On Daughters

From the trailer:

In India, China and many other parts of the world today, girls are killed, aborted and abandoned simply because they are girls. The United Nations estimates as many as 200 million girls are missing in the world today because of this so-called “gendercide”.

This documentary film tells the stories of abandoned and trafficked girls, of women who suffer extreme dowry-related violence, of brave mothers fighting to save their daughters’ lives, and of other mothers who would kill for a son. Global experts and grassroots activists put the stories in context and advocate different paths towards change, while collectively lamenting the lack of any truly effective action against this injustice.

One intensely riveting documentary. Recommended to those with a palate and zest for social justice, gender equality and harmony in cultures around the world. There are several parts in this documentary where the incidents narrated are highly graphic and unsettling (wherein some mothers killed female offspring due to pressure and stigma from the society) but this is a reality and the only way to tackle and eliminate it is to address it, firstly, and, secondly, rebel against the status quo that establishes this brutal approach. This is a warped amalgamation of cultural norms, societal obsessions with power and status as a result of patriarchy’s megalomania, religious orthodoxy and mass misinterpretation further reinforced by authoritarian institution(s), economic reasons, so on and so forth. It begins with the idea that (i) a female carries the evil potential to bring “dishonor” to the family and (ii) she is incapable of bringing food to the table like a “true man” would. Therefore she is seen as a potentially promiscuous burden on the monetary capacity of the household. In order to satiate the society and to uphold “integrity”, many female infants have been killed throughout Asia, Middle East and beyond.

As a female from a similar culture, I know how difficult it has been for me and my parents to receive comments on them having daughters only; from well-phrased sympathy and pity like “Well, may you have many grandsons if not sons!” to suggestions for my father to abandon my mother because she ‘couldn’t bring sons in the house.’ He stayed with her not only because he loved her but because no woman deserves to become a pariah for the gender she carries in her womb.

It is important to view this documentary and to read on how female infanticide is a dilemma our region faces but has done little to combat against. I honestly wish that our classrooms were less of master-slave cells where raising questions and objections are viewed as desecration, never curiosity. As someone with experience in teaching, I have yet to meet a teacher who drops the textbook in at least one class and addresses the questions and resentment that our girls have. I am not advocating the exclusion of male pupils in these discussions. You’re more than welcome to share your thoughts if you do indeed want a society where women are revered and treated as equal beings. I still remember mentioning this entire topic in front of a high school class. By the end of the discussion, majority of the girls did admit feeling that their sex was used as an excuse for all sorts of abuse. The male students confessed that they did, at least once in their lives, use the gender card to put a female relative, sibling, friend down. It’s about time teachers, parents, activists, the guy at the corner of the damn street acknowledged that there is inequality but more importantly something has to be done about it. Use education, activism, words, pictures, your voice, anything to fight against it.

I will have daughters one day, deo volente, and they will know that their mother is more than proud to have them; she’s blessed.

An ode to Pakistani mommies

Note: This was originally written for Dawn’s blog: http://bit.ly/dS12cr

When I was little, I began noticing the difference between my Pakistani Punjabi mommy and the quintessential white American mother. Kyle’s mom was cool according to elementary-school standards: She’d sport her shades, stand by the SUV and wait for Kyle to leave the playground without showing much eagerness to see the kid. My mommy? Well, she was a different case. She would meet me after school as though I just returned from a warzone. She would be waiting by the glass door with a second serving of lunch for me in a bright shalwar kameez. By the time everyone asked me, “Hey, is that your mom?” I changed my ethnicity from Pakistani to Mexican to Eskimo.

Years flew by and I morphed into a haphazard mixture of contrasting cultures. I looked brown, I thought white. To me, the ebullience, warmth and instant bonding in the Punjabi culture was overwhelming. I found a certain comfort in the aloof environment of domestic white life. Mom, however, wouldn’t approve of such an approach. That was when I began feeling the strength and beauty that Pakistani mothers have. Today I am proud to tell everyone that not only am I a product of American values but I also follow and cherish the traditions of my forefathers. But that’s not the focal point of my post. Today we’ll be skimming through a few of the many habits our mothers display.

And we love them for it.

Curry Olympics:

If you ever want to know how fast your mother can run, simply say, “Ammi, salan jal raha hai” and presto! Pakistani mothers win my admiration for the skillfulness they display during house chores. I almost thought there was a secret Olympic game for our moms where they race each other to the kitchen to save karahi gosht.

Polyglot Mommy and Her Colorful Scolding:

In our house, we sisters had understood the pattern of our mother’s anger. When we grew up, we realized that it is pretty much the same in other Pakistani households. The difference, however, may remain between the numbers of languages chosen. You must be confused by now. It’s simple. A Pakistani mother usually has escalating levels of anger and the intensity can be understood by the language she uses to snub you with. We understood that English was our mother’s colonial manner of teaching us a good lesson or two. By the time she reached Urdu, we knew her anger had increased to a higher level which meant that we were in semi-serious trouble. But when she chose Punjabi, we knew that hell had been unleashed on Earth.

(It could vary for every Pakistani though. Sindhi, Pakhto and Baloch mothers follow the same method.)

A Pakistani Mother’s Point Faible:

Hyperboles are accepted and practiced in our culture to hilarious extents. Deep down inside, every Pakistani child knows that once those golden words are uttered, he or she is effectively immune to all sorts of punishments, ear-pulling, duties and, most importantly, school. Those golden words are: “Mumma jee, mai beemaar houn.” As soon as a Pakistani mother hears that, her tough-love mechanism falls down to zero and her unconditional protection system wakes up. In addition to her unquestionable love and concern, there’s something else that is evoked as well: Exaggerating the ‘beemari’ to dangerous extents only because she loves her little one so. But by the time we were above 10, our smart mother no longer acknowledged our golden words and we were sent to school briskly.

Excellent Storytellers:

Pakistani mothers know that Pakistani children have supernatural amounts of energy and zest for life. That’s adorable until it’s 2 ‘o clock in the morning and their story doesn’t help the kids drift off into slumber-land. What do they do? They chop up the fairy tale to one-third of it, spice it up with suspense and add the legendary warning: “Jinn baba agaya, aankhain band karo!” It works for the first six times but then we know what’s going on and thus, a cynic is born.

Jokes aside, Pakistani mothers are tremendously optimistic, beautiful and resilient women. Regardless of their ethnicity, education or creed, they remain a cogent constituent of our society because they bring us up in a country like Pakistan. I will always respect the mothers who choose to protect their children from the economic woes and political lunacy of this country. To raise a daughter in a patriarch’s heaven is indeed a painful task but our mothers do it efficiently. Many of them place their children as top priority whilst neglecting themselves. I dedicate this post and the laughter generated by it, to every Pakistani mother or mommy-to-be (you know you’re going to do the same things ammi did) and to their prosperity. Surprise-hug them today!