Category: Women

Since we were talking about art and artists, let me tell you the finest and greatest mind of our times in South Asia.

We have seen actors and actresses. They come and go but some keep on hanging up as long as they can, pretending to look young and sexy while forgetting how sexy is being in 40s and 50s and 60s is.

Now we have a huge lot of TikTokers too with thousands and millions of followers. It’s fine. They all have the right to make content and share publicly as well as they please. Just like everyone has a right to be a YouTuber. After all, they are all artists even if you hate or disagree with some of them.

Then we have singers. Big ones. Great ones.

But there is one art that is above all other forms. That is the art of writing. The one since the sapiens started to hold a pen.

Manuscripts. Holy scriptures. Holy books. Compilations. All writings. All miracles of words. This art of writing is the one above all – at least for me.

This art of writing presents the codes. Like Hammurabi’s code of law. Like constitutions. Like practice and procedures in different organizations. A little word here and there and the whole context puts generations into disarray.

We have classic writers. Big names. Not going to name a single because it may undermine others.

Similarly, we have modern writers. Again, not going to name anyone specifically.

Then we have beautiful and amazing writers in the Sub-Continent too. We usually undermine them because of our complexes. But even with those complexes, there are some writers who astonish us with their words, writings, and messages.

So. Going to name the one I think is the best writer, the best mind, the best explorative brain, and a fine human being who always stands on the right side of every single trial she sees. She doesn’t mince words. She doesn’t care about the consequences. She keeps on writing. She keeps on speaking. She keeps her head high and doesn’t cover it with a mask.

And that is Arundhati Roy.

The one writer who is perhaps the best artist of the Sub-Continent. At least in our times.

Because we have seen big writers siding with the governments for vested interests. Or we have seen the writers coming out of the governments after enjoying benefits and privileges to make a legacy. But she didn’t sit with them. She never sided with the government. Her only side has always been people. People here, people there, and people everywhere.

In the cruel world we live in, if you have listened to the best singers and have seen the best players in sports and have watched the best actors / actresses but haven’t read Arundhati Roy – the best writer of our land… then you have missed almost missed the best art already.

One more thing.
For ladies of our land.

With Arundhati Roy from India and Asma Jahangir from Pakistan, you don’t really need any other argument to make comparative analysis with the other gender. Your gender is clearly ahead of us men. You have won already. That’s why we put all our energies in the art of sports where we can use our masculinity for commercial reasons.

Men march. In uniform. Like in a circus. After killing millions, they get medals and monuments. They are praised. They are seen as a symbol of nationhood. And everything around blood and dead bodies.

Women can’t march. Not with their bodies. They haven’t killed in millions; so, no medals. Some naked monuments by famous male artists, but nothing much. Just bodies. Bodies on paintings, magazines, media, advertisements, etc. Hence, when they march for something more than their bodies, they become a symbol of shame and disgust.

Every man has a day. Woman… just dark nights.

Meanwhile men in public. Next to a wall on a road. Any road. With their teeny-weeny in hand. Left hand, mind you. Urinating. And thinking: how women march for vulgarity only to undress and proclaim indecency with their bodies? Why do they all want to dance naked? Even with all this, why don’t I get any?

After they are done urinating their mind, they don’t mind, their own business.

The online world is unsafe for both genders EQUALLY. Anyone can be a victim.

The problem is our obsession with seeing others doing things which are natural and biological.

We all do the same things. As we all are the same. With the same needs and systems. Just because you are safe by now doesn’t mean you have moral authority over victims.

Involuntarily, people have been taped in washrooms, try rooms, cinemas, hotels and everywhere. Married couples have been taped by hidden cameras. Because cameras are everywhere.

Only if we stop talking about leaked stuff and stop sharing it, this will change. If society will stop labeling someone because of a leaked video or picture – made voluntarily or involuntarily – the related risk and trauma will diminish gradually.

On a sidenote: Every single share is a downgraded version of your moral self. And every single share is kind of “gunah-e-jariya”. You’ve seen, fine. Why is there this need to share?

Now coming to the moral brigade who thinks naming and shaming would make them pious. Well, that won’t. Those who are caught doing anything – including cheating – were just unlucky.

Reminds me of what Adam Sandler once said in a movie: “It’s easy to be a judgmental prick when nobody wants to fuck you.”

Anyway.

That is it. First we are curious to find such scandals, videos, and pictures. Then we enjoy them. Then we share and talk about them. And after that we give lectures about morality, religion and how bad society has become.

Society has always been like that. Read Manto. Or Ismat. Or pretty much anyone who has penned down human behavior. The only difference is that now we have social media and cameras in our pockets all the time, with memory disks, to record stuff and make lives around us miserable.

Society is as ‘immoral’ as it was before. For me, this isn’t even immorality. Immorality is violence, rape, child abuse, domestic abuse, and related stuff. If madressashs don’t make you angry for unsafe children, then it’s better to shut up now because these male dominated schools are the foundation of sexual molestation in Pakistan which then spreads all over the country.

P.S. these scandals and your siding with morality doesn’t make feminism weak. Even Amber Heard couldn’t damage it. Feminism stands till there are Mohsin Abbas Haiders and Feroz Khans on prime time TV screens, playing exactly the same roles.

“Sakoon sirf qabar main hai.”
Nope. No peace in grave or graveyard either. The young girl who died three days back in Gujrat, couldn’t find peace there either. She was abducted from her grave, raped and left naked. The dead was robbed by the ones who lived.

————— Part I —————

How to blame the victim in this case? Could she have done something to prevent what happened? Other than her existence of being a woman with a body? But she didn’t even exist at the time of incident. She was dead. The whole graveyard was dead. Except those who were not dead, were dead.

Does this call for security for the dead ones too where the alive are not secure?
Does this call for a committee of the dead?
Does this call for the brotherhood to have a long discussion with the dead?

Manhood. Brother. Man. Hood. That’ the problem!

No you cannot secure all the graveyards. And who will guard the guards? Eye on an eye!

The problem is power and objectification. Some randy dogs got to know that an object is buried inside the grave, so they dug to find gold. And they thought they had the power to do this. The audacity. The show.

The problem is lack of education, empathy, understanding, and intellect. The distance between the two genders is so wide that one in power doesn’t even understand that the other exists. Manhood is in denial of womanhood. Manhood is disgusted by womanhood. Womanhood is merely an objectification for manhood. Scoring. Hitting. Beating. Empowering. Reproducing.

Don’t blame lust here. Lust is as intelligent as anger. It knows where to flow. You don’t dare to raise your eyes or voice on people – women – when you know you are lower in social or power hierarchy. Your lust and anger know boundaries clearly and vividly.

Back to the graveyard.

So, even when they – women – die, the body remains. At least for some hours when it stays fresh. Like a plucked flower. Doesn’t matter if the body is warm or not. Doesn’t matter if the heart’s beating or not. Doesn’t matter if the air passes or not.

Instant justice is punishment. Beat the dogs so the remaining breed may behave.

For the long-run, the first step would be to understand that women exist. The second step would be towards equality. The third step would be towards understanding each other by removing barriers of communication. The fourth step would be to consistently educate men. Men need education with or without a beating.

————— Part II —————

The Local Graveyard Committee of the Dead was called before dawn, not unusual as graveyards work in moonlight. It was an emergency case, though not a new one. The elders thought it was enough.

The eldest of the graveyard cried that they were unable to do anything even when they could see that all happened in front of them for hours. That too in the broad night when all the dead were awake.

After a long discussion, the committee decided to decay themselves rapidly with a foul smell to keep men away. The amendment was passed unanimously.

But the dead-women and kids retaliated. A dead-boy accused a dead-elder of sodomy in life. A dead-woman accused a dead-elder of rape in life. A dead-girl accused her teacher. A dead-male accused his qari for raping him and his class fellows. The whole graveyard erupted in chaos.

The eldest of the graveyard cried again. He asked the heavens to fall and prayed to God to have mercy. He raised his hands and cursed the dead society of the graveyard that lightning may strike the ugliest one right here and right now to set an example.

The heavens made a move. Lightning thundered to prepare for a feast of the dead souls. The wind made a move from one grave to another to choose the most cursed one. Serial rapists. Harassers. Sodomists. Killers. Abductors. Who was to be struck down with lightning from hell?

The angels made a decision and inferno’s thunder falls on a grave, making a heatwave of a bomb. The whole graveyard fell in shock. The wind stopped. The thunder went back to the open sky. And the beastly angels from Hell came down to pick the most cursed soul to be transferred. This was the soul of the eldest of the graveyard. He was punished for knowing what was happening inside the madrassah; not with one kid or two but many, while he kept praying for himself.