="557"] Malala Yousafzai, 1997-, Pakistani activist, youngest Nobel Prize laureate[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="562"] JK Rowling, 1965-, British novelist best known for Harry Potter series[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="576"] Jane Goodall, 1934- , British primatologist, UN Messenger of Peace[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="569"] Waris Dirie, 1965-, model, author, social activist[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="613"] Roberta Bondar, first female Canadian astronaut[/caption] Wendy’s motive was to inspire the children who played with these dolls, so that they could learn more about these inspirational women and develop ideals that will make them want to explore greater horizons in life. Children will see that these strong personalities were also like them at one time and that they, too, can be as great if they aim for it. Tsao herself was inspired by her own sister who was a strong-headed girl and supported her through thick and thin. Having been raised with an older sibling with a determined personality facilitated Tsao to be able to see that children need strong and inspirational role models as opposed to hyper-sensualised toys. When Tsao observed how Bratz dolls were being criticised, she didn’t join in the criticism. Instead, she sought to find an alternative. She still wonders whether children will be fascinated with the new dolls. Perhaps many young girls won’t even be familiar with the heroic women these dolls represent. I believe this is where our responsibility as adults comes in. Raising our children to be curious about the world and inventing fun ways to teach them about people who made great contributions to society might make all the difference. Toys such as these might be a good point to start. Introduce them to the Malala doll, representing the brave little girl who fought for girls’ rights to go to school. Buy them the JK Rowling doll which is probably going to be a favourite, or Jane Goodall and Roberta Bondar, the UN messenger of peace and Canada’s first female astronaut and neurologist, respectively. Perhaps these dolls will urge children to inquire about these ladies or discuss them with their friends. As we all know, small things can make big differences. All photos: wendytsao.com [poll id="681"]

I first saw her at my kid’s school; she stood out in the crowd, a beautiful brunette with hazel eyes, radiant smile and … a stroller full of babies. There were three kids; a boy and two girls. I asked her if the girls were twins. She said no; they were 11 months apart. She wasn’t their birth mum – she was fostering-to-adopt them. Being from a country where foster parenting is not a widely acclaimed subject, fostering-to-adopt piqued my interest. I wanted to get acquainted with her, and over the following months we did. We often met on school runs, while picking and dropping our kids. She exuded such warmth that just after a couple of meetings I felt at complete ease with her. Her smile could literally just light up the room. As she juggled her many kids of various ages, attending to their different needs and questions, always alert if they wandered too far, she still managed to listen to my migration blues. I could babble all my settling down issues to her and she would hug and say things that would make me feel better instantly. There was something in her that said she isn’t an ordinary girl, and as I got to know her better, time only reinforced that view. LB, a stay at home mum, is an inspiration for women who are liberal feminists, and abandon their nurturing disposition. L, with two kids of her own, is a foster parent who is taking care of three girls; girls whose birth mothers could not provide for them, and so left them with social services. L and her husband B are not just fostering the girls, but they are making them their own through adoption, an act that reflects their commitment to provide them with the most essential, yet often underrated luxuries of the world … love and family. But how and why a young woman in her prime, living in one of the most developed countries in the world, considered undertaking such a large responsibility baffles me. It took me a while to understand the answers, but as I did, they were enough for me to break the stereotypical image of the west. Western society observed through the looking glass of the east comes across as intrinsically materialistic, propagating an individualistic mantra. The cultural disintegration has resulted in the dramatic collapse of family values, and at times, even the dissolution of the very definition of family. Shroud in a feminist cloak, the ideals of womanhood have gone through a paradigm shift, where the east is gradually following suit. Western women are perceived as very career oriented, liberated and empowered, and are idolised by women in developing nations. Exploring L’s journey into motherhood, my perception was about to drastically change. L’s wants and desires are very different from other women. Her life motto is to give. She shares her blessings and finds happiness in that. She also understands that parenting is not just about providing, but is also about sacrificing. L sacrifices and shares her motherhood with grace. Being a mother is a privilege, one that should be shared. The road taken by L is by no means unchallenging. She and her family have gone through some of the most gruelling times. The most testing time was when days before welcoming their second foster child; their son was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. The trauma that the family experienced is unfathomable, yet they were steadfast in the face of adversity, and fought with all their might. They welcomed the new child and fought the cancer head on. Their faith was strong, and so was God’s will that pulled them through the storm. Their son recovered and the family came out stronger than ever. Such is God’s will. The ray of hope that she held out for others was reflected back on her child.­­­­ Those dark clouds are long gone and now her snug little world is filled with the gentle tenderness of sweet cuddles and blissful shrieks of laughter as the merry bunch of kids continue to live their dreams in a home that is full of love and respect for one another. L’s compassion and sacrifice will be passed on and carried forward by her children, who will grow up to be equally, if not better parents. They will grow up to pass on the same values on to their children who will help further understand and promote the importance of a stable, caring and supportive family. L, and many women like her across the globe, are sharing their love and rekindling hope for children abandoned by the cruelties of fate. They are carrying out successful careers as mothers because they believe that being a mother is a full time job. Rather than juggling two jobs, they have decided to invest their time in the future of their country and the next generation. As a result this generation will grow up much more emotionally stable and thus will be able to contribute as responsible individuals to society. As L talks about her kids, I gaze at her; her words and eyes radiate with the warmth of a mother. Straddling one, hugging the other and cajoling another, she goes about distributing her love. She asks me about homeless children in Pakistan and our efforts to rehabilitate them … I struggle to respond. Being a person who has forever been so ignorant towards the forsaken eyes that beseeched me at every traffic light, I could not utter a word. My interaction was limited to sparse moments of pitiful glances that shamed humanity. Now sitting in a world away from home, I was conflicted by what I wanted to say and what I could not. I could not tell her that we have reserved this task for Edhi centres around the country. I could not tell her that in a country of more than 180 million people we did not have enough emotionally and morally stable individuals who were willing to foster our homeless kids, whose innocence is abused every night and day, while we continue to turn a blind eye to their suffering. I could not! Western nations have a remarkable trait that distinguishes them from the rest, they tend to clean up their own mess, whereas others like us keep waiting for a messiah to swoop down and cure all our ills. With time they have come to realise the importance of family and are now conscientiously aiming to promote family values. As more and more children end up on streets of Pakistan, or at the very least in Edhi centres, the subject of sharing our love and homes with the less fortunate needs to be taken up on a national level. L has taught me an endearing lesson; she has shown me my utterly selfish side that refuses to extend motherhood beyond the products of my own womb. After spending an afternoon discovering the beauty of motherhood at her house, I stepped out on to the cold snowy street. In the fading light of the setting sun I could see my silhouette in the soft snow banks along the road, in my empty hands I try to imagine a few alms of love that I could give but have never given, how unfortunate I have been! My journey of self-discovery continues, in hopes that someday it will lead me back to my roots with a heart that is able to give.

Until recently I’d felt that feminism, when it came to women working, was baseless because in most modern families, women can choose to either work or stay at home. But I’ve come to realise that the only reason I feel this way is because I’m lucky enough to have been raised in an environment where I am not expected to give up my dreams because of something as trivial as my gender. Let me tell you a story. I know someone who married at the age of twenty-six, of her own accord. She had already completed her Bachelor’s degree with a distinction, and continued to work even after getting married. Her daughter was born, and only four years later she established her own practice. This woman has served on the board of a prestigious university, has been published numerous times, and now, two decades later, is fulfilling another dream and completing her Master’s degree on full scholarship. I’d say that’s a pretty accurate image of a well-established female. The woman’s husband supported her every decision, never once asking her to give up her dreams and stay at home. You say,

“She would’ve have never been around, her kids must have suffered”?

“They must have no family life,” you think.

What happens when you finally voice your opinions over the unbearable harassment that you’ve had to face for three months? You are ridiculed, you are blamed for having filth in your mind; you are indirectly under suspicion in everyone’s eyes and all this, for what? Only because you raised your voice against something you do not want to endure anymore. Three years ago I started working at an IT company – it was the beginning of my professional career. The company provided a van service for women, a facility which almost every working woman needs and that is one of the reasons why I accepted the job. Every morning, I was the first one to be picked up. The distance between my house and the next girl’s was around 15 minutes. The van driver was a man in his 30s, about 5’3, medium built with a black beard. So for 15 minutes every day, I was alone in the van with the driver. Being my first job, I didn’t know how to deal with situations in a particularly professional way and would respond whenever the driver spoke to me. Soon, I realised he would speak without reason, just to make conversation. Some days, he would greet me and I’d greet him back out of courtesy. The one thing that annoyed me most about him was his eyes. The way they followed me from the moment he parked outside my house till I sat down on my seat. Even then, they’d watch me. Initially, I tried to ignore them but it became like a ritual for him. I began sitting in a seat that was away from his gaze to get away from them. He would bad mouth the other girls to me, even when I showed my disinterest, as they were also my seniors at work. I avoided conversation with him, but the eyes, I could not avoid. I’m not calling myself a saint, or saying that I don’t backbite but I didn’t want to discuss anything with him. One day, I sternly told him to stop speaking poorly about them infront of me. He was offended. He retorted,

“Mein burayi kahan karta ho, mein tu sirf apko bata rha ho” (I am not backbiting, I am just telling you)

“Aap aaj mujhe Salam karna kyu bhool gayi?” (Why did you forget to greet me today?)

‘‘If you don’t greet me, I will not pick you up, even if I have to leave the job.’’

“I had a late sitting in the office, I was going back home around 9:30pm so he asked if we could stop at his house first as he needed to pick up something important.”

“No, please first drop me home and then you can go anywhere.” “Trust me, I’m a good person, I just want to pick something up,” he tried to convince her.

“Agar itna darr hai tu baher nikal kar kaam karne ka kya shouq hai?” (If you are so scared, then why are you so fond of working outside your house)

“Aap ko staring and misbehaviour ke ilawa apke sath harassment toh nae ki na.” (Other than misbehaviour and staring, he didn’t harass you, right.)

The first thing that struck me about season six of Girls was how it wasn’t about the girls anymore. The show was no longer about the undeniable bond between four girls that stood unwavering through time. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=554bdNWCXmA In the very first episode, Hannah (Lena Dunham) says to Paul-Louis (Riz Ahmed) – having him in the episode was enough for me to like it – that she only knew her friends by what they didn’t like. How odd is it to not know what your friends like? How odd is it to relish in that fact? She smirks as she says this and man, did that annoy me. I think that spoke a lot about the selfishness that’s so deeply embedded into our generation. There’s another reference to it when Hannah tells Marnie (Allison Williams) that perhaps she didn’t notice her husband was addicted to drugs because she was too busy paying attention to herself. That’s the real problem isn’t it? Never listening, pretending to hear, and acting as if someone else’s stories are actually something you are invested in. But why? Why are we no longer invested in others’ thoughts, and realities? Others’ pain? We are too immersed into our own pain. We are too busy. Too sad. Too exhausted. Just too done, aren’t we? I recall thinking when the show began that this is going somewhere, even though all the girls were broken. So broken it felt real. But when are the girls going to grow up? Or is this is my future? Sitting in a random cafe writing about things that I don’t care about just to appease myself into believing that I am truly a writer. Is it even the art that matters any more or just the brand? Telling someone you are something to see their reaction as opposed to truly believing in it yourself. I completely understand that Hannah’s character is supposed to be self-deprecating but to what point? Is it Dunham’s way of revealing our victimised natures? Is she trying to illustrate that this fragmented reality of the millennial that we try to capture so intricately through art doesn’t exist? Or did she just completely wipe out everything we know and thought was true? I’m thinking back to season one, and how it captured a reality that felt right. It was so refreshing to finally see such menial life problems on-screen. Hannah was chasing after a guy who couldn’t even admit that he was in a relationship and she wanted to be a writer but she wasn’t really invested in her writing. She wanted to be the millennial girl but the one that surpasses what every other generation blames them for. She was selfish and she thrived upon that selfishness and in a way, I guess we all did as well. We looked up at Hannah pretending to ‘claim’ herself but now that I think about it, Hannah is not inspiring. She is not the girl that we all want to be yet she’s the girl that lingers in the corners of our mind when we are free-falling through our 20s. The recent episode of Girls which went live last Friday was a game changer. Lena Dunham, hats off to you. And I’m not the only one who thought so. Twitter was reeling with people commenting on the raw reality this episode captured. https://twitter.com/gosandee/status/836247655470637057 https://twitter.com/LisaMcAlinden/status/835730418678775808 We live in a world that fears talking about female sexuality. We censor it. We hide from it but it’s always there, looming in the corner. This episode was so essential in showing us that you can’t hide from it and that speaking about consent is so important. As a writer, I think this episode struck me in a way that the others have not. When Chuck Palmer (Matthew Rhys) says that girls come to him because they need stories and experiences to write about – I get it. We all need stories. We constantly search for them; to pen down something that no one has before; a story that’s personally yours and yours alone. I think that’s what’s changed in Girls this year – the media, ‘fake news‘, intellectual property, understanding and believing in everything you read online and yet questioning it all the same. I’m reading an article and I think to myself, “Damn, I could have written that”. I scroll through Twitter thinking, “Why didn’t I find that story?” Because at the end of the day, that’s what it’s about – the experience game – who has more and who can validate it before someone else does. Palmer says his entire life has been destroyed by a website called Tumblr without an E. That resonates. People throw their views out into the world through Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, Pinterest – the list goes on. But isn’t that what free speech is all about? This episode also tackles the problems behind the rise of social media and how we constantly post things without any proof or validation. At the same time, it also shows the importance of a single female voice. And in a country like Pakistan, we need that. One voice can get through to someone – it can change things. Girls may not be doing a whole lot this season, but for young girls living in countries like Pakistan with a lack of exposure, it’s teaching them to speak up and raise their voices beyond the metres that society binds them to. So maybe we all won’t turn into Hannahs. Maybe we won’t be left behind at a cafe writing and mocking people we once respected and valued, re-igniting our womanhood just because we can, questioning every norm because we can. But who knows? Maybe we will. Maybe we already are.

I recently came across an article that brought up some thoughts about being a woman in Pakistan. The following is the said article: There are girls out there who think they are the moral police of our society. They are the ones that pick and choose when they want to be feminists. The ones that believe it is their right to tell others what to think or feel. Why? Why do you think it is your duty to define what’s right or wrong? If you’re telling someone not to get “physically attached” before their nikkah, you’re barking up the wrong tree. A tree that isn’t yours in the first place. It isn’t anyone’s place and what irritates me to no end is that we live in a society where everyone believes they have to force their views upon everyone around them just to remind themselves that they exist. But no. We live during a time where free thought should essentially rise above everything else. Let’s say someone gives you advice, and you ignore it – that’s fine, but what’s wrong with society is that people believe that it is their right to impose their thoughts upon you, and your duty to follow said advice. What happened to individuality? What happened to taking responsibility for our own actions? Did we just throw all that out the window? If you’ve read the article I’m talking about, you’ll understand where I’m coming from. The notion that getting physical with someone is directly synonymous with losing your dignity is not true. This idea is a problem that persists in almost every division of Pakistani society – girls giving unsolicited advice and the matriarchy extending its paws over any girl who dares to think outside the box. To the writer of this piece, you should know, you killed her. That’s right. The strong, independent woman and her voice along with it. You killed the girl that makes her own choices. The girl that is unafraid of society and unafraid to stand on her own two feet. You killed her and patriarchy rejoiced. But listen, they didn’t rejoice for you, they didn’t clap for you, because at the end of the day, you are still a girl and they are still the ones that believe you cannot do anything more than publish an untimely piece on an online forum. That’s right, I said it. I’m not saying I’m any different. I too sit behind the screen of my computer writing another article hoping that someone will read it and tell me that maybe things will get better. Tell me that my voice matters. Tell me that maybe, just maybe, my ideas and thoughts affected them, but that’s not how it works. At least, not in Pakistan, and definitely not in Karachi. We sit here, the defenders of the written word, yet no one really reads closely enough to listen to what we are inherently trying to say. It makes me sad that we, the educated women, find the need to write about things that are so personal in such an ignorant manner. Yes, the physical body is extremely important and I believe that we should get the conversation going. Us, girls, have stood for too long lingering in the shadows of our brothers, fathers and male friends. Some of us are too ignorant to even know enough about our bodies to preach to those around us – I don’t know why we live in a society where speaking about something so natural is feared. Why aren’t our girls given a sex education? Is society that afraid to let us learn? To let us thrive? Girls, your bodies are not something you should be ashamed of. You are allowed to take up space because you matter and anyone who says otherwise is lying. The thing about giving people relationship advice is that it almost never works because at the end of the day, we are all individuals and we should rejoice in that fact. So you messaged that guy first? Good for you. He didn’t reply? So what? Get over it. Move on. That’s life. You will encounter jerks. Ignore anyone who says you should be chained down to a place or a person because that’s a lie. The said article talks about how getting physically attached to someone before marriage is the worst thing a girl can do to herself – so bad that it leads to suicide. Yes, suicide is a prevalent issue in our society but not every girl who “gives herself up” before marriage wants to commit suicide. In a country like Pakistan, where suicide is already so taboo, we need to understand its implications before just throwing the word around. Suicide is not a joke. Anyone who suffers from depression or other mental illnesses that come with suicidal tendencies knows that we need to open up the conversation about suicide and it is not something that can be, or should be, spoken about lightly. To all the girls out there who are afraid of commitment or afraid of not committing because of some twisted idea of conformity – chill out. Take a step back. Analyse your own choices. Yes, I understand that there are so many of you out there that come from conservative backgrounds and your parents are pressuring you, your grandparents are begging you and those aunties at shaadis are basically undressing you with their eyes – but you have to be stronger than that because trust me, no one is going to fight for you. The notion that our girls have to be meek and subservient to everyone around them is so disheartening. There are girls out there who do not know they even have a choice; they listen to their parents when they tell them they have to marry their cousin; they listen to their parents when they tell them they have to master the art of cooking and sewing because they do not have the freedom of choice. When the writer says, “he killed her”, even metaphorically it is degrading because feminism talks about physical, economic, social and emotional equality. Feminism isn’t fickle, it is not about accepting one thing that works in your favour and denying the rest. Thus, you cannot claim to be on a moral pedestal while at the same time demeaning women that have different opinions than you. The real problem is there are numerous girls who pretend to be innocent because of their parents and society. If you are pretending, at least don’t judge those around you. Give them a break, because if you are pretending to believe in what society extends to our lost girls – the notion that being pure is essentially a woman’s sole duty in life –there are girls out there who will follow you. And following someone on false pretences just creates a vicious cycle that becomes almost impossible to break out of. Why is it that women in Pakistan always have to put other women down? So you’re out in public, you analyse what another woman is wearing. You follow her with your eyes. You question her. But you never say that she looks good; the typical reaction to another woman of power is essentially almost always negative. There’s this thing about a group of girls, and how they can be the most empowering yet degrading of their own kind. They can build you up with all their might but when it suits them, they will tear you down fearlessly. They will be the saviours of their kind if you step out of line. But where does the line exist? This imaginary, we-have-to-be-the-same-or-else line that so many women in Pakistan seem to linger near but never over. And when they do step over it, religion always comes into par. She’s moved away from religion, they say. She’s lost her way, they say. Religion, just like my choices and actions, is personal and has nothing to do with you. I will essentially have to answer for myself – you have nothing to do with my day of judgement, so why so much interest and involvement in my life? When it comes to religion, at the end of the day, no matter what your views, no one should interfere or impose anything upon you. So when we have girls acting as the so-called moral police of the shareef (innocent) faction of society, we should know to ignore them because them stating their views upon us isn’t going to make us change our own. The point is, you killed her and you don’t even care. You killed her and you walked away. You are nothing but a murderer – a murderer of freedom and individuality.

Seventy years of independence today. I’m sitting here, trying to sum up what that means for me. There are too many things that encompass this day. There are too many ways to go about it. It’s 1947. Your grandfather is fighting for his life on a train that has no food. He is holding your father tight in his arms. Your great grandmother is leaving behind her house, her jewellery, her life, to run to a place she never wanted to go. You are not yet in the picture. You have not experienced the hardships. You came when it had already ended. It’s 2017. You are fighting for your rights in a country that does not believe in equality. You’re reflecting on independence, on Partition, on all the things your ancestors went through to get to where you are today. You’re wondering where that is exactly. Is it a place where women get raped every two hours? Is it a place that kills women for acting/speaking/dressing outside of the norm? Is it a place where independence thrives? Or is it a place that kills the independent – luring you into believing that it is possible to speak your mind – and then silencing you for doing so? We are always celebrating Pakistan’s independence; independence from the British, from India, from all the shackles we wanted to be free from. Seventy years of celebrating, 70 years of building, and rebuilding, learning and forgetting, 70 years of our own people. But we celebrate like it means something more, like we’re actually independent. Let me break it down for you – I am 23-years-old, living in a country that my great grandparents and grandparents went through hell to live in. My great grandmother would tell me stories growing up. She’d talk about how she had one biscuit to divide between her five children on her journey to Pakistan, how she starved so that they could live. She told me that her house in Delhi was everything she always wanted, and so was her life. It wasn’t like her life in Karachi wasn’t great; it was just that the independence she had fought so hard to give to the women of our family doesn’t exist. It’s a figment of our imagination. I loved hearing about that time. I wanted to understand what it was like, how everyone felt, what they went through. So I’d probe my grandmother into telling me stories. Amidst tears she told me that they were forced out of their house in Delhi. They hid in a flat where they were told to keep the lights off. They were told not to speak a word. She said she could clearly recall the fear above everything else – it was her most distinct memory of all. Her father left to gather some things from their house, and while he left, a truck arrived to take them to Lal Quila, where they’d wait until they left for what was by then, Pakistan. My great grandmother refused to leave without him as she was afraid. But somehow, she managed to leave. I guess she knew that she had to do what was best for her children. When they reunited, my great grandfather conveyed that he couldn’t even manage to get to the house because there were too many bodies. Too many for him to even see over. For 10 days, they stayed in Lal Quila – they had no food for the entire duration. My grandmother and her siblings would cry for toast every single day and my great grandmother would go in search for it. She rarely found any and what she did find, she’d give to her children. https://soundcloud.com/citizensarchive/the-citizens-archive-of-pakistan-podcast-143-nighat-mutahir-husain My point in relaying this story is that our women were so strong during this time. They stood by their children, they left everything for their sake, yet today, they are still unappreciated. They are still pushed to the side-lines. My great grandmother did everything in her power to ensure the safety of her family, even though it meant that she may not ever see her husband again. This is bravery at its core. The most independent I have ever felt has been outside my own country – let that sink in. Imagine how it feels to not be able to live freely in a place that you call home. Moving back to Karachi after university was hard; I always knew it would be. But I began noticing things I had never even thought of back when I was in A’Levels. I noticed how I had to hide myself. My body was more of a burden than a blessing. Think about how that feels – being constantly aware of how you occupy space as a human and being told to hide that. It’s almost impossible. I know if I wanted to, I could walk the streets of Karachi. It isn’t safe? I don’t care. I’m not dressed appropriately? I don’t care. But the problem is that everyone else does. It is not just the male gaze that follows me, but it is also the female gaze. It is the older women watching as I move my way down the street, unforgiving and unashamed. They want me to be ashamed for going out without a dupatta – but I will not be. They want me to be ashamed for raising my voice against something I believe is wrong – but I will not be. Essentially, I’m lucky. My family is not conservative; they do not impose their beliefs upon me. But what about that little girl living in a village that isn’t allowed to go to school? What about that girl who is married off to her cousin because society will go crazy if she’s single at the age of 25? What about all the girls whose voices have been taken away from them? Where is their independence? Where is the independence for the women of our country? This morning, on my way to work, I saw a woman sitting on the sidewalk. She sat in a squat position – men stared and she stared back – she is one of the fearless few that do not need anyone’s approval to get by in life. I wish more of our women were like that. I wish they knew that their self-worth was not any less than a man’s. I wish they knew that they could be the breadwinners of their families. But they don’t. Because we hide them behind closed doors and stoves. We shove them into corners while their brothers go to school. I know that there are so many girls in our country who, when given the chance, could bring change. But we can’t find them. We don’t allow ourselves to. Pakistan’s literacy rate is at a staggering low – yes, schools are being built but the education budget is not even half of what it should be. All the money is being spent and all our girls are sitting on the floor of a classroom where their teachers do not show up because they aren’t being paid. Dear Pakistan, if you think you’re independent – just take a look around. This Independence Day, look at your sister and realise how she isn’t allowed the same rights as you. Look at your mother and notice how she picks up the dishes after dinner instead of your father. Look at your friends and note how they need you to drive them home at night because their parents are afraid of them taking the car on their own. Just acknowledge the lack of independence that we have. Raise your voice, because if you don’t, you’re going to lose all your girls. They will leave. They will go back to places where they have true independence, where their voices and ideas and opinions are valued. They will leave and never look back.

Upon her return home from school, I asked my daughter whether or not she raises her hand in class, to which she replied, 

“Yes mom, I did,” she said. “In fact, I raise my hand all the time now, even when I am not sure if I have the right answer.”