Nudity does not define a woman

Egypt was once again in news, and this time it was about a young girl and her blog post. Some termed it a slap to the patriarchal set up of society, whereas others labeled it as free pornography. One thing made clear is that when it comes to women, standard is still ‘man’.

Reading Yasmin Mogahed’s article, Empowerment of Women Speech, I came across following lines, and they fit so well to the affair under discussion.

What she (women) didn’t recognize was that God dignifies both men and women in their distinctiveness–not in their sameness. When we accept men as the standard, suddenly anything uniquely feminine becomes by definition inferior. Being sensitive is an insult, becoming a full-time mother—a degradation. In the battle between stoic rationality (considered masculine) and selfless compassion (considered feminine), rationality reigned supreme.

We as women are still striving for acceptance. Our lives still revolve around how men perceive us, and in the drive to prove our equality, we are willing to break all boundaries.

The arguments presented in favour of the nude pictures posted on the blog post seem flawed to me, at least.

When a woman is the sum total of her headscarf and hymen – that is, what's on her head and what is between her legs – then nakedness and sex become weapons of political resistance. The Guardian

Aren’t men a sum total of their bank balance- not necessarily proportional to intelligence or character- and masculinity? So is then robbery and rape a legitimate weapon of political resistance.

What we need to understand is in societies, not just women, but men are also judged by certain parameters of sexuality.  Words like sissi and queer are not yet archaic, even in the free societies of the West. Does it mean now that homosexual men should post their nude pictures on a blog, proving their manhood and freedom of choice? – a slap against straight world.

Nakedness- a form of protest is another one that makes you think about where we are headed. Human society has evolved into the form we today call civilization. However, hailing a practice that reverts you back to Stone Age, seems worrisome, especially in the context that these very supporters of nakedness term ‘veil’ to be a medieval custom. 

When it comes to sexuality, the gender anatomy plays a very significant role, which cannot be denied. Till men have testosterone flowing, a women’s body will incite lust, no matter how much nudity is spread around. It’s time that feminists acknowledge this reality, and unless they can change the hormonal mechanism of a male, they should stop demanding change in a man’s view towards a female body. What should be done instead is to use the soul, the feminine character, traits, and nature to gain equality- not similarity.

Coming together of sects...

It was eve of 5^th Moharram, 1433 hijri, when a momentary silence blanketed the gathering at a prominent imambargah of Karachi. The cause, speaker referred to a hadith coming from Hazrat Aisha. He then explained the need of showing respect to personalities of Islamic history who were neither dishonored by Quran nor by Ahl e Bayt.

I expected a string of text messages to flow after this, rebuking the speaker. I expected lesser crowd next day at the majlis. I expected all hush hush commentary on the speaker’s remarks. To my sheer relief, none of the sort happened. This kind of acceptance was not something one would have anticipated a few years back.

At the other end of the spectrum too, a similar emphasis on convergence of beliefs is evident. Last week on facebook, I came across videos of a sunni scholar who was presenting argument in favour of the claim that  Hazrat Ali ibn e Abi Talib (A.S) was the most honorable amongst all companions of Holy Prophet (S.A.W.W)- an integral belief of shia ideology-with reference to sayings of First Caliph.

Today, on one of the prominent Pakistani TV channels, again a sunni scholar was found praising the purified family of Holy Prophet (S.A.W.W) in light of the verse of Mubahila from Holy Quran- a reference often used by followers of shia sect.   

This growing mutuality of understanding is not just confined to scholars of both sects, but seeps down to common man. I met, in my comparatively small but fortunately diversified social gathering, individuals from shia sect who choose to study the Sahih books of ahadees- generally Sahih’s are linked with sunni school of thought- and those from sunni sect who are awe inspired by the personality of Hazrat Abbas (A.S)-a revered historical figure of the shia sect.

There are those sunnis who support Iran, its policies and governmental form. There are those shias who support the resistance of Hamas in Palestine.

No doubt these are relatively small changes in respect to terrorist attacks being carried out on shia processions and sunni mosques. There are still many who harbor animosity against their neighbours based on sectarian identities.  Even today not many people know the fundamental doctrine of these two schools of thought.

However, the rising spirit of coherence among scholars of both sects, as well as among those at grass roots level, holds in it the promise of hope, and I feel like clinging to it.

a lover of simple life

As two of my friends brandished their love for technology and expressed elation for being born in this time and age, I listened, silently. The outward silence was not matched by the commotion that was rising inside of me. I do not belong to this era I thought. I am a lover of simple life.

Technology is not for me. Living in Karachi, the fast paced, ever working city, my day ends at few hours into the night. As my Facebook and email inbox pile up with notifications, I sleep, only to rise up and know the news turned stale, the hype is over. And hey! I never played any of those ‘ville’ games yet.

Twitter for me is to read news articles. Only thing I know is how to follow someone. What is this craze about tweets? How do u hashtag things? How do you even tell someone you like their tweet? I am clueless.

Movies, I love watching them, ok, but I don’t want to spend my money on DVDs. A friend enlightens me: Stupid!  Get them on torrent. Really! Can u get me one on the usb till I download this Torrent thing. You guessed it right, Torrent never entered my computer.

Cell phones are another one. I am blank when it comes to all these cell phone models in the market.

What is the difference between iPhone and iPod? well I atleast know how to google this one.

This story of my tech-illiteracy can go on forever…..

But do I belong in this freaking techno world. I wonder why am I not in a time where I can tend to horses in the stable and read a book sitting on the porch under the starlit sky. 

sacrifice ya show off.........

With arrival of each sacrificial animal, the boasting game begins. Children flocking around the animals are often heard comparing not only the size or height of ‘their’ gaye, bail or bakra, but also the cost of it. Mera bail to Rs.55,000 ka hai. Humare toh dono bakre Rs. 35,000 ke hain aur ek bakra toh naani ke ghar pe hai.  One often catches such remarks being exchanged. I doubt many of these bachas even know how to write these figures on paper.  

In homes, the picture is not much different either. Parents have their own preparations lined up for the race to fame.

There is a hubbub around. How can the tailor do this? This was so unexpected. This time it was just four dresses. The entire floor knows about the tragedy that struck this house. The mother might have to wear the dress she got last Eid, which was like two months back… a long time, indeed.

Fathers don’t lag behind either. For the last entire week there were repeated instructions about keeping that extra big meat package aside for the boss.  Also be careful about the package of Mr.XYZ. Remember I met him two years back on my Hajj trip. He went on Hajj this year too, you know. We will drop it at his house, his wife will appreciate it.

Eid-ul-Azha has a great virtue attached to it but somehow, the holiday, the celebration, the competition veils the actual purpose. Today you cannot find the spirit of sacrifice, the purity of intention that caused this event of distant past to be blessed with the privilege of being commemorated till the end of time. The commercialized mindset prevailing in society sacrifices the spirituality, the integrity related to this revered ritual. 

BOL- sectarianism overdose

Religious factions have made it a habit to protest on every little thing that goes against their interpretation of Islam and term it as a conspiracy against their ideology. Acceptance of reality and of the fact that every sect has its own set of black sheep is a far fetched idea for those whose only jargon is piety. The religious scholars should develop tolerance and try to address the shortcomings instead of protesting each time. These were my initial thoughts about the protest staged by the largest minority religious sect against the second revival of cinema in Pakistan movie- BOL.

Following in the footsteps of its predecessor, BOL also made a blatant stand against a sensitive topic for Muslim society, population control. Covering under this basic theme the story also deals with other social issues like that of eunuchs, sexual abuse and sectarianism. 

Sectarian divide is a reality of Pakistani society and has been a lot more pronounced since 1980s. Depicting this crude reality in a film dealing with societal ills is appreciable, however too much of it can easily cause the effort to move beyond the thin demarcation and land up in the harmful territory. That’s exactly what happened with this movie.

It is not difficult for someone to understand that non-verbal forms of communication are as much effective in getting the message across as any other direct form. Few scenes in the movie with their apt dialogues and funny punches were enough to let the audience grasp the element of sectarianism; however the deliberate use of a symbol revered by the second major religious sect and then associating it with a segment of society which is looked down upon can in all its reasons be offending. With a connection being made between the sect and the brokers of heera mandi, one can expect the myths and misunderstandings regarding the sect to get magnified. 

For instance, when Mina (Iman Ali) gives birth to a daughter, her father wearing the revered symbol as a large pendant, welcomes the grand daughter in the world with playing an item song in her ears. This might be a custom among the families of heera mandi, but it won’t come as a surprise if a radical Muslim of some other sect starts believing it to be true for all the followers or might assume that reciting Azan is not a custom among the followers of respective minority sect, which is entirely incorrect.

In current situation of the country, we need to concentrate on bridging gaps rather than providing more arenas for misunderstandings to flourish. Our liberal class should show some wisdom in their actions to prove true their claim of impartiality.

Where is our Hogwarts???

The epic battle of good vs. evil was fought not at Gringotts or Ministry of Magic, it was fought at Hogwarts. This thought kept racing through my mind as I left the cinema with my muggle friends. Through the rest of the day I kept searching for our brand of Hogwarts. My effort went in vain.

In our world the dark forces seem to be on the victorious side. Our Hogwarts has been disintegrated. All I could find were pieces scattered all over, in form of sprawling campuses and concrete buildings. Some of these parts have turned into Azkaban with dementors on guard. There lies no hope therein. The spirit of hardwork, research and invention has been drained out completely. The soul of these education institutes has been sucked out. Students are divided, teachers bear dark political marks etched in their skins that start glowing whenever the political party needs them, mischief makers akin to Draco Malfoy are incharge of the student activist wings. Future for these young minds is lost. Frustration reins supreme. Pleasure, dreams, energy are long lost ideas.

Then there are other parts which are completely controlled by Death Eaters with their highly discriminating values. These institutes create leaders-leaders from their own breed. There is no place for down market Weasleys among these liberal, well groomed, loyal servants of You-Know-Who. There are covert policies against the tainted Mudblood and only rarely does a brilliant Hermione get in. Several charms are put in place to keep check on their activities, any diversions result in labels such as losers or extremists. 

Divide and rule has been the mantra of every evil force. In our world the dark force is smart enough to break the very institution that may give rise to Harry Potter of the muggle world.

the Diversity

As I reach out to hang the wet apparel on the clothesline, my ears travel back a few months and reverberate once again with the chinking sound of quarters being engulfed by the automatic laundry  machine….moments from my sojourn in U.S. pay me a visit everyday, leaving me amazed at the diversity I experienced.

‘The West’ and ‘The East’, two terms that were coined by the European imperialists for the two geographically separate regions of their empire, today translate into the cultural disparity manifest in the lifestyles of these zones. Coming from Pakistan, a developing, Muslim country in South Asia, I had a chance to experience first hand the variance in the practices of the two societies, ranging from everyday living activities to the prevalent value system.

Food was one of those elements that kept reminding me throughout that Portsmouth was not home. Eating at the school cafeteria everyday, my taste buds longed for the sizzling, sour and spicy cuisine that adorns the dastarkhwan (a laid out dining spread) in my land-the Land of Spices- a legit title that still holds ground. Here in Pakistan lists of masalas (seasonings) and those exclusive ways of getting the perfect blend are considered as much a valuable inheritance as any other possession. There are varieties of traditional dishes; moreover different regions have their own distinct spices and recipes which add to the flavour.

Talking about food, let me take you through a grocery shopping errand in my country.

In Portsmouth, Krogers!!! had it all…. Every week I would end up at Krogers, skim through the aisles, stock up more than I had planned on buying and be out within half an hour, munching a chocolate bar.

In my country, we do things a little differently. Each weekend, on a trip to the local makeshift sabzi (grocery) market, with a basket in one hand and a wallet in another, I see my mother slithering through stalls and crowd. Her ears pop out at every hawkers price call, searching for the cheapest rates. Eventually after two hours of bargaining and selection of the most fresh and ripe veggies, we head back to home, drenched in sweat, in the three wheeler rickshaw.

I know it sounds tedious, but it has that vibrant feel that one misses in the air-conditioned, calm and monotonous environment of the supermarket.

On a deeper note, there are also certain profound differences between the values governing the two societies. The most striking was undoubtedly pertaining to gender relations.

Norms concerning intimacy are poles apart in both countries. People from my part of the planet are not generally used to overt display of intimacy. It is not like we are unaware of this norm, courtesy to Hollywood blockbusters, but since Muslim societies have a distinct demarcation of private and public life, the display of affection between a couple is usually confined to private settings.

 Hence, it was difficult initially to absorb the new dimensions of what constitutes privacy in the American society, especially when living in the dorms, sharing the living space with others who might have company over at weekends.

Individualism is another contrasting value between the east and west. I found it to be an integral part of American society. In my country closely knit, family oriented, community based norms are much more prevalent. Most of our lives revolve around family members, with rare instances of children moving out or shifting to another city. For us family get-togethers, weddings, funerals, baby showers are the social activities in comparison with the clubbing, gaming and road trips that form the interactional activities of an average young American.

Did I forget to mention the public transport? Lack of public transport in Portsmouth was the one thing that bothered me the most. Without conveyance of my own, I felt like a prisoner bound to roam within walking distance from campus. However I did get to experience the subway transit of Chicago city and hence here is one more contrasting feature coming your way.

Our public transport is one of its kind in the entire world. These vehicles are a piece of art on wheels and we are proud of the appealing colors used for decoration, representing the true spirit of our culture.

When it comes to actual utility of these buses, there is a different story. It seems like heaven to wait on the subway platform for the automated announcement-‘Pink Line train to the loop will shortly arrive’ (Chicago)- in comparison to being on an active lookout, spotting every bus that arrives, each time straining the eyelids to the attention mode in a try to pick up the bus code pasted on the windscreen.

But we do also have an added benefit. Instead of standing in the closed bounds of a subway train or bus, in the sultry hot weather of my city, during rush hours in a jam packed bus, I might as well get a chance to stand on the footboard, falling half way out of the door and enjoy the cool breeze. A pleasure that not many on earth can relate to.

Today after almost two months of my return back home, I am loosing the feel of diversity. Engrossed with everyday routine life, those striking differences are now disintegrating into fragments of memories. What remains is a blanket that sits on my bed, a gift from two of my American friends, keeping alive the tender feeling of love that I gathered at Shawnee, love that held a fragrance similar to the one at home.

I wrote this when i was still in room A-8 of townhouse, buried half way under ground, with the fluorescent yellow lightning, a slight chill, sound of laughter, floating dreams and 129 days of memories.........

The high pitched shrill cut through my brain. It has to be a malfunction. 9:30 a.m. in bright red glared at my pupils as they adjusted to the burst of light. A feeling of despair blanketed me all over. It was Monday morning. Yet another week had passed. 

It all began last winter. The process was a tedious one, but that slight bit of hope was worth the effort. Indeed. A girl from the middle class of a developing country was embarking on a journey across the oceans, alone. I was granted my greatest wish. It was one of those prayers that leave your inner being and land directly unto God's lap. I was going abroad......on my own.

Excitement overwhelmed me, but so did fear when I first stepped on the SSU campus. A colored, Asian looking face was enough to have you stand out in this small Appalachian town, but there was that one more thing in me that caused more than a few faces to turn--my headscarf.

I was so different. I could feel the stares. In the classroom, library, cafeteria- everywhere. As soon I stepped out of my dorm, a queasy sensation would drape me. I felt nervous, anxious, completely out of place. Even my vocabulary shared the uneasiness and just wouldn't come out of my mouth into the surrounding where it might be judged for the accent it held. I felt tongue tied. Just couldn't get myself to start a conversation with anyone. 

As if it was any less difficult to counsel myself to think positive and take the first step, my American roommate decided to change her dorm after only three weeks of my arrival. Her departure came only after the involvement of the Resident Adviser, without utterance of a single word of discontent to me in person. The complaint and the segregating attitude made the reason of moving obvious-my religious belief. I cried myself to sleep that night. I had made a wrong decision of coming to U.S.

My country-Pakistan- has a rich heritage of folklores, parables and dictums and as one of them goes, "every dark night holds the promise of a brighter dawn," and so it was for me.

It was not long when I started receiving friend requests on Facebook from a bunch of my classmates. Though it sounds childish, these invitations carried in them a profound message- the message of 'acceptance.' Little chats with them made me realize that all those stares were merely an innocent reflex to the stark contrast that I represented to their lifestyle. Not only my face, attire, accent or faith but the entire frame of reference belonged to a land which not many knew exists. Even the worst experience brought forth results that I will ever cherish. Dreading the aspect of adjusting with a new roommate I was informed of another international student moving in. This was it. Being from a Central Asian country, she truly acted as my bridge between East and West. Though she appeared European, she was more than just aware of the eastern culture-she understood it. Guiding my way through, she helped me to mesh in with the crowd. 

Today with only three weeks left until my departure back to my country, I wish to save every moment in my memory-the moment when big smiles come my way on the sidewalk from my classmates, when they remember my weekend plans and ask me about it in the following class, when they offered me to join them as they threw ninja stars at each other, when I hear my friends call me in the cafeteria to join them, when they compliment me on my traditional attire, when they ask me to teach them words in my language-I covet to gather as much as possible. 

I read a quote once that said, "The fact that you are willing to say, 'I do not understand, and it is fine,' is the greatest understanding you could exhibit." I met people who brought these words to life. They did not understand the way I dressed, but they appreciated it. They did not understand why I had to eat only Halal meat, but they cooked it. They did not understand my way of prayer, but they lowered their voices while I prayed. I feel like a part of them now. This dream will soon end. I will wake up to the reality that I am only a guest here. I have to return back home. But the memories that are engraved on my soul will be mine, forever to cherish.