Dr. Rabia Nazir
Writing is a form of art- An art to express in words what goes through your head in the form of pictures and in the form of feelings through you. I have always felt comfortable with it. There are times when happiness and peace that prevails within my being find their way out in the form of various write ups. There are yet, other times when pain that resides within me flows out of me in a touching stream of words. As far as I remember, since I was a little girl, I have taken to holding the pen , at times in rage, at times in love, at times in sanity, at other times in utter foolishness, at times in objection, and yet at many times in complete conformity. Despite the fact, that writing has more than often come to me as a second nature, I have never been stuck in a situation like I am in, right now. In that single moment when I read the strip, the local television channel was running, of the murder of a social media celebrity, I just felt numb. My reasoning succumbed to the brutality of invading logic of honour, and left my side.
It was a regular day, rather a Saturday, I got off from my college earlier than usual. Something was unusual about that day. I had some free time at hand, before I left the lab. I was alone with my handy, therefore lurking as anyone would. My eyes fell on this interview, this social media rage had given to someone. She, with her utter conviction had said something repeatedly. She said that she was a hope for all those girls married against their will and who were not happy in their marriages. She said that she was a hope for all the girls who aspired to fly high. I thought then, this one has put at stake way too much for acquiring the ability to fly beyond anyone’s reach. I read her saying that she had worked as a bus hostess, that she had after fleeing from home studied and done matriculation and later on a bachelor’s degree. Irrespective of my distance from what she promoted as her profession to the extent that I haven’t seen any of her videos till today, deep down, within me, I admired her strength. It takes more than a woman to go through all that she had been through, since the time she had fled from her family.
I analyze her life as an onlooker, as any onlooker. The reason I feel the need to do that is very profound. In my opinion, Qandeel Baloch was not just a person, who was born, who lived and who died. She was a phenomenal happening. She was a revolutionist in her own kind of way. A revolution is defined as, “A sudden, vast change in a situation, a discipline, or the way of thinking and behaving.” She was a revolutionist indeed.
Although, I personally prefer to stay as far away from the controversial and sensitive subjects, publicly, as possible, but I do face squarely the matters that if avoided means shrugging away from my responsibility in any capacity. I have always believed that my biggest responsibility is that of being a sincere, and an honest mother to my three kids. Aren’t all mums honest and sincere? Well, this is what any mum is there to be for, to her child/children- honest and sincere. I feel like myself being in another confrontation – Alas! We, mothers can never be honest and sincere to our kids if we do not provide them with a clear and precise understanding of the world they have born in to. They must be taught by us why on earth does a poor man labours harder and suffers hardest. They must be taught the reason a wealthy man is given the prestige he otherwise does not deserve at all. This makes it our duty to show them how much are we-their mothers, contributing to the betterment of the society we will leave behind as our legacy , for them to inherit. Unfortunately, I do not feel very proud of myself, when it comes to my personal contribution to the welfare of our environment, whether it be social or domestic.
My kids are as fortunate not knowing nothing about Qandeel Baloch, as they equally are unfortunate not having ever heard of Abdul Sattar Edhi. The bigger tragedy is the inability of a mother to come to terms with an environment she invariably is going to leave behind for her kids. I hurt, deep in my heart, because the tragedy was never the outrageous social media hype and it is not even just another honour killing. The most disastrous and the most tragic flaw resides within our beings, our inherent disability to sift right from wrong, and our morbid inclination to stamp on the poor and less fortunate amongst us, with pride.
The men can never know the agony of being a woman in a world where being a woman is no less than being like a commodity, with all the intellect of a man, alive within it. Nowhere in the world, do I see any place, that a woman can call a safe haven for herself, on this planet. Without doubt, in the doctrine of Islam, lies the glory of a woman, but to my sheer resentment, I do not find that doctrine in true spirit being practiced anywhere; not even within my own house.
It’s not possible for me to describe each bit of Qandeel Baloch’s life but I would just like to state the most obvious. Being born poor, is not a crime. Being born poor and aspiring to be ‘ someone’ someday, is rather more admirable than being born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth. Girls do get married to men chosen by their families, which in itself is not as compromising a situation for them, as is their inability to walk out of that one sided ‘contract’ for whatever the reason, without drawing unjust criticism from everyone, anyone and all the no ones. All the professional women, have gone through the phase of handling harassment at work place, irrespective of to what extent, of what nature, of the outcome and totally irrespective of whether we like to talk about it or not. It’s also totally irrespective of the fact if that harassment was later transformed into an elopement and even later sorted out amicably by the girls family into a happy marriage, or not, any unsolicited advancement by a male remains liable to be called an harassment and therefore perturbing initially. What do you think of a girl who braved the most forbidding storms, and who had to live through those because she did not have a better family background. I prefer to wait inside the hospital premises , if ever I have to wait for my car, and not unlike the rest of my friends. All of us do that. Not because we are scared of anyone lifting us off the pavement, but to avoid the leering looks of those who pass by us. Trust me, and all the females out there will affirm the fact, it does not matter, whether you are young or old, shabbily dressed or flaunting the maximum riches in your attire, being of fairer sex calls for the lecherous looks of men. If you do not like my generalization in this regard, I spare 0.09 percent of men out of all the men who we come across as working women on an average in one working day.
A woman who had come all the way from being one Fauzia Azeem to being one Qandeel Baloch, had lived through nothing less than one living hell. What remains of a woman’s self esteem after she has been violated through and through, only because she was not strong enough to protect herself? She, Fauzia Azeem, a girl who lived once, had been long dead, long before Qandeel Baloch actually died. She said, what she was doing was her revenge from the society. Had she known better, had she afforded at the right time, to seek psychiatric help, she would have known better. It was misdirected anger. It was resentment camouflaged as face saving flamboyance.
I don’t want to comment on the story of the honourable cleric that flashed through our screens so brazenly. It matters not if the cleric actually wanted to marry her or not, if the cleric was right or the society certified unreliable model was right, but my mind fails to think straight, when I see my religious cleric in that swamp of insanity. Did the honourable cleric not have enough of good judgment to decipher the ploys of a random harlot? What validates the religious jurisdiction of a person who failed to see through the cunning of a model, and ended up believing he could marry her and convince her into a more sober life style?
She was like a wind of time, that blew away the curtains of facade from our ugly faces. She really did not and could not have exposed herself enough had she done the pronography for decades. She did bring to the limelight the grime, we rub on our faces to rate higher among our competitors. It does not matter if the female elites stand apart from a girl from the dumps and condemn the murder condescendingly. Who does not know of what happens at all the executive class gatherings? To me, Qandeel Baloch, was just another one killed for whatever the reason, like hundreds of Syrians, Kashmiris, Palestinians and whosoever and wheresoever? To me what matters is my immediate comfort, which as long as it remains preserved is a solid barrier to protect me from all the vibes of unrest from the outside world. BUT I am a mother. I will die soon, like every other mortal. I will leave behind my kids to tackle this conundrum of a life in discordance and vice. I believe they will question the veracity of my ‘ pure existence ‘. I know, I won’t have any answers to their questioning eyes. I dread that moment. I shudder at the thought of the day, this society will manufacture another Qandeel Baloch, and who knows it will never be from among any of my progeny. Who will be responsible for that day? I will be, if I do not play my part of being a mother with sincerity. A mother teaches and grooms her child, but above all PROTECTS him, from the moment he or she is conceived. To protect our kids, demands, we change the core of the society. The core that has been plagued with ‘ holier than thou ‘ disease, and has metastasized to each and every aspect of our lives in the form of greed for wealth and an insatiable lust for power and a desire to acquire without actually deserving first. We must protect our kids and the only way is to give them a better society to live in. I hope I haven’t offended anyone and that I would be obliged if those of you who want to suggest to me to follow the demised soul in actions if I have the guts to say something in her defence, please do not do so! I have seen this happening. Please, look into yourself, just a little deeper. Let us decide to eradicate the evil and not the evil doers, because the evil doers need the sympathies most. They make us lose the world and they lose both the world and the hereafter of their own. Isn’t there so much enwrapped within one story of honour killing? I had real difficulty writing all this down. It was actually harder to comprehend than to write. Till later, please, reflect and act and do not react!
