2003:
I was 8 years old, 11 years back, and the memory is still fresh like yesterday, even after so many years. My family took us to this exhibition right next to the place we used to lived in. I was wearing my casual jeans and shirt with the bob haircut I'd always adored. The moment I entered the exhibition, I noticed every eye focused on me. Men of every age, young boys, old men, the mullahs and the so called modern people. That was the last day I ever wore jeans and a short shirt. I wasn't forced to wear kameez shalwar but my sensitivity imposed the traditional dress on me. I was judged by my friends for wearing those clothes and eventually they left me, but I couldn't compromise my self respect.
2006:
I went to Murree on a vacation with my family. I was wearing my mother's dupatta, which was twice as long as my height. I couldn't carry it, but I wore it anyway because of the fear of being stared, like it'd happened in the past two years. But people stared at me anyway. I thought it was me, who was wrong, I thought it was my fault and eventually it led me to a promise that I made to myself, "I won't go to a bazaar no matter what happens." Also, I decided to cover my head in the public places. My Pukhtoon father didn't make me cover my head, I did.
2012:
For the past 7 years, I couldn't go to a bazaar, if I did, it was to the malls with very few people around. I was having zero fashion sense, I was conscious when I was in public. Even though I was a debater, I couldn't face people. And then a sudden transformation happened. I learned to be myself among everyone. It took a lot of courage to go to weddings, public places, bazaars. But this time too, I wasn't spared. The thirsty eyes of the inhumane men stared. And I started wearing a white chaadar, thinking, it'll make them realize my modesty. No, no one oppressed me, it was my choice.
2013:
The time had come when I was to step into professional life. Too bad, it was completely different from what I'd imagined it to be. I was chased by lusty eyes even in one of the prestigious institutes of my country. The dream was shattered. All of my freedom was gone. I couldn't express. I couldn't communicate. An extrovert that I was, a winner, all of it faded away. I became a shy, introvert and self conscious person. I started to prefer toe length clothes and humongous dupattas over everything. My days started with arguments like "MAMA, I AM NOT WEARING THIS, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING" and ended with anti-depressants. But I was still bullied. I started wearing abaya in public places like bazaars.
2014:
Today, I was in the famous bazaar, Saddar, with every kind of people around me. My love for traditional ornaments, bangles and ear rings, took me there. The fear of being looked at by strangers made me wear a niqab. I was happy when I wore a niqab over my abaya because I used to think that people don't stare at modest women. But what I faced today broke me. The eyes filled with lust and filth followed me again today. No, I am not oppressed. I was awarded with every kind of freedom by my parents. Nothing was imposed on me. It was my choice. It was my way of rescuing myself from people.
Am I still not a good woman? Should I cover the two eyes that were left uncovered as well? Should I stop going out? The dilemma is savaging me brutally.
I was 8 years old, 11 years back, and the memory is still fresh like yesterday, even after so many years. My family took us to this exhibition right next to the place we used to lived in. I was wearing my casual jeans and shirt with the bob haircut I'd always adored. The moment I entered the exhibition, I noticed every eye focused on me. Men of every age, young boys, old men, the mullahs and the so called modern people. That was the last day I ever wore jeans and a short shirt. I wasn't forced to wear kameez shalwar but my sensitivity imposed the traditional dress on me. I was judged by my friends for wearing those clothes and eventually they left me, but I couldn't compromise my self respect.
2006:
I went to Murree on a vacation with my family. I was wearing my mother's dupatta, which was twice as long as my height. I couldn't carry it, but I wore it anyway because of the fear of being stared, like it'd happened in the past two years. But people stared at me anyway. I thought it was me, who was wrong, I thought it was my fault and eventually it led me to a promise that I made to myself, "I won't go to a bazaar no matter what happens." Also, I decided to cover my head in the public places. My Pukhtoon father didn't make me cover my head, I did.
2012:
For the past 7 years, I couldn't go to a bazaar, if I did, it was to the malls with very few people around. I was having zero fashion sense, I was conscious when I was in public. Even though I was a debater, I couldn't face people. And then a sudden transformation happened. I learned to be myself among everyone. It took a lot of courage to go to weddings, public places, bazaars. But this time too, I wasn't spared. The thirsty eyes of the inhumane men stared. And I started wearing a white chaadar, thinking, it'll make them realize my modesty. No, no one oppressed me, it was my choice.
2013:
The time had come when I was to step into professional life. Too bad, it was completely different from what I'd imagined it to be. I was chased by lusty eyes even in one of the prestigious institutes of my country. The dream was shattered. All of my freedom was gone. I couldn't express. I couldn't communicate. An extrovert that I was, a winner, all of it faded away. I became a shy, introvert and self conscious person. I started to prefer toe length clothes and humongous dupattas over everything. My days started with arguments like "MAMA, I AM NOT WEARING THIS, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING" and ended with anti-depressants. But I was still bullied. I started wearing abaya in public places like bazaars.
2014:
Today, I was in the famous bazaar, Saddar, with every kind of people around me. My love for traditional ornaments, bangles and ear rings, took me there. The fear of being looked at by strangers made me wear a niqab. I was happy when I wore a niqab over my abaya because I used to think that people don't stare at modest women. But what I faced today broke me. The eyes filled with lust and filth followed me again today. No, I am not oppressed. I was awarded with every kind of freedom by my parents. Nothing was imposed on me. It was my choice. It was my way of rescuing myself from people.
Am I still not a good woman? Should I cover the two eyes that were left uncovered as well? Should I stop going out? The dilemma is savaging me brutally.
