After Noor

She wanted to make her point with a placard in Aurat March. Then she was beheaded. Murdered. Buried. Making her point with a tombstone. Yet, the ‘Qamars’ and ‘Oryas’ are as ugly as they have ever been.

The other one stayed for 10 years with four children in a toxic marriage. Tortured for a decade and then murdered ultimately. What else was expected there? The only blessing in her life could have been a divorce.

Then another one was fatally shot by her husband. He shot his kids too.

Then another one.

And another one.

Some reported. Some un-reported. Some viral. Some ignored. Regardless of class or illiteracy. Or literacy.

A chain reaction of dead bodies. Of dead bodies we hush up. Of dead bodies we prefer over divorces.

Do you even know how beautiful divorce is? It is as beautiful as marriage. Both the concepts are divine and are from up above the sky.

But you – a staunch believer – prefer blood. Why do people of religion prefer blood? Blood here and there and all over the pages of history.

Men, in general, are animals. All the wars were waged because of their egos, greed and lust. Sometimes they battled in the name of religion and other times in the name of land.

All the current affairs are catastrophic because of men. Here and there. Be it a guy with a gun in New Zealand Or Dick in Iraq or Rumsfeld with his WMDs or a whole Military Junta looking for blood and blood money all the time. Men.

Besides, we have our own existential crises. We hush things. A kid is raped; hush. A woman is raped; hush. Raped and killed; hush hush.

So, we reject. We reject the domestic violence bill. Rulers have a whole nation to exploit. Military has unidentified people to exploit. What do common men have? Homes. Women and kids at home. So, rejected. No need to report or curb domestic violence.

Council of Islamic Ideology (CII), which is neither Islamic nor Ideological; has all the expired and irrelevant minds sitting to discuss the fate of women and kids. This council has no women but it decides their fate. Such a pity.

Ideally speaking, these expired old minds should be discarded. ASAP. The illiterates with no modern and developmental education should never be part of any council.

Anyhow. Here we are. In a domestic blood bath. Where women and kids are found in morgues. With the expectation that they will be safe in the Hereafter, (not in graves though) we say our goodbyes.

But you, not-my-friend, with Oryaniat in your mind, Qamaraniat in your words and Abbasiat in your intellect, you are the scum of this part of the world. That’s why we are poor and pathetic in comparison to the world.

Now let us come to the institutions.

As I always say, the curse of this country is the establishment; both military and civil. The CSPs of Islamabad always make a mockery of themselves as soon as there is a crisis. The lady from PSP went to the crime scene. Had a photo session. Said some loud words. No gloves or forensic gear. That’s it. Job done. Well done.

Twitter and Instagram have made these dumb people crazy. They just want to stay relevant all the time with lectures and photos and photographers. The result: see their actual postings. What are they delivering to the public? How good is their reputation? Or how bad?

Islamabad has the finest CSPs in Twitter Town. One after another. Noting and putting up. Taking charge. And delivering shit by rotating the fan at its fullest.

Well, well. Mesmerizing. With innocent dead bodies, with character certifications in high demand, with sensational murder stories, drugs and weapons; we are living in a dark world of errors.

Errors. Where religion is in law, judiciary, lectures, PM’s words, military morale, and everywhere; yet there is no justice.

Errors. When CII is trusted with domestic violence bill when no member of CII is a representative of women.

Errors. When irrelevant and dumb bureaucracy is more active on Twitter than at their desk.

Errors. When victim blaming comes before anything else. When character is demanded from a mutilated dead body. When empathy is dependent on religion and character of the deceased.


We did this. We made it this way. Fake blasphemy charges can lead you to jail for a decade. 23 strikes on a woman with a knife can get you released in 3.5 years. But hush. Rapists are hushed with their rapes. Kids are buried. Women are buried. Tombstones are erected.

Funeral and Fateha should be for the ones living here in the dark world of errors.

There must be hangings. Capital punishments. For all the men who killed women. For all the men who raped kids and women. That’s it. A country should get rid of such monsters without wasting money on their survival in jails and prisons.

Just hang them after a speedy and transparent trial. Get rid of them. Courts must provide verdicts within a span of 3 months.

But laws. We have different laws for different classes. You can kill and get away with it OR you can kill and be punished. There are laws for both. The debate on it may lead to blasphemy.

I don’t have anything else to say but to beat the old drum again and again. It’s hard to be a woman anywhere in the world but it’s hardest to be one in South Asia. And Pakistan is a living hell. Sometimes, I feel, those girls who are aborted before they are born, are lucky. Yes, you can beat my words and my sick mind.

But you are sick.

Your society is sick.

Your homes are sick.

Your culture is sick.

Your schools are sick.

Your religious halls and madrassahs are sick.

Your past is sick. Your present is sick.

You are existing in an existential crisis and your whole existence is sick.

Not all men but all men are sick. Because one way or the other, we are part of the problem.

P.S. All the ladies out there, please do not trust men in such vulnerable times in a sick society. If you are afraid and alone, join other ladies. Talk to them. Don’t put your trust and weakness in a random chat or a rendezvous or a soon-to-be-asshole. Have your own club where men are not allowed. Keep us away for your own good.

Letter for M.

I have been writing a letter for the last few days, so was away. A letter for M. After failing – inside and outside the court – I tried again to make a way for M but obviously, there are hurdles. There are villains. It’s a family. Pretending to be Corleons but not. One is a law-man (a DSP), yet not a law abiding citizen at all. He once used his position against the court orders. I could make it hard for him but I didn’t. Because this is personal. Strictly personal and hence strictly fair. There cannot be a foul play from my side. There never was. Not before, not during, and not after. But I am at the explaining-end because I am the alienated-parent. I started writing and it went on. 11 pages. Single spacing. 11 font size. I could still go on and on and on to make my point but the point is you cannot make a point at all. When everyone on the other side has their eyes closed and their ears shut, you cannot make a point. So, I was threatened. Again. With death threats. With people following me and stuff. Pretty bogus. It’s been 8 years and no one has laid a hand on me and it is very very disappointing. Anyway, I have completed the letter. It’s harsh at places and polite at other times. M is my daughter. But it’s not like that. She has created me in fact. She was born and I was reborn. She has made me, me. She has given me words. She has given me blood to bleed. She has given me pain to nurture. And she has told me how to wait and how to embrace. While I was writing the letter and avoiding the state; women were bleeding. Women were being shot. Being beheaded. Being killed. Being raped. Being humiliated to the extent one cannot even imagine. At one point is an urge to see my daughter. I remember the meetup in court in 2014 after 16 months of pleading – inside and outside the court. Finally, I was able to meet M and she was unable to recognize me. Imagine this. The person who means the most to you, doesn’t recognize you. Anyway. The letter is written. For the purpose of making a point. Points. And for a purpose to be on the record. For her. For them. For everyone.