“No, no, no!” I had stormed out yesterday leaving my Mum baffled and Shabbi Auntie angry, when she brought in yet another rishta-seeking brigade. Can you blame me? Who do these women think they are, bringing along all the Maamis, Chachiis, Khalas and Phuphiis to approve of me? Approve of me – they’re not even pushed whether I would approve of them!!!

The chubby, eternally smiling khala said to me: “What glowing complexion she has!” And the thin Phupphi with heavy specs had piped in, “A lovely addition to the house she would be!” What does one say to that? Except…maybe…as I did: “Glowing? So you can keep me in the dark and not be bothered with the hide-and-seek that electricity plays these days? Not on your life! “Oh, what a nice sense of humour she has!” Chachi’s turn. Grrrrrr…

To top it all, the guy asked me but one question I could’ve done without: “Do you cook aloo-paratha?” I was so touched by his highly intellectual concern that I could’ve happily wrung his thick aloo-filled neck that very moment! Did he really not realize he’d be taking on a whole lot more on his plate than just aloo-paratha by consenting to marry me? Poor thing! I smiled and replied reassuringly, “I promise to learn…if you agree to polish my shoes whenever the maid takes the day off. Deal?”

Mum didn’t speak to me for two days after their hasty departure. Not fair, I tell you. She thinks I’m out and about to ruin the remotest chance of my ever getting married, by the way. She’s not all that wrong, I have to admit! I can think of a hundred and one reasons why I don’t want to be making aloo-paratha to please an idiot for the rest of my life! And why is it so hard for everyone to accept that a gal does not have to get married these days? Who’s going to take care of her, you ask? Why, who else but she herself! It might not be entirely ridiculous to assume that she actually has the capacity to take charge of her own life!

This morning, I’m told, another rishta-seeking party is coming…some ‘foreign-settled’ guy. Mummy has already warned me to keep my unruly tongue in check. Sure, I say. Hmm… Oh, do I hear the bell? Goodness… could it be them already? Mummy’s calling…I’d better go.

“Salaam Auntie.” I hug old Shabbi Auntie – she’s so soft and warm that I can’t help liking her despite her irritating favourite past-time! She introduces us all. Hmm…now, why is the dude staring at me like that? After his stay in Walayat, I should think he’d be used to the female of the species! Humph – minus five for rudeness. He looks up as I approach him with the drinks. He winks. Oh my God, he actually winked at me…right in front of my Mum!!! Whatever happened to cultural sensitivity??? As he leans forward to pick up the glass, the tray tilts ever so slightly – entirely of its own volition, of course – and the contents spill neatly onto his lap.

“What the …!” he jumps up. I feign embarrassment. “Oh…I’m so sorry…what have I done…” I stand there wringing my hands, just like I saw the heroine do in a soap recently on TV. She seemed to get away with just about anything twisting her dainty hands and biting her shiny red lips. Alas, I’m not so lucky… he’s not even listening to my sincere apologies! Mum’s all red and blue and every other colour imaginable…and she’s apologizing too! How embarrassing…Mum, stop!!!

“It’s alright Auntie…just an accident…I’m sure she will learn to be a proper wife in no time!” Croaks the Fresh Prince, looking me up and down. I hate him. Utterly, completely, absolutely. Mum takes charge. “My daughter is perfect just the way she is. I think it’s time for you to leave.” My, oh my! I never saw her like that before…icy chill in her voice, fire in her eyes…WOW! They’re stepping out of the door! Good riddance.

Mission accomplished! And now I can go off to work with a relaxed mind. Hopefully, the boss will not have noticed my turning up late today as Mina would’ve covered for me anyway. I can’t wait to relate the whole story to Mina. As expected, she’s doubling up on the sofa giggling like a school girl! Three cheers for your Mum, she says. Hmmm…and for me? I smile, celebrating my small victory. Sabina joins in – not again, puhleez – with her sob stories…yeah, yeah…husband did this, husband did that. Why the heck doesn’t she do something about that awful huzz-band of hers?!! No point in whining about it uselessly, is there?

Ramis walks in. He’s attracted to women-woe-tales like bees to honey. I can’t stand it so I yell at Sabina to shut up, and at Ramis to find something better to do with his time! What’s this? Her eyes are turning into pools of overflowing lava…oh my God…I just have to get out of here! Ramis offers to take me home as my ‘ride’ isn’t free yet…which is my other colleague, Lamia. Why is he doing me a favour after I yelled at him? I wonder. Whatever…I need the ride!

In the car, he says, “Why are you always rude to Sabina?” I bite an angry retort and ask him instead why he encourages her to throw her sad-tales around? “She needs to unburden.” He replies matter-of-factly. Like hell! I mutter under my breath. “You should encourage her to take a stand, if you really want to help her.” I speak through clenched teeth. He turns around and looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “What?’ I glare. “You’re a strong woman…or one without experience to reflect on.” He shrugs. “That’s how I’d feel in any case!” I snort.

Two days later, Ramis is standing at my doorstep – with his Mum. Hi, Auntie!” I beam at her and hug her warmly…and stick my tongue out at him over her shoulder. He laughs. Auntie and Mummy are talking animatedly. Funny how they seem to get along so well given it’s their first meeting!

“So what’s the idea?” I turn to him. “Meaning?” Mr. Innocent raises one eyebrow. “You didn’t bother turning up the last time I practically begged you?” “I suddenly found my manners.” Tongue in cheek. “And the moon is made of green cheese.” I nod, understandingly.

“You have such a lovely daughter…Ramis talks so much about her” Auntie looks at me adoringly. Ramis, you’re so dead! I glare at him, but he conveniently busies himself with staring into space. Such an important activity!” Has Ramis told you about his lady love, Auntie?” I ask sweetly. “Huh?” Auntie turns to stare at Ramis. He looks up with a start. I smile…sweet revenge. “She’s a married woman, but don’t you worry…she’ll soon get a divorce. Ramis is so nice and supportive listening to all her sad tales, you know.” Ramis’s threatening look actually has the opposite effect – like, he doesn’t know me? – and I describe in more detail just how supportive he is!

As expected, Auntie suddenly remembers some urgent errand back home and gets up to leave. Ramis …oh… he’s not too pleased, I can tell – teach him not to pre-suppose me on any issue in future! At this point, however, I can no longer control the burst of laughter that is swelling up in my throat. He turns and mouths silently: I’ll get you for this. I flutter my non-existent eyelashes…and offer my hand. Truce? Mummy is looking at me through narrowed slits… hands on hips… she knows exactly what I’m up to… oh my… I better runnnnnnnnn!!!

Speaking from secret location – er…my closet – addressing all who can hear me: I’m not completely anti-marriage, okay? I just hate it that no one seems interested in me – the person. Not one of the rista-seeking Aunties or their sons asked my opinion on anything even remotely appealing to sense and sensibility! Is that fair? I just know God didn’t give me a head to think with, for nothing! I have the same dreams any man has (well, almost!). I do so want an adoring guy of course – like any gal – but why can’t I aspire to find one who supports my aspirations and won’t feel insecure because I can use my brains? Is that too much to ask?

Surely there’s someone out there for me… I’m still looking!!!!

How committed are the South Asian nations to promoting education for all? How focused, indeed, are they on building their future?

At the Millennium Summit in September 2000, an important Millennium Development Goal (MDG) was drafted that focuses on increasing literacy among children around the world. It asks the member States to “ensure that, by 2015, children everywhere, boys and girls alike, will be able to complete a full course of primary schooling.”

Unfortunately, a look at the status of education in some Asian countries depicts a worrisome trend and it is feared that they might not be able to achieve this goal within the stipulated timeframe. The drop-out rates are on the rise among children from poor families, girls, street children and other marginalized groups.

According to UNESCO, Asia has the world’s largest share of children not receiving an education. UNESCO’s Education For All Global Monitoring Report 2007 states that Pakistan ranks second in the world with the highest number of out-of-school children. Of these 6.5 million out-of-school Pakistani children, “80 per cent were never enrolled, 10 per cent dropped out, while the remaining could get to school at some later stage.” India ranks third with 4.5 million such kids. India also houses the largest number of ‘working’ children in the world – about ¼ of the world’s total. The official Indian Government figures estimate the number of working children to be at about 59 million, though Oxfam estimates speak of 100-150 million.

Out-of-school children – whether not enrolled at all or drop-outs – often end up in the child labour markets, working in some of the worst working conditions imaginable. This includes working in brick kilns and factories in bonded-labour with no fixed hours or minimum wage-limit, as well as being forcibly recruited to fight in conflict areas and sold into commercial sex tourism.

Girls comprise about 57% of all out-of-school children and 2/3 of adults without access to literacy are women. In a majority of developing countries, girls suffer serious forms of discrimination. In Pakistan, over half of the population comprises of children, roughly a ¼ of which are girls. Sadly, only 25% of these girls manage to finish primary school. UNESCO supports girls’ education in developing countries by sponsoring their access to, and retention in, primary education and by encouraging education policies and strategies of governments and NGOs that aim to provide girls and women with equal opportunities of learning and decision-making regarding their future.

The United Nations (UN) estimates the number of street children to be around 100 million. According to Asian Development bank (ADB) reports, the world’s largest number of street children resides in South Asia. They constitute the marginalized group of many Asian societies and are often neglected by governments when implementing welfare schemes. The Human Rights Watch has found that India has 18 million street children, the world’s largest concentration (HRWA 2000). Other Asian nations offer similar trends. In Afghanistan, more than two decades of war has resulted in huge populations of orphaned street children struggling to survive – about 37,000 based on a headcount in 2002. Nepal is home to about 30,000 street children according to a 1996 estimate. These street children constitute a big part of the statistics of children who are either out-of-school or are drop-outs.
Some experts estimate that half of the 104 million out-of-school children live in countries that are in, or recovering from conflict.

Education in crisis situations can provide children with a sense of normalcy, but in the first Global Survey on Education in Emergencies, research shows that “over 27 million children and youth do not have access to education in 10 countries affected by conflict.” In Sri Lanka, in the North-Eastern Province alone, it is estimated that 2,000 children have been involved in the guerilla warfare as child soldiers, and face difficulties readapting to age-appropriate living conditions. In such areas, UNESCO not only provides emergency educational assistance but also helps local aid agencies and governments to establish makeshift schools, improve learning conditions and provide other necessary materials.

One major hurdle, in the provision of basic education to children, is limitation arising from some form of disability such as physical handicaps, cognitive, motor, visual or auditory disabilities. According to UNESCO the number of children under the age of 18 with disabilities around the world has been estimated to be between 120 and 150 million, and more than 90% of such disadvantaged children in developing countries do not attend school. Although humanitarian aid agencies insist upon special initiatives for the disabled, many South Asian nations are lagging far behind in undertaking the necessary initiatives.

For the Asian nations still struggling in the education sector, the drop-out rate is a bigger problem than enrolment, though both offer serious cause for concern. According to UNESCO’s Education For All Global Monitoring Report 2007, “the net enrolment ratio (NER) in Pakistan is less than 80 per cent as compared to other developing countries where enrolment ratios jumped to over 85 per cent by 2004″, says the report, adding that “NERs increased significantly in South and West Asia from 77 per cent to 86 per cent, with the exception of Pakistan and Nepal.”

A UNESCO 2004 study reveals that Asia tops the school dropout league. An Asian Development Bank (ADB) report suggests that in South Asia, for every 100 children who start grade one, less than 60 will complete grade five within the prescribed time. The Primary school drop-out rates for some Asian countries are:

Pakistan – 55%
India – 53%
Laos – 47%
Burma – 45%
Nepal, Cambodia, Bangladesh – 35-38%

Despite efforts of the UN and Aid Agencies, as well as governments and NGOs, the drop-out rates clearly establish that much more needs to be done. Some of the steps that may be taken to improve enrollments and decrease drop-out rates are:

• It is important for enrolment and sustainability that States make primary education free and compulsory According to the new edition of the EFA Global Monitoring Report, “Primary-school fees, which are a major obstacle for universal access, are still collected in 89 countries out of 103 surveyed.” It must also be accessible to all, without any form of discrimination – as the Salamanca Statement urges: “… schools should accommodate all children regardless of their physical, intellectual, social, emotional, linguistic or other conditions.”
(Article 3, The Salamanca Statement and Framework for Action, Salamanca, Spain, 1994)

• It is important to fight all kinds of injustice done to the girl-child. Recently, one religious cleric in Pakistan declared girls’ education as un-Islamic. As a result, parents of more than 2,000 girls in that area stopped sending them to school. It is important not to allow anyone to manipulate religious sentiment, and impress upon parents and other community members the value of an educated female as a useful community member who would also pass on the benefits of education to the future generations.

• There is a need for a large number of qualified teachers in Asia. In 75% of Indian schools there is only one teacher for several classes. In Pakistan, officially, there is one teacher per 35 students in primary schools and one teacher per 48 students at secondary level, but a serious problem for Pakistan government is the presence of ‘Ghost’ schools in remote areas where teachers simply don’t turn up. Bangladeshi pupils are found to be in the most crowded classes, with just one teacher for every 57 pupils. Cases of physical punishment also result in increasing drop-out rates. UNESCO officials stress the need for properly trained teachers with adequate command over their respective subjects and teaching skills. Neglected groups must be targeted specifically in all social uplifting schemes with approaches having flexible non-formal teaching methodologies rather than promoting standard schooling.

• Improving the quality of curriculum would increase its value and, hence, sustained participation. The education curriculum must include teaching of technical skills and life skills to give children a chance at practical and productive livelihoods. That would also encourage parents to get their children enrolled.

• Poverty alleviation schemes involving government and NGO sector should focus on countering the effects of lack of basic necessities such as food, clothing etc. Creating awareness about the importance of support and guidance from parents and the relevance of formal education would also go a long way in solving the drop-out problem.

If the efforts of organizations committed to spreading education around the world are supplemented by a stronger political will of governments, there is no reason why the MDG on literacy cannot be achieved by 2015. It would be a very small investment in terms of the far reaching development benefits it would yield.

(This article originally appeared in SouthAsia magazine.)

“I love it!” she squealed with delight.

“So be it, darling.” He replied with a smile as he looked at her flushed, excited face, and took out one of his many impressive credit cards to pay for it – it wasn’t practical to carry around a lot of cash.

Mr. Rahim, standing behind the counter, looked through his thick glasses.

“An excellent choice, madam!” he beamed.

The platinum ring with a huge solitaire diamond was brought to Rahim Shah by a contact from Africa along with other classic pieces promising huge profits. It graded highly on his scale of the four c’s, but surprisingly, it had drawn a much muted response from his customers.

It would’ve been rather silly and superstitious to say so – and Rahim prided himself on his rational approach – but it seemed to lose its brilliance the moment somebody put it on!

‘Not today, though!’ He noticed. ‘Why, it practically looks alive on the girl’s hand!’

“Here you go, sir.” He placed it in an attractive box, displaying his most impressive mannerism.

“May you find immeasurable joy in your life ahead…thank you for trusting us in your precious moments.”

He saw them leave with satisfied smiles on their faces quite matching his own.

*****

Zohaib’s father, Mr. Mannan, owned a thriving textile business and Zohaib was doing quite well as its General Manager. An only son, Zohaib was a tall, athletic young man with a charming smile, not to mention a very fat bank account! Judging from the admiring looks he received from girls wherever he went, he was any girl’s dream catch.

Alina, an attractive girl in her twenties, had recently joined the company as a textile designer, and was beyond doubt one of the most talented designers working for them. She had managed to endear herself to every member of the staff in a very short span of time with her gentle mannerism and professional acumen.

It was hardly surprising then, that Zohaib fell for her immediately, and she, for her part, didn’t hesitate a moment when he proposed three weeks later. She wore the classic solitaire diamond ring two days hence.

The girls at the office were ecstatic…well, most of them, anyway.

“Lina, its lovely! Congrats, girl!” Faria hugged her warmly.

“I knew she would be the one to catch the most eligible bachelor in town!” Shelly winked, as she made her way across the room to her dear friend. “I just hope he knows how lucky he is!”

“Oh, I think I’m luckier, really…” gushed Alina.

“Why, of course you are,” Muneera cut in acidly, “who doesn’t want to roll in money?”

“Shut up, Muneera!” Faria and Shelly chided her in unison.

“A diamond is considered mighty risky to wear, you know”, she continued unabated, “bad things have been known to happen if it doesn’t suit the person wearing it.”

“Pay no attention to her, honey…she’s just jealous.” Shelly tried to take the sting out of her words, but Alina’s smile had dropped at the corners.

She picked up her handbag, muttered a hasty goodbye, and left the office.

‘She’s just a superstitious old cow, who can’t see anyone happy.’ She muttered to herself as she walked down the corridor.

As she entered the elevator, Zohaib joined her out of nowhere.

“Hey, gorgeous…where to?”

“Huh…er, just …um…Zohaib, do diamonds bring bad luck?” she asked hesitantly.

“What? Hmm…now, who’s been putting silly ideas in your pretty head?” he ruffled her hair.

“Oh, no… I…er…I just…” she took a deep breath and blurted out, “I just don’t want anything to spoil our happiness.”

“And nothing will, I promise.” Zohaib squeezed her hand. “Stop working yourself up over nothing! Just relax and be happy…do whatever pleases your fancy till the big day…hmmm… hey, I can’t wait!” He pulled her close with a mischievous look in his eyes.

She pushed him away, blushing, “Now, don’t be naughty!”

The door slid open and she stepped out.

*****

The wedding ceremony took place with all the pomp-and-show expected, with a guest list long and heavy enough to impress the Queen! After all, it was the wedding of the Mighty Industrialist’s only son. Everyone turned up. Why it wouldn’t do to miss the grandest occasion in town…great time for building business connections too!

Both the families were ecstatic with the union. Alina’s father, Dr. Noor-ul-Haq, supported a lavish lifestyle, and a liberal outlook. He was quite pleased with Alina’s choice of a husband. Zohaib looked like a sensible boy who would keep his daughter happy. His wife appeared more impressed with his financial status, though!

Alina looked ravishing in her deep red wedding dress, decked up in exquisite designer jewellery worth a fortune. Her face glowed with an inner radiance evident of true love she had found so early in life.

The girls surrounded her with oohs and aahs, raving about how lovely she looked. Alina saw Muneera staring at her diamond ring. Their eyes met, and Muneera raised an eyebrow meaningfully. Alina looked away. She didn’t want Muneera’s jealousy spoiling her Big day.

Zohaib couldn’t take his eyes off Alina. He shook his head in wonder. The biggest skeptic when it came to matters of the heart, he mocked his friends when they spoke of falling in love. And here he was …head-over-heels!

‘I guess, it happens to the best of us!’ he shrugged his shoulders, smiling.

Finally, the rukhsati took place after much delay. It was almost 1:00 a.m. and the entourage proceeded slowly from hotel to home, the security vehicle leading. Zohaib and Alina sat together in the second car, tired but looking forward to a wonderful start of a new life ahead.

As they reached near their destination, suddenly the car in front screeched to a halt amid sound of loud gunfire. The sound of bursting car tyres and shattering glass filled the air.

Zohaib ducked instinctively and pulled Alina down with him, shielding her body with his own. There was chaos everywhere.

Then, someone pulled open the rear door on Zohaib’s side, and put a gun to his head.

“Step out with your hands in the air, and don’t try to be smart!” a menacing voice rasped.

Zohaib had no choice. He realized that they were surrounded, he was not carrying a gun and their own security force had been rendered useless … disarmed or dead. It was a time to act sensibly, not for heroics. He quietly stepped out.

Alina stared at him terrified, still crouching. Zohaib gave her a warning look, urging her to stay still.

“Okay, now, everyone start putting your purses, jewellery, watches…everything in the bag my friend is bringing to you. And no acts of bravery…or the handsome groom will be the first one to go!”

The leader had his face covered but the tone told everyone that he meant every word.

As Alina struggled to take off her jewellery, the diamond ring got stuck in her finger.

“Hurry up, we haven’t got all day!” screamed the one with the bag.

She pulled harder, but it wouldn’t come off. She panicked and cried out, “It won’t come off!”

Distant sound of police sirens began filling the air. The neighbours had probably alerted them.

“What the hell…just cut her finger, No.2!” They didn’t want to leave behind anything the bride was wearing…it would have to be worth a fortune.

The sound of sirens grew louder and No.2 seemed to panic. As he pulled the ring off in one savage movement, his gun went off …the sound of a single shot reverberated through the air…

Alina felt red-hot pain slicing through her chest…her head fell back as she tried to keep her eyes open…

“Zohaib…” she whispered through numbing senses and blurring vision…

“No!” screamed Zohaib as he lunged forward, kicking the leader in the stomach, and ran to Alina’s side.

The gang-leader fell backwards, rolled over and ran to his waiting car, screaming at No.2 to follow suit. Killing any member of the influential family had not been part of their plan.

“Lina…Lina…look at me…open your eyes, honey…” Zohaib shouted desperately over and over again, as he held his lovely bride in his arms, willing her to respond.

But she had moved on… to a realm beyond his reach.

*****

Sitting in the backseat, Aslam pulled off the mask and rested his head against the headrest. He was shaken. He’d never killed anyone before.

‘It was an accident; I didn’t do it on purpose.’ He tried to appease his conscience.

He touched the diamond ring on his finger. It shone brilliantly…he felt strangely hypnotized by its power. Not wanting to share it with the others, he slipped it off and put it in his pocket.

‘Everything went according to plan…never mind the little blunder.’ Roshan, the gang leader, seemed less affected by the bride’s misfortune.

He laughed aloud, “The booty is worth a fortune! We can take a nice long rest now.”

Haroon stepped on the brake as they neared their hideout, a small house they’d rented last month – posing as university students from out of town – pulling an odd robbery or two. Their latest was the biggest hand they had pulled so far. They had decided to move out, and find another suitable place as soon as the initial zeal and fervour of the police investigations faded out. They couldn’t stay in one place for long, anyway, and frequently moved from town to town to avoid being recognised or arrested.

They threw their weapons on the side table and sat around the large center table to empty the booty-bag.

Suddenly, a loud voice was heard speaking on the loud speaker, “You are surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

“What the hell…?”

‘Had they been followed?’

They lunged towards the guns but a couple of policemen came barging in through the rear door, and started firing indiscriminately.

“Ow…I’m hit man”, Aslam put his hand over his chest and doubled over.

Roshan and Haroon tried to shoot back, but they had been caught off guard and the policemen were damned good shots.

“Run, Haroon…” screamed Roshan, gripping his bleeding shoulder.

Haroon, the youngest of the three, froze as he saw one of the policemen aim his gun at him and shoot at point blank range… Bang!

…He fell to the ground without a sound…a lifeless heap…

“No…! Haroon…brother…” Roshan tried to drag himself to where Haroon had fallen.

Sharafat Ali, the sturdy ASP, kicked him in the ribs and he fell backwards howling in pain, mourning injury… and loss.

Sirens screamed all around and drowned every other sound…

Aslam watched helplessly, rapidly losing consciousness, as the policemen searched bodies for weapons and took possession of the booty-bag.

Sharafat Ali searched Aslam’s pockets. As he put his hand inside his trouser pocket, out came the ring.

‘What a beauty!’ He thought and slid it quietly into his own pocket. ‘Who’d miss such a small piece?’

The injured and the dead were dumped unceremoniously into the back of the police van, and report of the ASP’s efficiency in nabbing the looters in such a short time was being radioed back to the base. There would be plenty of publicity and reward for the raiding party too – the tough job of being crime-fighters had its moments too.

*****

‘Ding-dong, Ding-dong …’

Sharafat Ali pressed the bell, an ear-to-ear grin betraying his inner feelings. He was always excited to see his lovely cousin. He had waited out some time for the publicity to die down and was ready to present Shumyla with the ‘borrowed’ token of his love!

Relaxing in bed, propped up on the pillows, Shumyla looked up from the book she was reading. She wasn’t expecting company.

‘Who could that be, at this time?’ she wondered.

She waited for the maid to inform her. The door opened without a knock and she was startled to find Sharafat barge in unannounced. She got up quickly, the book falling to the floor.

‘Hello, sweetheart! How are you this wonderful morning?” he asked as he looked at her adoringly.

“Fine…er…um…let’s go downstairs and sit in the living room, shall we?”

“Oh, I’m just fine here.” Sharafat settled on the sofa, making himself comfortable.

She adjusted her clothes, feeling terribly self-conscious in her dishevelled appearance. She had been unusually slow in starting her day. With Ammi gone to do some urgent shopping, she felt rather shy being alone with him in the house.

“Uh-ahem…I’ll tell Perveen to make tea” As she tried to walk past him, he leaned forward and got hold of her hand.

“Look what I got for you”, he pulled out the ring and slipped it on her finger.

“Oh!” Shumyla caught her breath.

Then she smiled. “Thanks, its beautiful…must’ve cost you a fortune! You shouldn’t bother with such expensive gifts, Sharafat.”

He felt a momentary pang of guilt, but shrugged it off immediately – in line with his training of keeping himself detached from emotions…and perhaps, conscience too…

“Hey, it’s nothing!” He winked.

“Bibi jee, shall I bring tea?” Perveen knocked on the door.

“Shumyla, I’m home…!” she heard her mother call out from downstairs.

“Let’s go downstairs, Ammi’s back.” She gestured, urging him to follow her.

Sharafat rolled his eyes as he got up, ‘Perfect timing, Auntie jee!’

*****

Munna shivered. He was barefoot, and insufficiently protected against the freezing temperature of the cold winter evening.

His distorted features, evident of harsh beatings, melted many a begum’s tender heart and helped loosen her purse strings. He could see some hard time coming though, because he hadn’t been able to ‘earn’ enough money that day.

He looked around. ‘Where are all the begums today?’

The woman he’d tried to impress just a while back had given him a long and boring lecture on why he should be working instead of begging.

‘Should be…sure, the world was just waiting for him with open arms!’

Some admonished, and some readily dropped a coin in his outstretched palm just to avoid listening to his well-rehearsed dialogues, but no one actually did anything for him.

‘Who’d hire him, anyway? His ugly face and disfigured body made everyone want to look the other way. Ustaad Faqeera had made sure he wouldn’t be of any use to anyone else, and he expected a good flow of cash every day in exchange for food and a place to sleep. And if he disappointed the Ustaad…?’

He shuddered, recalling his last beating.

Ustaad headed their colourful clan, commanding total submission from all members. It was the least they could do in return for his looking after their interests – even striking deals with the police to spare them whenever an anti-beggary drive was on the cards.

He spotted a pretty, young girl trying to cross the road amid heavy traffic. She seemed to be getting impatient. Munna limped towards her rehearsing the lines that got him the maximum response. He had become quite expert at finding just the right words to say to the soft-hearted maidens…

“Baji, God bless your kind heart…help this poor soul…may you grow rich beyond measure…may you find a handsome husband…may you become mother of many sons…” he went on, putting on his most impressive act to draw a favourable response.

She looked at him through compassionate eyes, taking an instinctive step backwards as the offensive smell he emanated entered her nostrils. Barely more than a child but wise beyond his years, he cut a real sorry figure with his torn, inadequate clothing and filthy, disfigured body.

‘God!’ she reached for her purse. ‘He’s worse off than an animal…why is life so unfair?’

She felt guilty for being well-off… dressed in expensive finery and wearing a diamond ring that could afford the beggar a lifetime of luxury.

‘I could’ve been in his place …’ she thought empathically.

“Here you go”, she handed him a hundred-rupee note, and took off the warm shawl she wore over her Shetland wool cardigan. “Wrap this around yourself. It’ll keep you warm.”

He looked at her. ‘Is she for real?’

He took the money from her, deliberately rubbing his hand against hers. She pulled back, surprised, and fished in her purse for a scented wet tissue.

The flow of traffic registered a small break, and she quickly stepped off the pavement.

“Oh.” Munna’s breath caught in his throat as he saw a speeding vehicle appear out of nowhere and hit her head on, dragging her along a little distance. Then it reversed and sped away.

She lay there like a rag doll, crumpled and lifeless.

A few passing cars slowed for a second, and then stepped on their accelerators…
‘No use getting involved – she was probably dead anyway.’

He ran to her side. She was unconscious, a trickle of blood flowed from her ear. He grabbed her purse and pulled the ring off her finger.

‘She has no use for it anymore’, he figured, but it meant extra food and rest time for him.

He could just picture the glint in Ustaad’s big evil eyes when he gave him the booty…

*****

Sharafat Ali sat quietly mourning his loss. He had just buried his beloved.

‘My sweet, innocent Shammo…gone forever’ he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Hit and run. And somebody had had the gall to pick her clean of her belongings too as she lay there helpless…

He felt his blood boil, ‘If he could get his hands on the…!’ he swore under his breath.

“I’ll get him!” he muttered through clenched teeth, and rushed out …

*****

Ustaad gazed at the ring, as it shone with all its wicked brilliance on his hand…

Unaware of its evil power, that far surpassed his own ambition…

Unaware, also, of his fate as the ring yearned for more blood…the next sacrifice.

Over the last hundred years, Western societies have seen a change in attitude, with emancipation and empowerment of women bringing about a major revolution in their status. Unfortunately, Eastern societies by and large still remain mired in centuries-old traditions strongly emphasizing stereotyping of gender roles. However, despite widespread gender-bias in these societies, women are surprisingly resilient and competitive. Four major Eastern nations, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Indonesia and Turkey, comprising at least half the world’s Muslim population, have had women Prime Ministers. Pakistan has also recently elected a woman as Speaker of the National Assembly.

Conversely, when we look at the wider picture, the status of women presents a dismal picture. They are encouraged to be submissive, dependent and subordinate with the majority having little or no control over any kind of economic or political decision-making, as well as in everyday issues like marriage, number of children, dress code, access to basic health facilities and career aspirations. Men, on the other hand, enjoy a privileged existence. A male child has priority over his female sibling in access to food, education and health. Not surprisingly, the percentage of males outnumbers that of females in Pakistan as is evident in a report of The Demographic and Health Survey of Pakistan – a trend opposed to that prevalent in the rest of the world. One of the important causes of this discrepancy is high mortality rate in childbearing young women. This mortality rate for women is estimated to be twice as much as that of men of the same age-group.

A major obstacle in the way to empowerment of women is gender bias leading to economic dependence. The UN Gender Empowerment Measure (GEM) has ranked Pakistan as 100th among 185 of its registered countries. Social constraints prevent many capable women from pursuing active careers and achieving economic independence. According to Government of Pakistan figures, the percentage of working women in Pakistan is only 14% – a dismal picture for the future of a country that badly needs as many working hands as possible in order to not only improve its standing among the developing nations but, actually, to survive.

The predicament of the lower class woman is understandably worse than that of the middle or upper class female, though both suffer due to unjust social practices. They are battling domestic violence, Karo-Kari, marriage to the Quran, Swara, Wani, Honour killings and much more, besides other less severe forms of discrimination from close family members. Due to economic pressures, female employment is much higher among low-income groups than in the middle or upper class. Unfortunately, these workingwomen do not benefit from their hard work, as they are not independent decision-makers in the use of their earnings.

For the middle and upper-middle class female, social pressures appear to dictate career choices. Medicine and teaching appear to be the most sought after fields, albeit per force. Though both provide excellent career opportunities for women having an aptitude for these professions, many enter these fields for lack of other available options. As a result, they experience little or no job satisfaction and are unable to contribute productively. Only a small percentage of women defy tradition and venture into male-dominated fields, risking the wrath of their own family as well as censure from society. These women have to struggle hard to secure their rights in the workplace. The attitude of male colleagues is often discouraging, as they become wary of competition from those widely acknowledged inferior. Women who aspire for higher management positions meet stiff resistance; while for those who manage to climb the corporate ladder despite all odds, success is attributed to unjustified means, not competence.

Recently however, a change has been observed with women – though still a minority – competing and succeeding in diverse technical fields joining private organizations and getting noticed for their silent contribution to the dwindling economy. They are also making a mark in the political arena with a record number of representation as women legislators in the political decision-making bodies, traditionally considered male-dominated power houses.

One encouraging factor for women in Pakistan, resulting in an increase in participation in non-traditional fields is the burgeoning of the NGO sector over the last few years. It has provided a wide range of job opportunities to women with good salary packages. The ‘glass-ceiling effect’ felt and resented by a large number of women working in many of the government and private organizations, in which the power hierarchy does not allow women to go beyond a certain level despite fulfilling all the pre-requisites, has been challenged by these NGOs who offer jobs on the basis of qualifications. They install women as programme coordinators and send them out in the field to prove their worth, rather than settling for locally-accepted select set of positions. In this regard, the foreign donors having humanitarian, or female-friendly, agendas are playing an important role.

In the Pakistan Armed forces, there has been a change in policy towards empowerment of women, as is obvious from the induction of female cadets in the Air Force as fighter pilots. In the Army, besides the already established positions of females working as doctors and nurses in the Army Medical Corps, other corps are now allowing induction of females in field jobs. The Pakistan Navy has also inducted female cadets. The Pakistan Armed Forces are generally considered female-friendly organizations and their command structure caters to the social needs of female officers who are not posted to what are known as ‘hard-areas’ to avoid social problems. Female medical officers who happen to be spouses of Army officers are only posted to stations that will accommodate both officers. However, the trend in society of bias towards female colleagues extends itself here too and, sometimes senior male colleagues are observed dealing with their female subordinates with undue harshness. Credit for a job well done is many a time not generously given, while male colleagues attribute even genuine appreciation from superiors to mere indulgence.

Despite all odds, Pakistani women have come a long way in the last sixty years and will continue to move forward in order to secure the rights denied to them by an intolerant and biased society but promised by the Constitution of the country, as well as the religion it claims to represent. The winds of change are blowing on the horizon and it might be wise for all concerned to make way for the emancipated, motivated and self-aware woman of today.

This article was first published in SouthAsia magazine; this is an edited version.

“All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights”

-The Universal Declaration of Human Rights

Throughout history, mental illness has been associated with factors like weakness of character or possession by demons. As a result, the mentally ill have been isolated, neglected, tortured and even burnt alive – their lives destroyed by stigma and taboo.

The progress in medical knowledge encouraged a scientific approach to mental health problems and resulted in a slow, but steady, change in attitude. Many people began to view mental disorders as illnesses akin to other diseases that required treatment, not condemnation; though many societies still continue to show disdain for the mentally ill, and their mental health services remain insufficient and ineffective.

Understanding mental disorders is a difficult task in terms of the dynamics of disease, and the heavy emotional and psychological toll it takes on family life. Care for the mentally disabled is a serious human rights issue because of its effect on societal harmony and stability and potential for exploitation and abuse. In many mental health facilities, rehabilitation is not always seen as the chief aim of treatment. Human rights violations against people with mental disorders occur in communities throughout the world – in mental health institutions, in the wider community, and at individual level.

The World Health Organization (WHO) strongly urges communities to ensure respect for human rights and dignity in all mental health facilities, and outside. According to WHO reports based on testimonies of the patients and their relatives, it has been observed that many patients face severe discrimination and endure appalling living conditions in the mental health facilities. The following are excerpts from some of the letters addressed to WHO:

1. “Among the professionals who dealt with my son’s psychological illness, I frequently encountered irritation and threats aimed at him (‘if you don’t shape up’ or ‘I’m really having a problem with you today’), as if his psychological problems were subject to his direct control. In the 15 months of cancer treatment that my son also received, I never heard a nurse or doctor express any anger or irritation with my son for the symptoms of his illness.”(Source: Weissman MM. A piece of my mind: stigma. JAMA, 2001, 285(3): 261-2.)

2. “I experienced homelessness at one stage coming out of the hospital. I had nowhere to go. I had no choice. My family at that point was struggling with their own view of my condition and there was no place in the family for me. If my family had been educated, taught how to help me, supported and helped, then my story would be very different. (Source: Stop exclusion – Dare to care. World Health Day brochure. Geneva, World Health Organization, 2001.)

3. “The conditions there are miserable… dirty patients; dishevelled and very skinny [patients] surrounded me asking me for some bread. As for the building, it is pitiful to look at: many broken glasses, walls without painting for many years …The toilets, totally out of order, without running water. Most of the time cooking is done with water caught from the rain.…”

The report goes even as far as to quote a health worker as saying, “Why are you fighting that much? This place is but the waste of society.”
(Source: Letter 78, original in French. Voices from the shadows: a selection of letters addressed to the World Health Organization 1994 – 2002. Geneva, World Health Organization, 2004.)

Investigators from Mental Disability Rights International have found that inmates of mental health facilities who tried to escape were given severe punishments such as confinement for hours in cold, bare rooms without clothes; while over-drugged, unkempt and neglected patients pleaded for provision of basic needs like a glass of water. (A report by Mental Disability Rights International, September 2004)

WHO sources give a depressing analysis of the situation of mental health management worldwide: almost 64% countries have been found to have no legislation regarding mental health, or at least one that is less then ten years old. About 30% of countries don’t have a separately allocated budget for mental health; 20% countries spend less than 1% of their health budget on mental health; 32% countries have no community care facilities and vast differences are observed in the number of psychiatrists available to the populations ranging between more than 10 per 100,000 to less than 1 per 300,000. In Pakistan, though the fiscal year 2006-7 has seen a significant increase in the health budget, only 1% is estimated to be spent on mental health.

Researchers have found that factors such as low income, low education and difficult marital and family relationships expose women to abuse and make them more vulnerable to mental disorders. According to WHO sources, the probability of developing anxiety and depression are higher among women as compared to men, and these findings are constant across a series of studies conducted in different setups. A study by World Bank (1993) that focused on disability from neuropsychiatry disorders among women found that up to 30% women were affected in the developing countries as compared to 12.6 % men.

Pakistan Association of Mental Health (PAMH) declares that of the estimated 44% Pakistanis suffering from clinical depression, the majority are women. In Pakistan, many of the plans working towards social uplifting of women’s health focus on their reproductive health and their psychological and emotional needs are generally not given due importance, as is the norm in patriarchal societies. Women as care-givers have multiple roles to play at home. The burden of responsibility for the household including efficient running of home and fulfilling the needs of immediate as well as of extended family members requires a lot of energy. This burden is further multiplied for working women who have no one to share the burden of domestic duties along with the demands of their job. A culture of suppression prevents women from finding healthy outlets to their frustrations. It is not surprising then that they succumb to nervous breakdowns.

A serious trend manifest in the behaviour of the mentally disturbed is a tendency for deliberate self-harm. According to WHO sources, mental disorders are associated with 90% of all suicide cases; the last 45 years have seen a global increase of suicide rates by 60% and about 1 million people died of suicide world wide in the year 2000. It is also among the top three leading causes of death of individuals aged 15-44 years. WHO finds that though traditionally suicide rates were highest among the male elderly, now the younger age-group mentioned above are at higher risk of suicide in a third of developing as well as developed countries, though reasons and methods vary.

In Pakistan women remain particularly vulnerable to suicide because of numerous factors including social and cultural pressures, domestic and sexual violence, and undiagnosed or untreated mental illnesses. Stigma and discrimination by society allow these mental health problems to go unchecked. The HRCP (Human Rights Commission of Pakistan) report for 2005-6 declares that total suicide and attempted suicide cases increased from 2,712 in 2005 to 3,919 in 2006. There were around 200 women suicide cases reported within the first six months of 2006 along with 181 cases of attempted suicide, most of the victims being under 30 years of age. A 2007 trend analysis report by the HRCP also found young married women to be at highest risk.

Attempted suicide is underreported because it is a criminal offence in Pakistan punishable by up to one year imprisonment, and many successful suicides are also reported as accidents due to stigma. Hence, actual figures elude statistical collection, posing a challenge to effective data gathering.

Effective treatment of mental disorders requires a multi-pronged and multi-tiered approach involving government and private sector, community health services, family support groups and access to individual counseling facilities. Increasing awareness about the rights of the mentally ill, countering stigma and discrimination, training of primary health professionals, improving standards in psychiatric institutions, restriction of access to common methods of personal harm, etc. may be some of the strategies applied in this regard.

People suffering from mental disorders are either not aware of their rights or are not in a position to claim them. It is thus the collective responsibility of communities, institutions and governments to ensure that their dignity and human rights are upheld, and they are helped to resume their normal lives again.

Note: This article was originally published in “SouthAsia” magazine.

‘They’d probably freeze to death, by the time I manage to fetch some firewood.” He sighed.

Zainab and Rahim clung to their mother, desperate for some warmth. Miriam’s life revolved around looking after the two who had arrived unceremoniously in the first two years of her married life. Housework occupied the remaining hours, and Murad…well…he lived in a world of his own.

It stopped snowing as quietly as it had started.

Murad sat up, and found himself looking into Miriam’s eyes.

‘How pale she looks’. He sighed, feeling sorry for her…for himself. He missed Resham…the beautiful, bewitching Resham…

‘No, no, I mustn’t think about her now.’ he shook his head.

‘Baba, I’m cold!” wailed two-year-old Rahim.

Murad unwrapped himself. “Here, take this…I’ll get the firewood.”

He laboured to the nearest tree in the forest, raised his axe…and froze.

‘Isn’t this the tree where I saw Resham for the first time?’ he muttered to himself.

How beautiful she had looked, her long, silken hair falling over her delicate frame. He had stood in a trance… Then, as if aware of his presence, she had turned…those captivating eyes, grown huge with fear. In a flurry of movement, she had disappeared; leaving him feeling oddly enriched…intoxicated.

He remembered how, for weeks afterwards, he had left behind a neat pile of firewood for her every time he went to collect his own. He had found out that since her brother’s death in the cruel Afghan war, she’d had to work with her ailing father to make ends meet. Murad had decided to send Ammah with the marriage proposal as soon as he got the job with the furniture factory. Ammah wanted him to marry his cousin, Miriam…but he knew he’d bring her around to it. After all, it was his life…

But luck was not on his side. Resham caught the eye of the rich building contractor before Murad had had the chance to send Ammah.

‘Was she happy with him?’ he wondered, coming back to the present. ‘I couldn’t have provided her what she deserved, anyway…and her rosy cheeks would’ve paled within no time…like Miriam’s.

“Miriam…oh my God!” He was jolted back to reality as Miriam’s frail image flashed in his eyes.

Suddenly, the tree appeared to diminish in value. He brought down the axe with a force that surprised him, gathered the firewood in frenzy, and rushed back home.

As he got near, he saw Miriam standing in the doorway, little Zainab in her arms.

‘Had he taken too long…and Zainab had succumbed to his daydreaming? ‘ He stopped sudenly, paralyzed with fear.

“Oh my God…I killed my baby!” he began to sob.

Miriam’s eyes registered surprise.

“No, Murad…she’s fine! Abba brought some firewood while you were gone. What took you so long? I was getting worried. Come inside…quick!”

Murad stared, uncomprehendingly. Then, he understood. How often he had blamed her for his misfortunes…secretly comparing her with Resham too…but she had never complained…she just stood by his side through thick and thin.

Everything fell into place. Resham’s alluring beauty started to fade and merge into Miriam’s reassuring smile…

Slowly, the divide between dream and reality widened, and the sun began filtering its way through the clouds…

She unbuckled her seatbelt and took a deep sigh, “Here I come Ahsan!” Eighteen, and full of dreams, Raniya sat thinking about her fiancé with a gentle smile playing on her lips …

She was homeward bound – or so she liked to believe. Born and brought up in Bradford she had little knowledge of her ancestral homeland Pakistan; but engaged to her first cousin in the small town of Charsadda, she was looking forward to making a contact with her roots at last.

Her parents had moved to the foreign shores in 1970 in pursuit of a better future some twenty years ago and never looked back. Khan Afzal Khan had built up quite a reputation in the social services sector with his keenness to look after the affairs of his small community so far away from home. He was highly respected in Bradford and Manchester where most of the Asian immigrants like him had ultimately chosen to settle down.

Her mother had taken a teaching job that kept her close to other mothers and accounted for a lot of love showered upon them by the neighbourhood families. Raniya and her brother Bilal were brought up with a healthy mix of eastern values and western progressive outlook. Education was first priority in their house. Raniya had just completed her O-Levels with straight A’s and was in her first year of A-Levels. Bilal was a year younger.

“Miss, would you like a drink?” a smiling stewardess inquired politely. It took her a few seconds to make the jump back to the present.

“Oh…er…orange juice, please…thank you.” She smiled back as she took the drink from her and looked at her wristwatch.

They had covered about half an hour of the journey without her even noticing the take-off that she normally so dreaded! As she finished her drink she rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. Ahsan’s smiling eyes stared back at her…her heart skipped a beat.

Tall and handsome, he was a doctor by profession and ten years her senior. They had been in regular touch since their engagement had been finalized by the elders … in ‘absentia’, so to speak! Her mother had been very upset but her father had convinced her in the end.

“Surely,” he had said, “Raniya must ultimately marry a Pakistani and sadly our own boys here are no match for our bright girl, are they? Ahsan is a promising boy. I think he will keep her happy.”

“what about the cultural difference, Afzal? Raniya is used to a completely different lifestyle. She can never settle down in Pakistan!” she had protested. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time we were there?”

She was referring to the time when her parents had taken her and Bilal to Pakistan and put them in a boarding school, trying to give them a feel of their own culture first hand.

It had been a nightmare for Raniya…the horrifying condition of hygiene; the bullying of older girls taking away the expensive shampoos and lotions that her mother had so painstakingly packed; she’d find wrappers of chocolates and emptied boxes of cereals too, taken out of her closet without permission…and then there were the flies, the terrible skin rash they developed, the spots… by the end of one month she and Bilal had had just about all they could take and had pleaded to be taken back.

“Well, it’s about time she learned to adjust in her own culture. She was too young then… a sensible, mature girl now.” Her father had replied in a tone that booked no argument.

And so here they were, embarking on a short trip to get acquainted with Pakistani culture, and of course with Ahsan. It was decided that the wedding would take place after she had completed her A-Levels, a year and a half later.

Although they had never actually met, Raniya and Ahsan spoke regularly on the phone, wrote endlessly long letters, exchanged photos, shared their dreams and felt like they were closer than many couples that had spent a lifetime together! Such was the wisdom of young love…

“Would you like another pillow, ma’am?” the efficient stewardess was bending over her, intruding upon her thoughts again…

“No, thank you…I’m fine.” She replied and turned her face towards the window again.

She’d really rather the girl showed a little less efficiency and left her to her daydreaming!

She kept her eyes closed when a few minutes later dinner was served…and before she knew it, she had drifted off to a sound and fanciful sleep…

******

The reception on their arrival at Peshawar airport, the ride to her uncle Saeed’s home where they were to stay; meeting with so many weird-looking cousins; hugging, suffocating, endlessly kissing aunts and smiling uncles – everything passed in a confusion of phenomenal proportions! Afterwards, Raniya could not recall anyone’s name nor recognize their faces!

And much to Raniya’s surprise, Ahsan flashed a brief smile from a distance and never even came to say hello!

“It’s Pathan tradition,” her mother explained. “You can’t really meet until you’re married.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake Mum, is this the dark ages or what? What’s the point of coming all the way here if I’m not even to speak to him? ” She protested.

“Shhh…don’t raise your voice…it’s not considered ‘proper’!” She was silenced.

“Mum?” some of the initial enthusiasm was beginning to fade.

“Look, honey…everyone’s scrutinizing you, looking for something, to say: ‘See, she’s not suitable…whoever heard of a girl brought up abroad having any understanding of our culture!’ So don’t give them a chance, okay? Don’t give them a chance to find fault with your perfect upbringing.”

Raniya stared in dismay…feeling a heavy weight bearing down on her frail shoulders. She adored her parents as they did her, but she was not sure anymore about exactly what amounted to letting her parents down.

She remained quiet and subdued throughout the day and excused herself early for bed on the pretext of jetlag. The house full of noisy excited chatter was starting to get on her nerves. She spent a sleepless night asking herself whether she had let herself into something more than she had bargained for. She could not find any answers and finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.

******

Raniya stirred at the sound of voices… arguing, accusing, pleading…

‘Am I dreaming?’ she turned on her side, and rubbed her eyes. She saw her parents and sat up quickly. They stopped talking. Something was wrong.

“Mum? Dad? What’s wrong?” she asked, apprehensively.

They exchanged a look. Then, her father walked over and sat down beside her.

“Nothing, dear…everything is just fine.” He kissed her forehead and left the room.

Her mother sat down by her side and tried to smile. “Raniya darling, we thought may be you and Ahsan should get together now…get to know each other better…” she managed another stilted smile, “ …may be get married?”

“Wha-at? Get married now?” Raniya felt her world crashing down around her.

With a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, she listened to her mother telling her how the elders were insisting that the ceremony must take place as soon as possible, and that her father had finally agreed with them… And of course, everyone always did what Dad wanted in the end.

The next few days passed in a haze…the shopping, the wedding preparations, the decorations and the invitations…till the big day arrived.

Raniya felt like a bystander…as if she had come to someone else’s wedding…except that here she was, sitting among hordes of female relatives, supporting tons of jewellery over a flashy gharara and tacky make-up she wouldn’t be caught dead in!!

She looked and felt like a cheap present being offered to Ahsan…

Finally the commotion died down, the guests departed and she was taken to her bedroom to wait for her groom.

Raniya felt overwhelmed by it all…

Could she carry it through? She was not sure…

Ahsan entered, quietly closing the door behind him. Then he sat down by her side. She felt shy and awkward. He touched her cheek and tilted her face up to his, gently. She looked into his smiling eyes and a cloud seemed to lift…

‘He was with her…she would pull through’. She smiled back.

******

The next few days passed in a haze…she was lost in Ahsan’s love and life was beautiful. Then, it was time for her parents to leave. Torn between severing old ties and forming new bonds, she said difficult goodbyes.

“You take care now…we’ll be calling you everyday.” Her father kissed her hair as he held her lovingly. She held him tightly, closing her eyes…trying to preserve the moment. Tearfully, her mother kissed and hugged her for several minutes and then got into the waiting car.

‘It would be hard…leaving a part of her life behind and starting a new one…but she had to be strong…it was expected of her.’

She stood in the driveway for a long time with a lump in her throat till Ahsan gently drew her inside.

Life fell into a routine with amazing speed…

Raniya immersed herself in housework to pass the time, since Ahsan was a busy surgeon and mostly unable to give her much time. She understood that he needed space to establish himself in his field…but she missed their heart to heart chats.

Her parents-in-law became fond of her, and tried to make her comfortable and happy. They were so proud of their Bahu from ‘Walayat’ who was more sensible than many of their girls here, and a perfect doting wife for their son.

Raniya felt very lonely. She missed her parents, Bilal, her friends…

She thought about her lively previous life all the time…she would sit for hours, daydreaming…seeing herself back in Bradford…

******

There were many Asian girls at her school who gave in to peer-pressure and indulged in outrageous behaviour, like smoking and cutting classes to go out on dates. She remembered one girl who’d run away with a taxi-driver some years ago and had been caught and sent back to Pakistan. Later, she was married off to a distant cousin twenty-five years her senior as a second wife. At the age of eighteen, she was already a mother of two!

Not Raniya. Her mother had raised her with freedom to make her own choices, coupled with a strong sense of responsibility. She could not have dreamed of letting her parents down.

School was a nice mix of fun, laughter and study …harmless but hilarious pranks she and her friends played on unsuspecting peers and teachers…and got away with – the lovely British sense of humour coming to rescue! She missed going out to the movies with her friends … George, Rita, Amisha, Haroon, Zoya and Josh.

Being neighbours they’d all practically grown up together and had become close friends over the years. She loved to listen to them talking endlessly about their dreams and aspirations – there were dentists, artists and travellers in the making! And she shared with them her dream of becoming a writer. The boys would laugh at her, mimicking and mocking her serious expression, till she screamed and refused to speak to any of them. But they knew she couldn’t be angry with them for long…and always forgave them even before they’d apologised!

It came as quite a shock to all, when she told them about her ‘long-distance engagement’.

“Are you crazy? You’ll suffocate, Raniya…they’ll keep you locked up, and never let you see the light of day!” Zoya was concerned.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Rani?” asked Amisha.

“Hey, if it’s just about getting married, I’m sure I can keep you happier… won’t you consider me?” Haroon had joked.

“What about me, you traitor?” Zoya pouted prettily, and Haroon winked.

“Stop it, you guys!” she glared, “It’s not funny!”

“You can’t be serious, Raniya.” Josh had looked shocked.

“It’s not my choice, Josh…that’s the way it is in my cul…” she tried to explain, but he cut her short…

“There’s always a choice, Raniya…whether you take it or not is up to you.” He’d said very quietly and walked off.

They hadn’t spoken for days after that. But seeing her all quiet and subdued, slowly he seemed to understand that she needed his support, not censure. Raniya was touched when he told her that he just wanted to see her happy…it was okay so long as she was happy. He wished her all the luck.

******

She sighed…. How she missed the life she’d left behind…

Ahsan gave her as much time as he could, but he discouraged her going out as it was against Pathan tradition. Why did she need to go out anyway? – if she needed anything, all she had to do was ask, he insisted.

And then she had to cover herself from head to toe…something she was not used to at all…

She remembered the last time she’d gone out to the market with Ahsan to buy the groceries, and tripped over her chaadar…would’ve fallen flat in the middle of the market had Ahsan not steadied her quickly. Her chaadar had slipped off her head and shoulders…and Ahsan had been furious! ‘Public humiliation’ he called it.

‘Well, it wasn’t like she’d done it on purpose’, she thought indignantly…but Ahsan had refused to take her to the market after that, and she wasn’t allowed to go on her own. She had to send the servant for every little thing she needed.

‘You will suffocate!’ she recalled Rita’s warning despairingly, so very often…

And then there were the cousins…oh, how they tricked her into giving them her expensive, branded stuff – everything from her carefully chosen make-up to her slippers; things supposedly ‘borrowed’ but which she never saw again! And sometimes her belongings simply disappeared from her bedroom.

But the worst was when they’d ask her about the perceived ‘vulgarity’ in the ‘Gora-land’ where she’d grown up.

“Did you have lots of boyfriends?” casually, one would ask while the rest stared intently.

“Friends, yes…girls and boys … but no boyfriends!”

“Ah…” They would exchange looks.

She would just get up and excuse herself on one pretext or another and become the hot topic of discussion among her large acquired family.

“Miss High and Mighty…won’t even sit with us!”
“Drenched in perfume, nose high in the air…!”
“The imported stuff won’t last long…er…not that I have anything to do with it, of course!!!”
“‘Why are there so many flies?’ she says…well, ship them all to Siberia, madam!!!”
“Can’t even wear a chaadar properly!”
“Bet she knew lots of boys…”
“And whoever heard of boys being just friends, anyway!!!”

Raniya felt very out of place. No matter how hard she tried, she was treated as ‘guilty until proven innocent’…instead of the other way around.

Her mother called her as often as she could and always tried to calm her down with soothing advice. She sent her, her favourite chocolates, and loads of other stuff to cheer her up …but Raniya missed home.

Home? Where was home, anyway? Don’t they say, ‘home is where the heart is’?

And then one day, out of the blue, Josh called…

“Hi, Raniya…”
“Josh? Oh, Josh!” She nearly burst into tears.
“Forgotten us all, huh? We’ve been waiting for you to call but, of course, the Little Lady likes her new life too much to spare a thought for the not-so-important-anymore friends, huh?” he joked.
“No, no…”
“So, you got married? Wasn’t that supposed to happen in a couple of years or so?”
“Oh, Josh…it’s a long story… I miss you so much…all of you…” she was cut short as Ahsan took the receiver from her hand and put it down.

He had come home early to give her a surprise.

“Ahsan? What did you do that for?” she asked baffled.

“Raniya, women don’t have male friends here… your life in Bradford is over…start living in the present.”

“What do you mean it’s over? I had a life there, which is more than what I have here! I won’t forget it…it was the most beautiful time of my life…I’ve got nothing here to be happy about!” she screamed, suddenly unable to hold back months of bitterness anymore.

“This is your life Raniya…”

“No!”

“You’re my wife, Raniya…and that’s for keeps!”

“You’re a stranger, Ahsan…I don’t even know you anymore…you are not the one I fell in love with!” hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Look, I know I’ve been neglecting you…but it’s just a few more years I need for my career…”

“I won’t survive these few years, why don’t you understand?” she cried bitterly,

‘There’s always a choice …whether you take it or not…’ Josh’s quiet reminder flashed through her mind…

“I’m a misfit in your world, Ahsan…I don’t belong here…I want to go back.” she came to a sudden decision.

“Don’t say that Raniya…you don’t mean it…you know I love you!” surprised, he blurted out.

“Well, that’s not enough!” she shouted, “I don’t want a love that makes me unhappy! I can’t go anywhere, don’t know anyone I can hold a meaningful conversation with, you won’t let me speak to my friends for some stupid reason…won’t let me take a job because it dents your ego… I can’t breathe Ahsan…I want my life back…I want to be happy without feeling guilty…without thinking about what others will say…I feel like a caged bird… you’ve clipped my wings, Ahsan…give me my life back!”

Hysterically, she clawed at him as Ahsan tried to calm her down…holding her in his arms…kissing her hair…

“Shhh…Rani…honey, I’m so sorry…” he whispered over and over again…

He was beginning to see it all so clearly…and starting to hate himself for putting her through it all; for not realizing how much pressure she was under – having to cope with so much all on her own…

How could he have expected her to just mould herself to his demands? She was a thinking, feeling human being.

She was right. She had tried her best…had endeared herself to his parents with her sweet and caring attitude; had even learned to cook desi food, wear the chaadar properly…he almost chuckled as the image of her tripping over it flashed through his mind… he’d been so harsh with her just because he’d heard the snickers of the passersby.

He was under pressure too…social, cultural pressures… the added burden of making his marriage work despite all odds of her westernized upbringing, and to show the family – the whole city was family in his small town, anyway – that he was in charge, and could turn her into a suitable and decent wife, after all.

He had let his insecurities exact a toll from her…

He adored her, he knew without an iota of doubt…couldn’t dream of a life without her…and yet he’d left her to the mercy of the winds? How could he have been so cruel?

“I’ll make it up to you, honey…I promise…” he whispered.

She looked into his eyes…disbelief, and pain clogging her mind…

“You want me to be someone I am not…I don’t think we can go on like this…we’re world’s apart, Ahsan.” She replied sullenly.

“No… I love you for who you are, and we are going to make it work…we won’t let anything to come between us Raniya… I want us to grow old together.”

A movement at the door caught her eye as she saw her parents-in-law standing in the door. Embarrassed, she tried to wriggle free but Ahsan held her tightly. She saw a wealth of love oozing from compassionate pairs of eyes. Quietly, they turned away closing the door behind them.

Raniya felt defeated. ‘I have to give it my best shot.’

She tilted her face to gaze at Ahsan again…and managed a slow, reluctant smile.

His eyes lit up.

******

They moved to Islamabad along with Ahsan’s parents shortly afterwards. Within no time, Ahsan earned himself quite a reputation as a Paediatric Surgeon with his hard work.

With adversity behind them, and happy times at hand… time just seemed to fly…

Raniya had become quite busy working with charity organizations; balancing her activities with bringing up her three wonderful children.

She also realized it was time to work towards the actualization of her long forgotten dream. She started struggling to organize her random thoughts, urging the words to obey some sort of discipline. Most of the times they danced around the page teasing her, but every once in a while she actually felt rather pleased with herself! She did hope to get somewhere… some day.

She and Ahsan took a trip to Bradford to attend the wedding of George and Rita two years later, who then visited Pakistan the following winter. Raniya was also in touch with Amisha who had gone back to India and was holding her third solo art exhibition. They had planned to be there for that one, but the visa restrictions had prevented them. Zoya and Haroon were engaged – well, that was no surprise – and training to be dentists…and Josh?

Good ol’ Josh…he was a free spirit. Working as a Social Worker in the NGO sector, he travelled the world…scaling quake-torn mountains, visiting war-ravaged zones or braving the scorching heat of boundless deserts… calling her up from one corner of the world or another to relate his latest escapade!

And once he’d managed to come and see her as well. Ahsan and Josh had hit it off immediately, and Raniya had been so glad. Recalling how Ahsan had put the phone down on Josh once, forbidding her to speak to her ‘male’ friend, she had suppressed a smile.

How wonderful it had been to just sit there listening to his adventures, absorbing every word… just like old times.

And as Ahsan had got up to fetch his prized chess set, Josh had looked at her closely, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

She had known instinctively what he wanted to know… ‘Has it been worth it?’

She had simply smiled, ‘Yes, all the way!’

What a blessing it was to have friends who genuinely cared!

******

As she looked back, she felt overwhelmed with the huge turns her life had taken since she’d taken that flight eighteen years ago to make a contact with her roots. How wonderful and fulfilling, it had all turned out to be in the end – even the disappointments, anger and bitterness of the early months…

She cherished every bit of it…and if she had a choice to go back and change any part of it, she knew, she would want to re-live it all over again!

******

“Shehryar, Waleed… come quickly, dinner’s getting cold!” Raniya called out to her teen-aged sons.

Mona, the youngest, sat next to her mother. Ever the dutiful daughter, she had just helped her lay the table.

“I’ll call them, Mum”, she dashed upstairs to call her brothers who were glued to the computer, like all kids of their age!

Ahsan smiled at Raniya, as he put his hand gently over hers, “Thank you for being my perfect wife… for putting up with grouchy ol’ me, year after year!” He spoke with a twinkle in his eye.

Then he added solemnly, “…and to think we almost lost it!”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, darling!” she chuckled, as she squeezed his hand, lovingly.

Zareen Auntie? THANK GOD I found you! You’ve just GOT to help me!

Zara? What’s the matter, dear?

It’s a NIGHTMARE…its…its…how could it be HAPPENING? I jus’ can’t…

Sweetheart…calm down, now…

Oh, Zareen Auntie…you’re the ONLY one who can help…

Zara, is everybody alright?

No…everything’s ruined! I don’t know what we’ll do…you’ve got to come!

WHAT’S THE MATTER?

Mum will never make it this time…oh God!

GOOD GOD, girl, has your mother had another…?

She’s gone for sure! I just know it…she won’t survive…you HAVE to help her out!

Honey, listen to me… pull yourself together, now…is your dad home?

No, he’s gone to check on the arrangements…mum’s all blue with shock…

Is she breathing?

Er…what?

CALM DOWN, sweetie…I know you can do this…WE CAN DO THIS TOGETHER…don’t panic…your mother needs you now!

But…but…

Don’t talk, just Listen…every second is important…IS SHE BREATHING?

Of course, she’s BREATHING! Auntie…you…

Good…you remember how I taught you to check the pulse at the neck? Check it now and note it down…stay by her side… I’m on my way…be there in no time…

Pulse? But… what about her VALIMA DRESS?

Huh?

The tailor has RUINED it COMPLETELY…

The tailor?

And it was so lovely…

You mean, she’s NOT going into cardiac arrest?

Cardiac arrest? Why NO!

ARE YOU SAYING… YOU HAD ME RUN OUT OF EMERGENCY, FOR SABIN’S VALIMA DRESS?

Well, er…yes…I mean the big day is TONIGHT, and Mum’s absolutely DEVASTATED! I thought … if you’d lend her yours…I mean, you’re the same size and…er…she’s the groom’s MUM, you know…

ZARA….!!!!!!!!!!!

A teacup in my hand,

I sit here quietly pondering,

And watch the day unfold

A long, enduring journey…

Sonya sat at the kitchen table early Monday morning with a cup of hot tea. She had some time to herself before setting off to her job, and battle the tensions that went with the package. She stared at the whorls of steam rising from her cup; a feeling of nostalgia overwhelmed her…‘How life had changed.’

She found herself walking down memory lane…

“Hurry up, Soni, we’re going to be late!” called Umar, as he adjusted his tie and pulled on his coat, giving himself a final appraisal.

“In a minute, darling!” She called back. “There’s no need to be there before even the hosts arrive!”

“The card says seven sharp, and seven it will be, honey!” He tried to impress upon her the urgency that conscientious people like him felt duty-bound to respond to.

The newly-weds, Umar and Sonya, were getting ready for the dinner hosted by Sonya’s favourite Aunt Samina. Umar was a stickler for punctuality, but Sonya was not one to be pushed into anything that everybody considered ‘the proper thing to do’. So, as Umar was to learn, they got there when Sonya saw fit to make her grand entrance! 

There was nothing conventional about their relationship either…had never been from the start. Umar, the quiet and ‘proper’ type, was in for a rude shock from the moment he stepped into the bedroom on their first night together. Expecting to find a shy bride, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he lifted her veil to gaze into the huge eyes of a disgusting, evil-looking witch! She had pulled on an ugly mask borrowed from her little cousin, Mani. Though considering the practical joke in bad taste – not to mention ill-timed! – he was immediately charmed by her lovely smile and mischievous eyes.

Anybody could see that they had taken to each other like fish to water, despite being total opposites. Whoever said, ‘opposites attract’, sure knew what he was talking about! Umar was a perfectionist and she was his undoing – he was meticulous, she careless to the extreme…burnt the dinner with unfailing regularity; he preferred to eat a cosy meal at home, she loved dressing up and eating out; he enjoyed slow strains of sitar, she opted for hard rock. By the usual rules of prediction, they couldn’t have lasted beyond the wedding night, but eight years hence, and still going strong – theirs was a dream relationship.

There was just one small catch causing an occasional unpleasantness…they were childless. Having gone through extensive tests, after two years of their union, they had learnt that Sonya would never be a mother. Umar, strangely, didn’t seem to mind so much but Sonya was devastated. And every now and then she felt she couldn’t take it anymore…

 ”I can’t imagine never being able to hold a little bundle-of-joy in my arms!” she sobbed.

“It doesn’t matter, sweetheart, we’ll adopt a baby”, Umar tried to calm her down.

“No, no…I want my own baby,” she cried hysterically, “ours!”

He would take her in his arms and, she would finally calm down. She suspected, though, that he was rather glad they didn’t have any children, and he had her all to himself. He loved her so much, he always said. How lucky she was…most men wanted children and didn’t hesitate in remarrying, just for the sake of carrying on the family name.

‘What would I do without my darling?’ She often wondered.

A few more years passed – some flew and some dragged – and their life kept moving forward on a smooth track, with no major ups and downs… till something happened that changed her life forever…

She would see Umar talking on the phone several times a day, hanging up the moment she came within earshot. Whenever she asked, he simply shrugged and avoided a direct answer, brooding and keeping to himself. She was confused. That was not his style. His sisters, Zoobia and Zarmina, had also started calling him up regularly.

‘What the heck was going on?‘ she wondered. ‘What was all the secrecy about?’

She tried to dismiss it, but a nagging doubt pricked her feminine intuition. There had never been any secrets in their relationship and the new, distant Umar frightened her.

From the bits and pieces of conversation she was able to catch, slowly it dawned upon her that it was her inability to produce an heir that was the issue. For the first time in her married life, she felt unsure of where she stood…and apprehensive about her future. She was well aware of the consequences of infertility in a couple’s life – in Eastern culture, it defined the very basis of a union. She had seen many strong marriages crumble when many a loving husband buckled under family pressure. She recalled her college-friend Saba’s ordeal, and shuddered. 

‘If only he would say something!’ She waited desperately.

 Finally, she could take it no more.  ‘Why was she waiting for him to say anything, anyway? It concerned her life too!’

She decided to confront him.

“Honey, what the hell is going on?” she demanded, when he came back from the office that day.

“Huh? What do you mean?” he evaded, as she had expected.

“Stop treating me like a child, Umar.” She spoke quietly. “Do you want to remarry?”

Startled, Umar turned away, “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Look at me, Umar.” She felt her heart thudding against her ribs, “I know what’s going on, so tell me the truth. You always said we didn’t need a baby… that we could adopt one if I wanted… so how about it now?”

Umar knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. “Mum won’t agree.”

“Mum gets to make our decisions?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter whether I take a second wife or not, Soni…you will always be the one for me.”

Sonya stared uncomprehendingly.

Trrrn…trrrn… the phone rang.

It was Zoobia. “Sonya, how are you?”

“Oh, fine … Zooby, how are you?” She tried to be polite.

Zoobia replied in a solemn tone, “Listen Sonia, I’ve got something important to tell you… I’m sure you’ll understand…”

“Ye-es?” She felt her heart skip a beat.

“Sonya…er…this is hard to say,” she took a deep breath and blurted out, “Umar is getting married to Huma. Nothing against you, really, it’s just…”

“I see,” she cut in, “it’s settled, then?” She spoke calmly trying to sound composed, her gaze fixed on Umar’s hunched shoulders and averted gaze.

Huma was Umar’s cousin – a quiet submissive creature living in a world of her own.

“I’m sorry, Sonya, Mum wants the family name to go on. Ten years is a long time to wait. I’m really sorry.”

 Sonya hung up without another word. She walked up to Umar, and touched his shoulder. He turned. She looked into his eyes. He looked away. Her heart sank…

‘The man she had loved with all her heart and soul, was not going to be man enough to stand by her side when she needed him most.’

She did not cry. She was not going to beg him to reconsider, either.  She packed her bags quietly, amid Umar’s protests…

“Don’t overreact, for God’s sake, Sonya! Huma will be my wife in name only, I’ll always be yours…nothing will change, I promise. I don’t need a child… you know that. I’m doing it just for Mum’s sake…”

As she picked up her bags, she gave one final look around…‘Husband and home – hers no more.’

“Soni, please don’t do this! Be reasonable, will you? I love you…we can pull through this together…Huma will not come between us. She will live with Ammi, not here!”

“I see…and you can visit her there occasionally, while we continue to live here as if nothing has changed?” she inquired calmly, fighting to hold back tears.

“Exactly!” he beamed, and opened his arms…

 She managed a sad, strained smile… he probably expected her to run to him, grateful for his generosity! “Sure.” She muttered through clenched teeth, and walked past him…

‘Would he have been so accommodating if she had another man in her life?’

‘Did men have a completely different set of values that could accommodate anything they saw fit for consumption?’

She moved back with her mother. Everyone tried to reason with her.

“Sonya, he hasn’t divorced you; you shouldn’t have left your home! Men do take more than one wife, and he has a genuine reason too. Its no big deal…he adores you, you know that…surely, you’ll always be first in his life.”

‘Had everyone gone mad? There was a third person in their marriage, and it was no big deal? How could they expect her to share her husband with another woman?  She didn’t want to be ‘first’ in his life…she wanted to be the ‘only’ one!’  As far as she was concerned, it was over…three, was definitely a crowd. She wanted a divorce.’

“You want WHAT? Are you even aware of what you’re saying, Sonya?” Her mother nearly had a fit. “For God’s sake, don’t even think about it! You cannot even imagine what it entails…the people will devour you! A lone woman has no place in this vicious society…and where will you go when you’re old, you’ve no sons to keep you?”

“Mum, you too?” tears welled up in her eyes. ‘So, she would be forever condemned for that shortcoming.’ She broke down, and wept uncontrollably. There was no one to hold and console her, but she knew she’d better get used to that. There was a long, lonely journey ahead.       

Two months passed in a flurry of activity, with everyone turning up to add his or her bit to the argument against divorce. But it soon became evident, that Sonya was immovable from her stance. She had chosen once for all that she was not going to be second place to anyone.

When Umar came to see her one evening – as he did almost daily even after he had married Huma – she just locked herself in her room, refusing to see him. He practically begged her to open the door and listen to him. Then, he sat outside and spoke through the closed door…

“Darling, it won’t be long now… I’ll divorce Huma as soon as the baby is born…It’ll be just like old times again…you and I … just wait a while.”

She could only stare at the door, seething with red-hot rage.

‘Could he sink so low? Use a woman for his selfish needs and discard her as soon as they were met with? Did Huma know what was in store for her?’

She opened the door. There he stood, unshaven and dishevelled. She felt no love for him, only contempt. With one swift movement, she slapped him hard across his cheek – the cheek she had touched lovingly so many times in the past.

He stared in disbelief.

“Don’t ever come here again.” She muttered coldly.

Umar saw steely resolve in her eyes… and knew he was beaten.

She filed for ‘Khula’ the next day. Bless her dear Aunt Samina who had insisted at the time of her nikah, that her parents allow her the right to seek divorce if she wanted; the court proceedings were easily tilted in her favour. That had been the most difficult decision of her life, but she would not be treated like a commodity.

She took a job and started picking up the pieces of her life one by one …it wasn’t easy. Sometimes she collapsed in a heap on the floor; crying till the tears dried out and dry sobs racked her thin body. She had lost weight. She missed her previous life, the joy and pride of loving Umar…then her thoughts would take her to the pain of rejection, his betrayal, and his selfishness…and, ultimately, her stubborn, resilient self would triumph.

‘If Umar really loved her, he should’ve stood by her side…actions spoke louder than words, didn’t they?’

Sonya took a deep sigh and nibbled at the biscuit in her hand, as the memories took her on a roller coaster of emotions, gliding through time…

For a fleeting moment, past and present seemed to merge and co-exist…

She felt Umar’s presence in that small room, looking at her adoringly as he used to… she closed her eyes trying to preserve the moment, yearning for his touch. Slowly, she opened them again and stared at the cup in her hand, sighing softly…

He was just a ghost from the past…

She recalled her mother telling her that Umar had been blessed with a son…good for him. He didn’t look very happy, though, the last time she saw him in the shopping mall. He had looked long and hard at her, searching for some spark from the past, while he held his little son in his arms. She had simply turned away.

Sonya came back to the present with a sudden jolt, as her hand shook and the hot scalding tea spilled over her. She got up quickly and put her hand under running water to soothe the stinging.

‘Yes, life sure had changed…but not entirely for the worst. She had come out with her dignity intact – and that was the important thing.’

A few months ago, she had also adopted a baby girl from Edhi Home, and named her Ujaala – light.  She wanted little Ujaala to be a source of light for the blind, the ignorant; to define her own existence, and claim her place in the larger scheme of things… and most of all, feel proud to be a woman in a suffocating, male-dominated society.

The wall clock chimed and Sonya turned off the tap.  She had to drop off Ujaala at Aunt Samina’s, and she didn’t want to be late for work. Her boss appreciated her efficiency. Punctuality was a virtue, after all. She had evolved and adapted, and her life was on the right track…

As she checked herself for the last time, balancing her keys and little Ujaala in her arms, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror…

“Long enduring journey, here I come!”

Are women’s human rights given the importance they deserve?

Discrimination against, and exploitation of, women is rife in many societies of the world be they developed, developing or under-developed. Unfortunately, violence against women is also the most socially tolerated form of abuse in cultures across the globe.

“This year, more than 15,000 women will be sold into sexual slavery in China. 200 women in Bangladesh will be horribly disfigured when their spurned husbands or suitors burn them with acid. More than 7,000 women in India will be murdered by their families and in-laws in disputes over dowries. Violence against women is rooted in a global culture of discrimination which denies women equal rights with men and which legitimizes the appropriation of women’s bodies for individual gratification or political ends.” (Broken Bodies, Shattered Minds: Torture and Ill Treatment of Women, Amnesty International, 2001)

The UN High Commission on Refugees advocates that “women fearing persecution or severe discrimination on the basis of their gender should be considered a member of a social group for the purposes of determining refugee status.” (Guidelines on the Protection of Refugee Women)

Types of Violence:

Domestic violence- A personal matter?

Domestic violence violates a woman’s right to freedom of thought and action, and to physical integrity. Unfortunately, it is often viewed as a ‘personal matter’. A woman may be beaten up or tortured for something as simple as being negligent in performing household chores. Domestic crimes are allowed to go unchecked frequently in patriarchal societies. It is important to understand that when the law fails to provide protection to the victim, the state also becomes a party to inflicting torture upon its own citizens.

The Condemned Bride:

In most under developed countries, women are not given an equal status to men in political, social, and economic spheres. Hence, suppression of women is common. Rejecting a marriage proposal, or bringing a small dowry for many women in India, Pakistan or Bangladesh might result in serious repercussions. These women may be set on fire or acid burnt – and die of third-degree burns – or blinded and severely disfigured for life. The statistics for women dying at home from such ‘accidental’ deaths are found to be the highest among young married women.

Killing in the name of “honour”:

In Eastern societies, women are considered to represent the family honour. When suspected of violating that honour, they are savagely punished by their own fathers, brothers or husbands. Once accused, they are treated as ‘guilty until proven innocent’. In Pakistan, when they are accused of the crime of ‘Zina’, which is punishable by death with stoning under Shar’ia law, there is little hope for them to get justice. Sometimes, young girls also become targets of lifelong violence by rival tribes when offered in compensation for settling feuds; or targeted for revenge as a result of a wrongdoing committed by their men folk.

Miseries of women in prison:

Women in jails become victims of further abuse at the hands of the guards because of their total dependency on them. They are pressurized to provide sexual favours to avoid punishment, or to avail relaxation in certain rules. Sometimes they are also denied medical and psychological support to force them to be more compliant to the demands of prison staff.

Trafficking of women:

According to Human Rights Watch, trafficking is “…the illegal and highly profitable recruitment, transport or sale of human beings into all forms of forced labor and servitude, including trafficking into forced marriage…In all cases, coercive tactics, including deception, fraud, intimidation, isolation, threat and use of physical force, or debt bondage, are used to control women.” Without the assistance of corrupt officials, this practice cannot survive. Provision of false documents, and protection provided, help and encourage the perpetrators of this crime. There is further abuse and trauma when the victims are treated as criminals or illegal aliens.

Women’s sufferings during war times:

Wars take a huge toll of the killed, maimed and tortured from women. Through a planned strategy, physical and psychological violence against women is carried out during wartimes to achieve objectives like creating terror or extracting information; or simply suffer as spoils of war. Women’s rights organizations have found that, for these victims of war-ravaged communities, domestic violence is directly proportional to the increasing family tensions arising from the atrocities of war. Countless women in war zones across the globe are bearing the brunt of wars facing economic and domestic problems, and continue to suffer the worst forms of torture and sexual abuse.

Mental Health Problems of Victims of Violence:

Being a victim of violence can be the cause of severe trauma and emotional stress, resulting in serious mental health problems. Post traumatic stress disorder, depression, anxiety and panic attacks make the victims seriously mal-adjusted in their environment, requiring professional help. They may exhibit uncontrollable crying spells or rapid mood swings, and might appear completely divorced from reality at other times. Loss of sleep and appetite, flashbacks, nightmares and low self-esteem hinder normal functioning and extensive psychotherapy is often the only recourse available to help the victim return to a normal existence.

Rehabilitation:

The rehabilitation of victims of physical abuse is a difficult task that requires long-term commitment

Inge Genefke, Rehabilitation and Research Center for torture Victims (RCT), Copenhagen, states:

“The aim of torture is to destroy a person as a human being, to destroy their identity and soul. It is more evil than murder…. Today we know that survivors of torture can be helped to regain their health and strength, and in helping them we take the weapon from their torturers.”

• After the crime has been reported, proper medical examination must be carried out immediately to establish the veracity of abuse. All available evidence must be meticulously recorded and treatment of injuries done on a priority basis. For all this to take place, however, an efficient medico-legal system needs to be put in place – which is not the case in most under-developed countries, since women’s human rights are not considered high on Governments’ priority lists.
• Too often the victims vanish after reporting, either forced into hiding to escape threats of the perpetrator, or shifted by the family members to avoid attention to the ‘tarnished’ family name. The result is that the charges have to be dropped. The victim must be provided reliable security options and the abuser taken into custody, so that he is not in a position to silence her through intimidation.
• While the process of law takes its course, the victim should be provided extensive psychotherapy to address the feelings of shock, denial, guilt and anger.
• Counseling of close family members and friends is also extremely important, as their moral support is crucial in helping the victim through the period of crisis.

Prevention of Abuse:

Prevention of abuse is a collective responsibility. All members of a society must play their role sensitively for effective prevention of violence.

• Media must play its role in educating public opinion by creating awareness about public responsibility on this issue. Victim’s right to privacy must also be ensured at all costs. Giving a clear direction to social censure about shifting stigma from the abused to the abuser, may bring down many instances of abuse.
• Sale of acid to public should be strictly monitored, and every instance of burning should be meticulously investigated to rule out foulplay. To help the burned and disfigured women restart their lives, reconstructive surgery should be made an affordable option for the victims through sponsorship schemes from government and private sector.
• Special attention must be paid to empowerment of women through focus on literacy. Today, two-thirds of the world’s illiterate adults comprise of women – a fact that speaks volumes about the lack of commitment, and need thereof, of governments around the world.
• Punishing corrupt officials, who falsify documents and protect gangs of traffickers, can effectively check this menace. Poverty-reduction schemes and vocational-training programmes run by government agencies and the NGOs should target, specifically, single-parent families headed by females, and orphaned young girls.
• Governments must be urged by international human rights organizations, to protect women’s human rights during times of armed conflicts around the world and be held accountable for lapses by the UN Bodies.

Peoples of all nationalities should join hands to support Human Rights Organizations in their fight against gender crimes and provision of the rights of the oppressed around the world. It should not be viewed as a choice, but a responsibility.

This article was originally published in ‘SouthAsia‘ magazine.

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In support of every movement to stop violence against women.