Is it a crime to be a girl?
It was an hour of joy and happiness for my mother when the doctor told her she would have me in her arms in nine months. But this happiness turned into despair for my father and grandmother as they came to know that a girl would be born to their family. They forced my mother to kill me before I was born. Daddy, please don’t kill me. I won’t make you angry. I’ll be a good daughter; I won’t ask you for expensive clothes and toys. Please don’t kill me. But I was killed after just 30 days in my ...
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Of teens and charity : ‘Like OMG, I work for an NGO’
Areeba, not her real name, is a bright, conscientious 18-year-old off to college this September. She works on and off rebuilding a girls school in rural Sindh in an effort guided by her school. “I know all the girls names, they teach me Sindhi and mark my progress, I distribute sweets,” she says, her enthusiasm apparent. But then comes this observation: It’s something I’m really into, not like, I don’t know, wannabe hipsters who’re just in it for the certificate and the photo ops. Wannabe hipsters in it for the photo ops? I told my father what she said and his first ...
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Remembering my Misil
Mother’s Day is here, but June 1, 1998 will never come again. Today I am writing about my mother, my Misil, for the first time in the last 13 years. She was a simple lady. We never knew her date or year of birth. The only thing we knew was that she was born during the barsaat (monsoon season). I don’t remember an instance when she took longer than 10 minutes to get ready to go somewhere. She never wore make-up. She was even simpler in her eating habits. She would eat anything except for baingan (eggplant). While cooking, she made her ownmasalas; her biryani was pretty ...
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Why Mother’s Day matters
I have never been a great proponent of the concept of Mother’s Day – or even Father’s Day. Dedicating days to celebrating every member of the family is not something that made sense to me – after all, you already had birthdays and anniversaries, right? Anything in excess of this is clearly a ploy by all those card-printing companies nagging at your guilt to spend more of your money and boost their sales As I have grown older I have come to realise the value of these days, randomly allocated to a day in the year to celebrate our parents’ contributions ...
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Manto doesn’t let you forget
My first ‘experience’ of Manto’s work was with his short story ‘Khol Do’ – a deceptively simple tale set in the turmoil of pre-partition Pakistan that artfully depicts the horrors that ensued from and during mass migration. I use the word ‘experience’, rather than encounter or stumble upon, because there is absolutely no way that you chance upon Manto’s work as one does a pebble in the path, kick it aside and calmly move on. Any human being that feels simply cannot be unmoved by Manto’s work. Akin to the brazen persona that Manto possessed, he consequently inspired either deep ...
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Motherhood: A divine institution
She is an institution; an overflowing reservoir of love. She possesses an astounding quantum of care, concern, compassion and affection. A hand that feeds, a hunger she satiates. A phenomenon, a guiding light, a beacon of hope. A lifelong crutch; an embodiment of beauty; a pristine spirit; a glowing splendour of nature. She is a mother, so I was told. Destiny has infinite wisdom. For reasons best known to itself, it sprang a heart wrenching surprise on me by plucking away my mother to the dark corners of life beyond. After just 26 months, she lost her life after ushering a new life ...
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A foreigner’s love for Pakistan
My exposure to Pakistan was limited. I classified it as one of those countries that was created on religious concepts, was racist toward the rest of the world and wanted the Americans dead. Call me ignorant, but with the way Pakistan is portrayed in the media, as a foreigner it is hard not to be deterred. Then, by sheer luck and forged destiny, I met a Pakistani woman and fell truly, madly and deeply in love with her. There was beauty resonating from deep within her and it came out in her dark, soulful eyes. Little did I know, that in less than ...
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My father’s battle with Parkinson’s
I still remember the first time I saw a tremor in my dad’s hand; we thought perhaps it was high blood pressure and immediately took him to the doctor. However, the tremors didn’t stop the next day, or the day after that. After a few tests the doctor recommended that we consult a neurosurgeon. Upon visiting one, we were informed that my father had Parkinson’s disease (PD) and his tremors would only grow worse with time – there was no cure. As the doctors broke this news, I tried my best to be strong for my father. Still, when I came home and watched ...
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The tragedy of being a woman in Pakistan
Gazing out of my office window in Islamabad, I see trees dancing in the wind and heavy clouds hovering over the ground, ready to shower rain. I feel like going out for a walk to cherish the weather but I cannot. It is not because of my work, my boss or my family but rather due to the fear of strangers on the road. I know this might sound funny coming from a journalist, but it is the reality! When I go out, I hear cheap comments made by strange men, cars follow me and old uncles shamelessly stop their vehicles ...
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When college ends and real life begins
I know you guys have already read a couple of blogs about graduation; the ones that elaborated in 10 points how, after passing out, the realisation dawns that the world out there is very evil and that college was pure bliss. While these writings surely had their utility, what they failed to encapsulate was the experience itself; the four years of loathing that magically turn into a bitter sweet feeling as the end approaches. I still remember an incident from freshman year when I complained to a teacher about the excessive workload and she said, with a smile reminiscent of days gone by, When you are ...
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