Bedtime stories from an aspiring feminist to her niece

I have a little 5-year old niece who loves spending time with me. Since I’m the youngest, all the children in the family like me more, plus, lets face it, my immaturity appeals to them. My niece randomly wants me to tell her stories, and as all little girls do, prefers stories about princesses. I don’t particularly like any of the princess stories out there, so I make up my own. Naturally, they’re not particularly conventional stories. For example, our favorite catchphrase is me asking her, “What does a real princess do?!” My niece responds with, “A real princess doesn’t wait for a prince to save her, she kicks butt on her own.” When I ask, “When the prince gets there, what does she do?” My niece replies with, “She dusts off her hands and says, dude, what took you so long?”

This is one of the stories I’ve told her, and among her favorites.

The Little Princess Who Wanted To Be A Doctor

Once upon a time, there was a little princess who lived in a far-off kingdom. Now this little princess wasn’t very beautiful, or very ugly. She was pleasant to look at, but wasn’t extraordinarily pretty. She had dark hair and dark eyes, and her skin wasn’t pure and fair, as beautiful princesses were supposed to be. She had an olive complexion, and normal looking lips, not ruby-red lips. She wasn’t particularly fond of singing, and she didn’t play any musical instruments with dazzling expertise, even though she enjoyed playing the piano and the cello. She was of average height, and had a 28 inch waist, instead of 24 like princesses were supposed to have. She didn’t wear tightening corsets to pinch her figure smaller either, nor did she eat a slice of bread and one lettuce leaf per day, as princesses are supposed to so they’ll look beautiful. She ate creamy pasta and meats with gravy, and in the evening, she’d play out in the garden with her handmaidens, and come back with her not-very-white cheeks flushed from exertion, instead of looking pale and delicate as princesses are supposed to.

Now even though this princess wasn’t as beautiful as she was supposed to be, everyone liked her because she was very smart. She loved to read, and she could spend hours holed up in the royal library, poring away at her father’s texts on politics, law, religion, philosophy, and many other tomes that a princess has no business to be reading. When people gifted her the sorts of books princesses are supposed to read, like books about enchanted castles with fair-haired damsels in distress that are saved by a dashing prince, she would use the book to light the fireplace in her room, because she disliked such books.

The princess was very kind too. She always wanted to help people, and to see them happy and unharmed. She loved animals, and could often be found down in the kitchens with a new stray animal she’d adopted every single day. She loved spending time in her father’s stables with his horses, and she didn’t just ride the horses, she would also rub them down afterward and feed them and take care of them, getting grubby in the process, though a princess had no place doing such manly work. Her favorite pet was a fierce wolf-dog, who guarded her and played with her all the time, even though everyone knows a princess is only supposed to keep a parrot or a kitten as a pet.

Now as this princess grew up, the time came for her to graduate high school. When she graduated, the people asked her what she would do next. All princesses are supposed to marry after the tenth grade. That’s why their fathers send them to school, even though its such a burden as girls do not earn like boys do, and their fathers have to spend more money on them. But instead of saying she would get married, the princess gravely replied, “I’m going to go to med school.”

Naturally, this created a huge uproar. All the kingdom was in pandemonium. How could a mere girl even think of becoming a doctor? Careers were for men, because they were big and strong and hardened by the world, not by soft, sensitive girls, who were too emotional and lacking sensibility, and would often be irrational. A girl’s primary function was to marry, keep a good home for her husband, be thankful and loving to him for providing her with a stable life, and bear him children, and keep his house clean, and cook for him, and sew for him, and wash his clothes, and polish his shoes, and be devoted to him, as if he was a god for her, and to unflinchingly offer her body to him, as marriage meant that he could do anything he wanted to her.

The king was furious. How dare a female child embarrass him thusly, he roared. How dare a girl speak of a career! The shame! The horror! As a girl, the princess was supposed to uphold the family honour, not trample upon it in the mud!

The princess listened to her father’s raging calmly, sipping her tea, and then went to bed. The next day, before her father rose, she awakened, put on her finest dress, perched a new pair of spectacles on her nose, and went to the biggest college in the kingdom. When the headmaster met with her, she explained to him that she wanted to study in his college. The headmaster  laughed and laughed and laughed, until he saw she was serious. Then he sternly explained to the princess that a girl had no place in a college, and that the princess shouldn’t be shaming her father in such a disgraceful way by speaking of such unladylike things.

This was the response the princess got in all 20 colleges in the kingdom’s capital, where she lived. Then, just as she was wondering if she should go to the other cities of the kingdom, her handmaiden told her of another college that the princess had forgotten about. Instead of a headmaster, the college had a headmistress, which was why no one liked that college. The king had only allowed the headmistress to run the college because she was not married, and everyone felt sorry for her, as marriage is the prime reason for a girl’s existence. But no one ever wanted to study there, as the shame of studying at a college run by a woman was too much for the male students of the kingdom. Only really poor boys, or boys who were expelled from other universities, or who were not smart or strong or rich enough to go to the good colleges attended that college.

When the princess met the headmistress, and explained that she wanted to study in the medical field, the headmistress couldn’t believe her ears. But when she saw that the princess was serious, she agreed to do so, on the condition that the princess would protect the college from shutting down as a result of her father’s rage, which the princess agreed to.

So, the princess started studying in the college. All the male students were rude to her, and would try to pinch her bottom or her chest, because they all thought she was an immoral girl for shaming her father and daring to study. But the princess had learned to fence in the royal castle, and she was allowed to carry a sword as the headmistress understood that she would be bullied, so the boys quickly learned to stay clear of the princess’s wrath. When they didn’t, the princess would challenge them to a duel in public, and as men are strong and brave, they could not refuse, but could never win, due to the princess’s skill in swordplay.

As the years passed, the male students learned to respect the princess, because she was the brightest, most eager student. When any student would dare mock her for dishonoring her father, ten swords would draw before the princess’s own sword in her defense. This also stopped quickly, as those ten well-meaning boys faced the princess’s wrath for daring to fight her battles for her, even if they did it out of respect for the princess.

But when the princess graduated, no one was willing to let her work in their hospitals. They all told her that if a girl worked for them, not only would it look bad for the hospital, but as girls are incapable of doing anything but cooking, cleaning, keeping house, and taking care of children, then they would have more patients dying because girls are inept, and the princess wouldn’t treat them properly like a clever, intelligent male doctor would.

However, as with her college, there was one hospital that was run by a woman. This woman had been very pretty in her youth, but her father died in a hunting accident, so no one wanted to marry her, as she would not have a dowry without a father to provide it, and a lack of dowry is a matter of great shame for a girl, since she is not being given away as a present, but rather, sold off to whoever is willing. So because of that, the king allowed the woman to run the hospital since everyone felt sorry for her, but like the princess’s college, no one really worked there unless they were refused entry everywhere else.

This woman also agreed to let the princess work at her hospital, because the princess had the highest test scores, and had graduated with distinction, and had always been top of her class. And so, the princess started practicing as a doctor. She loved helping people in this way, even though a lot of patients would often refuse to be treated by her since she was a woman. But because mostly poor patients came there, they didn’t have much of a choice. Sometimes, the woman who ran the hospital would lie and say there were no other doctors, so the princess would have a chance to work, and this way, the patients had no other way to get healed.

As the princess kept working, the poor patients of the hospital spread word of what a good doctor she was. Then, more and more people would come and ask for her to treat them, because everyone told them how she saved so many lives. As word spread, the nobility also heard of this woman who was a doctor, and at first, they came to the hospital only to laugh at her, as if she was some poor animal stolen from its natural habitat and locked away in a zoo. But when they saw how patiently she’d treat them, even when they pretended to have an ailment just for the chance of seeing her, they also started coming to her for healing. The bigger hospitals that had refused to let the princess work were alarmed, as they were losing their rich patients, whose donations and agreement to pay the outrageous bills of the fancy hospitals were what kept them running. Eventually, they had to beg the princess to work for them, just so their profits wouldn’t suffer. But the princess refused to work for them, since they had refused her when she needed a job.

As more and more rich patients came to her, they also made donations to the hospital as gratitude. Then the hospital grew larger and had better facilities. The woman running the hospital was very happy, and everyone respected her a lot, because she was the only one who had recognized the princess’s potential where everyone had failed. Because of this, the woman and the princess told everyone that the princess wouldn’t have been such a good doctor, if it hadn’t been for the headmistress who’d let the princess study at her college. Then the grateful nobility made donations to the college as well, and sent their sons to study there, and no one pitied the headmistress anymore, but instead, respected her for running such a good college.

Then, as little girls who had been born at the time of the princess’s high school graduation grew up, they told their parents they wanted to be just like the princess who was a doctor. Because that princess was so respected, those little girls were allowed to study beyond high school, because their parents wanted their little girls to be respected and admired just as the princess was. But the princess was still not married, and all her suitors were rejected, because they only wanted to marry her as her father, the king, would pay a handsome dowry. When the parents of those little girls saw that the princess rejected suitors seeking dowry, they also did the same for their daughters. This meant their daughters married men they loved and who respected those girls and saw them as equals, not as damsels in distress, so the parents knew their little girl would be happy, and they did not have to spend their whole lives working themselves to death for the sake of a daughter’s dowry. Nor was having too many female children considered a burden, as girls would study and go on to become doctors, artists, writers, engineers, scientists, etc. and work hard and contribute to the family’s income.

No one knows what happened to the princess, or whether she married or spent her life alone. But one thing is for sure, whether she had a man by her side or not, the princess spent her life happily, working at what she loved to do i.e. helping people by healing them. She opened up many schools, colleges, hospitals, animal hospitals, etc. for people as well, specially for girls. She was never too proud to grub about in the stables as in her youth, or run through the fields with her wolf-dog and her puppies. She was never beautiful like a princess should be, or quiet like a princess should be. She wasn’t soft-spoken like a princess should be, and she had strong opinions on serious issues, which princesses aren’t supposed to do. She was neat enough, but not fastidious and anal about keeping the house clean as princesses are meant to be. She didn’t really like cooking, and preferred take-out, which a princess must never do. She always spoke her mind, and never talked like she wasn’t that smart, like a good princess should do, so no one is alienated by an intelligent girl. She worked hard, helped people, and died happily, with or without a man by her side. Everyone mourned the loss of their unconventional princess, and erected a monument to her in the kingdom’s capital, so that no one would forget the little princess who dared to dishonor her father, and thus, changed the lives of all the little girls that came after her, and might have died without ever marrying, but still died with a smile on her lips, the smile that one gives when they know that they have lived a full, contented life.

The End.

Partying- the right of the privileged.

As I type these words, the sound of music thuds dully against the walls of my room. Music that has been playing since 11 pm from the house next door.

It is now, by the by, 03:30 am.

Earlier today, my mother apparently got a phonecall from the neighbours. They were kind enough to inform her that they would be having a party in the evening, and could we please excuse them for any distress caused by music? Unfortunately, my mother has none of my rage, and the manners she possesses, I chose to discard a long time ago; what else could she do, but be gracious?

About twenty minutes ago, I went upstairs to peek out the window and see exactly what’s going on. Its hardly a mehndi party, as was implied; more of a concert. Heck, it is a concert, proper band, instruments, etc. The chairs were mostly empty; I glimpsed a row of people, mostly girls I think, sitting on the floor in front of the stage. A man went by, you know the sort that your father points to at weddings and derisively speaks of his boozing tendencies? That sort. Lecherous looking fella, the sort I wouldn’t shake hands with. He seemed quite lost in the music as he danced his way through the rows of chairs, the flabby flesh on his neck visibly jiggling even from a distance. In the back row, I could glimpse a guy and two girls, the back of their heads rather; The guy bopped his neck once or twice, and the two girls leaned close, their arms up in the air as they danced. I caught a flash of silver on one hand, and counted the rings; one, two, three. Immaculately dressed, makeup looking as it were done by a professional, a couple of other girls wandered by, giggling and dancing as well.

Let me add here, that I have a horrendous cold, the sort that makes you bend over double from the force of the coughing, the kind where you feel your chest seize up from all the fluid gathering in your lungs. Despite that, I’m awake, desperately working on a uni project, fighting back flu med-induced sleep. My father will wake up at 07:30 am tomorrow, have his breakfast, check the news, get dressed, and head off to work, as will my brother. My mother will be awake at 06:30 am; I genuinely don’t know what she does at that hour, but it is not in her to rise late- both my parents are of the old generation, so to speak, in their ways.

The reason I am sharing all this is thus; our neighbours do not care. They simply do not care that our sleep might be disturbed. They do not care that we have to go to work or uni tomorrow. They certainly don’t care about my poor tiny cat, who jumped an entire foot as yet another obnoxious song started playing. They do not care that they are disturbing the peace, disturbing our sleep, our daily routine, hell our peace of mind because frankly, this is torture for me. All our neighbours care about is showing their guests a good time, having fun at their party, dancing the night away merrily, and enjoying themselves while the entire neighborhood suffers. This is by no means a critique on naach gana (song and dance) as more conservative people would say; anyone who’s read my previous blogs would know I’m definitely not the sort to be as small-minded as that. I do however, judge people based on selfishness, on self-absorption, on their careless disregard of others.

Oh well. I live in DHA. What’s there to be surprised about?

 

Maya Khan and Samaa’s apology- a lesson for the masses

I haven’t really had the chance to get around to writing on the entire Maya Khan issue, and frankly, as much I was would love to verbally eviscerate her, I don’t see why I need to bother after reading Mehreen Kasana’s excellent blog on the issue. While I may or may not do so, I feel it is imperative to speak on the topic of the apology issued by Samaa, and the smug in-yo-face self-masturbatory bs from Maya Khan, which we are to believe is meant to be apologetic.

I have always been deeply bothered by inaction. One of the reasons I’m so passionate about journalism is because , even though I am only blogging as a student right now, I know that I still have a voice, that I can use it, and that my indignation will not be confined to just Facebook status updates.

And when it comes to the unethical practices by our media, I feel that there is great inaction amongst the masses. Whenever there is a class discussion on such a topic, my teacher always laughs and says, to every question, “because the media thinks the people are stupid.” And the fact of the matter is, he’s right. People prefer to sit and bitch about unethical practices in the media, but that is where their diatribe stops. (I refuse to use the cliched drawing room comparison, because, it is, to put it quite simply, disgustingly cliched and over-used). What people do not understand is that it is quite easy to take the media to task, but that can only happen if you take action. The sort of action that people took over Maya Khan’s outrageous, downright blasphemous breach of ethics. From comments on Facebook, to letters, to phonecalls, to texts, heck, even an op-ed in ET, people, for once, demanded that Samaa take responsibility, that they be held accountable, that they acknowledge what a huge mistake they made. And the result was successful. Whether Maya Khan means her apology, half-assed as it is or not, is not what matters. What matters is that now, not just Samaa, but other news channels also know that people are not stupid. People do not like being treated like sheep. People do not like being manipulated. And that if you try to do any of the above, then people are going to be very, very, very angry.

And this is actually how, in my humble opinion, the relationship between the media and masses works effectively. When Janet Jackson had her little wardrobe malfunction on the Super Bowl, it was the people who, in outrage and indignation, filed complaints. In fact, the Parents Television Council, a media watchdog group filed a complaint against the incident. The senator of Georgia spoke in the US Senate about how it displayed the declining morality in America. (Not an opinion I support btw-there is nothing immoral in a woman’s body, when it has been objectified and sexualized by the very society that then demands that she covers her shame. I agree that it was media irresponsibility only). The result was that the FCC fined CBS for the show, and MTV was not allowed to produce any future half-time shows for the Super Bowl.

Even Adam Lambert’s sexual performance on the AMAs, where he grabbed his crotch, shoved a dancer’s face in his crotch, and kissed one of his male band members on stage was criticized. Again, being pro-LGBT, it really isn’t something I agree with- frankly, I was too busy laghing hysterically at how bad the song was, and how desperate Madam Lambert seemed to salvage his performance somehow to care about who he was kissing- but what must be noted here is that the television viewers actually bothered to complain about the incident. They did not sit and bitch about it to their friends, their family, their co-workers, etc. for a couple of days and then forget about it. They. Took. Action.

I find it very frustrating that our people seldom do the same, even though they know that there has been a breach of ethics in our media. Our broadcast media specially, has allowed this perception to settle into people’s minds, that its useless to say anything, because the media just won’t change. But if that is the case, explain why Maya Khan and Samaa have been forced to apologize for lying to people on television, and then broadcasting such an assrapery of ethics. I’m sorry, I’d really like to talk in a more sophisticated manner, but assrapery is the only way I can describe such a murder of media ethics.

I think its a crying shame that our media is allowed to get away with murder, specially considering how many noble and brilliant journalists there are in the world, who risk their lives, who work so hard at their job. I genuinely beliee that journalism is a noble profession, no matter how bastardized its been throughout the world. Don’t even look to Bob Woordward or Edward Murrow or Anna Politkovskaya. Look only to our own journalists. To Saleem Shahzad, to Wali Khan Babar. That, in my opinion, is the true face of journalism, however distorted it might have become from the ethical violations and downright stupidity from the likes of Meher Bokhari or Maya Khan.

Until and unless you act, there is no point in whinging about the state of the media. If we do not react appropriately, our media is going to keep continuing with such practices, and what’s worries me is exactly how far they’ll go. Maya Khan already showed us how far she’s willing to go for her 15 minutes of fame. May the magic make-believe man in the sky or the flying spaghetti monster help us if the entire media industry goes Maya Khan on us. But as worrying as that thought is, remember; they will only degenerate further if we allow them to, and if we do not hold them accountable. Do not let our reaction to Maya Khan be a one-time incident. Make it a habit to demand responsibility from our media.

And if you’re too lazy to take action, fucking stop whinging to me about how horrible my future fucking profession is because really, I don’t give a rat’s ass and you’re annoying me, which is always a really bad idea.

ETA: Someone commented on Facebook saying, “Finally we have a voice and we have power thanks to the internet”. But it must be pointed out that the masses always had a voice and they always had the power to hold the media accountable. This is just one of the rare times they’ve bothered to actually utilize said power, and demand media responsibility. Congratulations sheep, your baaing got Maya and her team of morons fired.

The letter which says Maya Khan’s services from Samaa TV will be terminated has been circulating on social media websites and is reportedly signed by CEO Zafar Siddiqui.

Dear All

Your feedback is appreciated. As a responsible corporate citizen, Samaa TV did what was required under the circumstances. We do not and have not in the past or intend to in the future to take our viewership or reporting requirements without the seriousness that they deserve.

You would appreciate that as an organisation with a functioning management team, we had to conduct certain legal requirements over the past week and internal review processes (which are operational in nature) before procedding further.

As a result of which I can inform you:

1. We asked Maya to apologise unconditionally which she did not.
2. The CEO asked her to do that on Friday which she refused.

As a result of which the following will be put in place on Monday, Jan 30th.

1. Maya and her team will receive termination notices.
2. Her show is being stopped from Monday morning.

Our deeds and actions taken since this episode occured are there for the record and hope this will settle issues as far as the station is concerned.

A lot has been written about the race for ratings. Well, we do absolve such behaviour irrespective of ratings that the show was getting.

With best regards and thank you for your understanding.

Zafar Siddiqi

Chairman CNBC Arabiya

Chairman CNBC Africa

President CNBC Pakistan

Adventures at The Body Shop: I am special, because I shop here!

I’m not much of a girly-girl per se, but if someone tells me there’s a sale at Vincci or The Body Shop, I’m there. And so it was that my sister called me, begging me to go get her a lipstick she wanted because “its 25% off!” and I dragged my parents off to the mall.

20 minutes later, I found myself edging through a teeming mass of bodies, attempting to find an adequate shade of lipstick because damnit, my brother’s wedding is coming up, I need to have at least one lipstick so I don’t look like a hobo. My mom kept telling me to give it up, that the line at the cash counter was too long- I think roughly, there must have been at least 15-20 women in line- but I kept telling her to be patient and wait a little while. I actually wouldn’t have bothered- my dad is so strict about the importance of time and punctuality that no one in my family wants to waste their time in such a situation- but this is my favorite sibling I was buying the lipsticks for, if she hadn’t wanted them so badly, I’d have left.

I didn’t mind waiting in line. I wasn’t doing anything important at home anyway. There was a woman carrying a kid in front of me, and I love kids, so I spent a fair amount of time playing with him. Like a typical Pakistani male, he grabbed on to my finger and refused to let go. My only issue was this; I kept thinking, what if, what if while I’m here, there’s a goddamned coup, and twenty years from now, when people ask where I was at the time, what the hell am I going to say? Buying lipsticks at a fancy store? And then I expect to be taken seriously. The horror.

There’s a point to this entire story, and I’m getting there. I was nearing the front of the line, when all of a sudden, there was a commotion on the men-only line to the left. The cashier must’ve said something, and the man at the counter suddenly exploded at him. The cashier said something else, and the man shouted at him, yelling about how he isn’t doing something wrong or the like. The cashier, though angry, didn’t raise his voice and I think asked him to step out the line, and that he wouldn’t serve anyone else in the line. The man started screaming, fullout screaming about being treated this way and how this was complete bullshit, etc. He was a tall, stout guy, and loudmouth feminist that I am, his shouting still had my heart beating faster.

I snapped. I calmly tucked my money back in my purse, checked the numbers on my lipsticks, and handed them to the closest clerk. She told me that I was close to the front of the line, but I told her I’d come back later when the place wasn’t such a madhouse.

I wish I had snapped in a different way. I wish I had snapped in a confrontational way. That I’d told the man, hey, you don’t raise your voice to the man like that, haven’t you heard of the concept of civilized discourse, with one flick of his wrist, your imaginary god could’ve put you on the other side of the counter, and how dare you answer me in that tone, you’re not talking to a typical submissive Pakistani female here. Sadly enough, I didn’t.

I can’t really go into a rant about elitists here because I myself was standing in that line as well. I can defend myself saying I’m only middle class, that we always try to save money wherever possible because once upon a time, we knew what it was like to have little money. But this isn’t about one’s station in life, but rather, one’s attitude. Nothing in the world entitles you to behave in such a way. Nothing, absolutely nothing, gives you the right to speak to another human being this way. And the cashier wasn’t even at fault. My mom witnessed it from the other side of the shop, and said it was the customer who had been at fault. But what on earth gives that man the right to scream at the guy, whether he’s a cashier or not? You can have all the money for all the fancy cosmetics in the world, and you have the absolute right to spend your money as you please, but you sir, are no different from the rest of us. You pay the same taxes everyone else does, you drink the same water we do, you drive by the same streets that we do, heck, you have the same blood as we do.

You’re not entitled to anything in life. I don’t care how rich you are, you talk to everyone the same way, or you just cease breathing and rid the world of such rude, illiterate people. You sit and complain about the country and our society, but when you yourself are an uncivilized, uncouth ruffian who doesn’t even have enough manners to conduct himself in public, then why are you wasting your breath?

I just feel even worse because I think the kid I was playing with was that guy’s son. Such an adorable little boy he was. Breaks my heart that he’ll grow up with such a man to look up to.

2011 in review: My blog stats. :D

I just love how pretty this is.

 

 

 

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 8,100 times in 2011. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 7 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Conversations with a “Proud Female”

I’ve refrained from blogging for a while because I felt as if I was lapsing into a routine about ranting on feminist issues. Speaking for women’s rights is a great thing; becoming a serial ranter is not. But I absolutely must share this with the general public, its a conversation I had with a girl on my Facebook, and I think its a classic example of the submissive mentality that women in Pakistan suffer from.

R: (Facebook status update) “Yes, I’m a female. I push doors that clearly say PULL. I laugh harder when I try to explain why I’m laughing. I walk into a room and forget why I was there. I count on my fingers. I hide pain from my loved ones. I say it is a long story, when it really is not, just to get out of having to tell it. I cry a lot more than you think I do. I care about people who don’t care about me. I am strong because I have to be, not because I want to be. I listen to you, even when you don’t listen to me. And a hug will always help. Yes, I am a Female, and i am proud of it! ♥ Re-post if you’re a female and proud of it.”

Me: Wow, so you’re proud to fulfil every single negative stereotype there is about women in a society that is strongly, determinedly patriarchal? One giant step backward for every single Pakistani feminist risking everything to ensure that morons like you receive their rights.

R: (deletes my comment, posts on wall) Everyone has their own opinions and you should learn to respect that. I hope you understand what I mean.

Me: (on her wall) Why? I don’t agree with your opinion, nor do I respect it. There’s nothing to respect about being proud of amnesia and counting on your fingers childishly, which aren’t particularly positive traits. While you may own up to them yourself you really shouldn’t generalise them for the female sex, which suffers from enough negative generalisations already. In fact, pretty much all the things on that list are fairly negative traits. Why would anyone be proud of them? And even if you are, good for you, but please don’t say or even think that they apply to a larger population. Positivity about being female is good, but can be derived from much more flattering traits, such as the fact that we suffer so bloody much in society but we’re still on our feet and fighting – our courage in the face of adversity, our determination to achieve rights long denied, our tenacity in the face of adverse circumstances so severe in some places that women might as well be a different caste. And lastly, as a feminist, I reserve the right to call out both men and women for promoting sexist, negative stereotypes of women, and that too on a public forum.

(less than 24 hours, R deletes me)

Honestly, I don’t even know what to say anymore. How can a woman degrade herself so easily? How can a woman mock herself? How can a woman percieve herself as flawed, full of negative stereotypes, and accept it as part of being female?

Women are strong.

They’re smart.

They’re brave.

They’re talented.

They have the ability to suffer the worst things in life, and still remain strong and brave.

Women can work. They can vote. They can sue anyone who harasses them in the workplace. They can fight for justice if they are abused in any way. They can sleep easier knowing their rapist is behind bars. They can choose whether they want to give birth or abort. They can and will have financial rights. They can get married on their own conditions. They can attain as much education as they want. They can become doctors, teachers, lawyers, writers, social workers, businesswomen, entrepreneurs, heck, they can actually pursue any career that men pursue! Gadzooks! They can fight sexism and challenge misogynist perceptions about women as the weak, inferior sex every single day because guess what? Believing that is as ridiculous as well, believing that faeries live in the sky.

And if you need further proof, lets take a glance at history, and present-day, and see some of the women that defy cultural and social stereotypes to become great people.

Susan B. Anthony. “Men, their rights, and nothing more, women, their rights, and nothing less”. Among other things, the Susan B. Anthony became the 19th Amendment to the US Constitution, allowing women the right vote, as well as being an abolitionist.

Simone de Beauvoir: Feminist, philosopher, and writer. Interestingly, in her book “The Second Sex”, Simone discusses how men stereotype women and thus organize society into a patriarchy.

Marie Curie: First women to win a Nobel Prize, first person to win two Nobel Prizes.

Margaret Fuller: Journalist, critic, women’s right advocate, author of the first American text on feminism.

Helen Keller: Deaf, blind, and dumb, Helen still lived a remarkable life as a prominent socialist and suffragette.

Rosa Parks: In 1955, as Rosa Parks tiredly made her way home in a bus, a white man told her to  give up her seat for him, since as a white man, he had superiority over the black Rosa Parks. Rosa refuses. And so began the American Civil Rights Movement, which resulted in African-Americans receiving the same civil rights as any white citizen of the United States.

Eleanor Roosevelt: Writer, chairman of the UN Commission on Human Rights, co-founder of Freedom House.

Gloria Steinem: American writer, journalist, and feminist, who has written in support of reproductive freedom, a term she coined, created awareness about genital mutilation, advocates same-sex marriage, and supported the Equal Rights Amendment.

Harriet Beecher Stowe: Writer of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, she was referred to jokingly by Abraham Lincoln as “the little lady that started the Civil War”.

Urooj Zia: Journalist, writer, advocate for women’s rights, researcher for MNA Sherry Rehman, and pretty much one of the strongest women you’d ever meet in Pakistan.

Nabiha Meher Sheikh: Blogger, writer, teacher, feminist, activist, and one of my idols.

Sherry Rehman: Journalist, politician, and current Pakistani ambassador to the United States, and a strong advocate of women’s rights in Pakistan.

Naseem Hamid: First woman to win the South Asian Federation Games 100 mile sprint in its entire history. at the age of 22, no less.

Sana Bucha: Journalist and anchor for Geo News “Lekin”.

Ayesha Siddiqua: Journalist, writer, military analyst, and visiting scholar at John Hopkins University.

Tehmina Durrani: Writer and social worker, author of My Feudal Lord,  works for rehabilitation of abused women.

Bilquis Edhi: Humanitarian and social worker. Wife of Abdul Sattar Edhi.

Asma Jahangir: Lawyer, president of Supreme Court Bar Association of Pakistan, human rights activist, advocate for minority rights, author if several publications as well as two books.

Nefer Sehgal: Photographer for the Express Tribune, Nefer has dodged bullets, played arcade games at Lyari, traveled to Badin, and… you know what, a couple of lines won’t do her justice.

Aamina Jahangir: An entrepreneur at the age of 17, today at 21, Aamina is a savvy businesswomen, and on her way to opening her very own cafe/bakery. At 21. Yes, you heard that right. 21. That’s how old she is. You know how old she was when she started running  her own business? 17. When she was still at school.

Some of the women on the latter half of the list are friends, or at least people I know. That doesn’t create a bias, it gives me firsthand insight into what incredible women they all are.

So a little postscript to R, who inspired this blogpost: While you’re busy giggling over how silly and inferior and stupid and ditzy you are, rest assured; there are plenty of women to prove how wrong idiots like you are.

Why would you want to be a journalist?

A few months back, I was asked this exact question on the entrance test for an internship. It was a spectacularly bad interview, and all I wanted was to go home, call my best friend, and sob out the entire sordid mess to her. To this day, I can’t for the life of me remember what I wrote then, because I was so upset at the time. But it’s a question I often find myself pondering these days.

Take yesterday for example. On my way to uni, I was suddenly seized by an irrational fear, and kept feeling like something bad would happen. I made my dad drop me earlier than usual because the bomb blast on the navy bus earlier this year was exactly on the route we take every day. I thought that maybe, if we went earlier, we’d be safe. Stupid explanation I know, but there you have it. In fact, the time that bomb blast had taken place was the exact time that my father would’ve been driving back home through that very area if I hadn’t had a late class that day.

Take this Monday. Class had just started when I was checking my Twitter updates, and I wound up shaking like a leaf for far too long. I’m still having nightmares of waking up to the sound of my windows rattling and a loud boom. I’m still waking up in a panic, wanting to check on my friend who lives in that area, wanting to make sure she didn’t happen to leave for uni later than usual, and get hurt.

All I did was write about how my school bred submissiveness and distorted religious facts, and I started getting death threats. One child was clever enough to dig up my dad’s work number-businesses are listed I the phonebook after all- and make a threatening call there. And these are my own ‘friends’ who endangered me thusly, too blinded by their self-righteous rage at the ‘wannabe journalist’ they claim to love so much to care for my safety. Another blog with mild feminist undertones in the past garnered me similar threats. I was told to leave the country because there was no room for people like me in the country. Charming, no?

So why, in all the terror and panic and madness, why am I still studying? Why do I still plan to continue with this stupidity? The easy explanation, and the simplest, is that I’m stupid. The theatric one would be that I can’t, and refuse to live my life ‘with that one talent which is death to hide, lodged in me useless’. And what’s the truth?

I remember an American-Pakistani student I had the displeasure of knowing, who loved to rant about the problems within Pakistan. While I do the same-albeit with less ranting- she once told me that she was sick of everything, didn’t blog because she didn’t care about what happened anymore, and just wanted to finish her studies so she could leave. Patriotic, no? Unfortunately for me, I can’t think, or feel the same way. I can’t stop caring. I can’t be bitter and angry. I can’t be the person who just bitches and whines and bemoans Pakistan ka haal, and does nothing about it.

Something has to be done. Something must be done. I’m no expert or scholar, so I can’t make any sweeping statements about how we’re on the brink of disaster, or how it might be too late. What I do know is this; there are many people in our country that need help. There are many issues that need to be addressed. But there simply aren’t enough people to help them, or to speak for them. We, as a nation, have grown so demoralized, so terrified, that we simply do not dare. We simply cannot afford to look around and acknowledge that things are not going well at all. We exist, and we focus on ourselves, because if we don’t, we’ll go insane. If we don’t, we’ll wind up focusing on everything that’s falling apart, and give in to the despair. And what’s the point of losing your mind, when you can use it to help in some way? At the end of the day, that’s my reasons for still wanting to write. I’m scared shitless, and I’d love to be making plans to leave the country and never look back but honestly, while I’d like to live in about a hundred million places in the world, I simply am not ready to give up on my homeland. No, its no place to live. No, it’s no place to raise children. But what sort of a person would I be if I don’t try, if I just give up?

I have to believe things can get better. I have to believe I can help. Because the alternative is living in constant fear. The alternative is contemplating death far too often. There are religious minorities being denied their rights, there are people getting murdered in the name of religion, there are battered women and prostituted children, LGBTs without rights and flood victims denied help for not being Muslim. There’s our flawed education system and too much illiteracy and teachers that breed hatred and discrimination but go unchecked. There are servants abused and beaten. There is gender discrimination and workplace harassment, there are drug addictions and rape victims, there are women abandoned by their families and little babies left in Edhi swings because they weren’t born with the superior male genitals, there are people with disabilities and not enough awareness of their struggles, God there are so, so many problems, how can we possibly sweep it all under the rug? We absolutely can’t.

We can’t just dress in green for one month, and make grand statements about patriotism and unity throughout August and go back to doing nothing about it. At least, I can’t. Death doesn’t scare me. A life lived for myself, a life spent doing nothing for others, is what terrifies me. When its eventually my time to leave this world, and it isn’t by getting blown apart, I’d like to know that I did something, anything for others. I don’t expect to change the world. I’d really like to, but it’s the truly extraordinary people who do that, and I am so ordinary, it’s not even funny. But still, even if there is one person who I can help in my whole life, then that would be a life lived. I have to at least try. Even if the whole world is right and I just wind up wasting my life… at least I’ll have made an attempt to help.