Back in the time when we used to live in Karachi, the streets
were busy with men, women, children, all running for their lives. Karachi is a diverse
city with every race, culture, ethnicity blended like the assorted W-11 bus. If
you would have the privilege to sit in W-11 bus with the driver, and I say privilege
because if you’re not squished in between passengers and the hasty driver to
cover all his stops under an hour, that’s some opportunity you are struck with.
You are then able to steer your eyes away from the road and wrath of the driver
and could gawp at every ornament hanging from the roof of the bus. They would
feel peculiar and misplaced if you see them individually. But together they make
W-11 bus all bride-like.
It was the same with the residents of Karachi. I just had
started noticing things and what I noticed was being dragged to Ranchor-line every
month for a shopping haul with my mom. It could have been the worst day but I eagerly
waited for the end of the trip for visiting my relatives there. It was extremely
crowded with people running over others. I never understood the joy of window
shopping. For me it was all about being dragged by mom, finding my way between
different bodies, trying to catch up with my mom, or else standing awkwardly
behind while my mother bargained for her life with the shopkeepers. I was
always insisting my mom to end the trip and being extremely lethargic all of a
sudden. My mother thought it was because I needed sugar and she would buy
something for me. But later on she found the actual reason and told me if I feel
discomfort or hesitant in roaming the busy streets, she’ll stitch an abaya for
me and see how that works out for me. I was jubilant, ecstatic and whatnot. Finally
a piece of cloth to cover me and save me from all the unwanted touch that I experienced
in that bazaar. The problem might have declined but I credit it more to the
reason that now it was hard for me to judge was it just my imagination or did
someone really grope me?
I could not dwell further on this analogy because there was
another problem in my face. Well, it was actually related to my face. Apparently
I had a face that called for jeers and MashaAllahs. I had a fear idea of being
the good-looking among my siblings but heck who was I comparing with. Brothers?
I failed to grasp why would anyone else ooh-aah over it? And so I myself decided
to cover my face. It came as a shock to my family but nevertheless they
supported my decision. I was relieved. Now finally I would get in and out of
the buses without feeling hysteric.
And then one day a boy hardly older than me called out at me
while I was walking to my apartment
“Kya tight chashmay hain”/“What beautiful spectacles you
have”
I was dumbfounded. I looked down at myself. I had an abaya
stitched by my dear mom who clearly had no intentions of conforming to the
fitting standards; I had a matching black scarf with the end of the scarf
neatly tucked as a niqaab over my face. I had glasses because of poor
visibility. My whole body and face was either covered by a cloth or obscured by
eyeglasses and yet somehow someone still found something wrong with me. I did
go without glasses after this incident till my elder brother asked me one day, “What’s
wrong with you? Why are you covering all of a sudden?” and then we had a
detailed discussion where he restored my faith in jeans and explained that they
are not at all disrespectful clothing.
Later on in my life I found a beautiful Baloch girl
accompanying us on the way to our coaching center. She had milky face that
glowed from a mile. I felt safe while travelling with her. Because that would
mean all the MashaAllahs are reserved for her. Bu I could not help myself and
blurted out one day,
“Don’t you get annoyed listening to all of these comments
from men?”
She responded with the same confidence that exuberated out
of her stride.
“Why should I? I pretend that I didn’t even hear these
because honestly I get that a lot.”
It was at that point I realized I had been covering myself with
all the wrong intentions. People are always going to find faults in your
attire, no matter what you are wearing, how much you are covering, which way
you are taking. I promised myself to never do it for the sake of people now but
only Allah. There are patches in my life where I have been closer to Allah. I have
tried my best to fulfill His commands. There are fragments in my life where I
had to remove my abaya, hijab or naqaab for worldly reasons. There are parts
where I had stood tall and refused to surrender to the world. But largely I found
my voice in all of this to never ever blame myself for others transgressions.
Interesting read..
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