‘Real’ women weigh in

As a woman what would you like to hear — “You look amazing” or “You are amazing”?

Farahnaz Zahidi April 22, 2018

http://tns.thenews.com.pk/real-women-weigh/#.WtxBBohubIV

The catwalk is where you see ‘beautiful’ women. Thin, young, unblemished, unwrinkled women. Because that is our criteria of beauty. The fashion arena has no place for cellulite and scars, nor does it welcome aging.

But a recent fashion show by designer Cheena Chhapra in Pakistan Fashion Week (PFW) in Karachi was clearly thinking outside the box. These were, what the designer called in her Instagram post, “real women”. There were white-haired women and over-sized women and women of all ages and sizes… including pregnant women. They were real alright. But were they beautiful?

50 is the new…?

The pressure on women is immense. ‘Kill me but make me young’ is the silent but definite mantra. The compliment a woman is conditioned to receive as the biggest compliment is this: “Oh my God, you look so young, I thought your daughter was your sister!” It started with ‘40 is the new 30’. You had to look a decade younger. Now it’s 60 is the new 40’, and the yawning gap that women must cover up has reached about 20 years.

Even the most honest of women who don’t lie about anything else will be found sneakily hiding a few years from their age. The white hair near the forehead are not welcome for a woman; neither is the frizz or the thinning of hair in the front of the crown. It is a much tougher deal for a woman if, because of any reasons, chemotherapy for example, she loses hair.

But men are ok even if they are bald, and in fact are considered more “distinguished looking” if they have gray or silver hair.

These judgments are not just coming from men. They are coming from women against other women too. Our remarks, attitudes and body language end up impacting other women in terms of how they look at themselves. Thus the increased emphasis on invasive procedures to make lips look plumper, skin look more stretched, the nose look less droopy, and the face look unwrinkled. There are even more invasive procedures for many body parts, better left unsaid.

Sized up

Each one of us, at some stage in life, has heard comments about our weight and size and body type. “You look too thin; are you ill?” if you have lost weight, interspersed with unasked for suggestions to put on thora sa (a little bit). Or “You’ve put on haven’t you? I know a great Zumba instructor”. When women go looking for girls for their sons or brothers, they want the “slim, fair” variety. It is as if society measures you up in kilogrammes instead of talents and values. Fat shaming is not always verbal or direct. It can be done in a subtle manner, making the other person feel lesser because of the extra weight.

While fitness is important, both in terms of health as well as well-being, we are born with certain genetic dispositions when it comes to our body types — the pear shape, the apple shape, the hour glass shape. We don’t really have a choice in that.

Women’s bodies undergo multiple changes over time due to hormonal ups and downs, childbirth, or simply age. You cannot and will not have a body of a 25 year old if you are 45, but you can be fit and healthy if you work at it.

It started with ‘40 is the new 30’. You had to look a decade younger. Now it’s 60 is the new 40’, and the yawning gap that women must cover up has reached about 20 years.

We, the objects

The problem lies in women being reduced to “objects” of beauty, of desire, and of attraction. This is done not just by men, nor just by women, but by societies as a whole. We almost see women in inanimate terms. This era of hyper-sexualisation leaves women of no age — little girls, young women, middle-aged women or even elderly women. It seems we took Keats’ “A thing of beauty is a joy forever” quite literally, often seeing this timeless line of poetry as an implication towards women being a ‘thing’ of beauty. As women, don’t we recognise that this objectification dehumanises us somewhere? But we are as much a part of the problem as men.

Big women on the small catwalk

Why initiatives such as Chappra’s show are important is because they can go a long way in modifying, if not completely altering, perceptions about what comprises a beautiful woman. But such initiatives do not go down well with everyone. The show got mixed feedback. Some appreciated it as a game-changer, while others said these big women on the small catwalk did not belong there.

For women, it is important to take stock of themselves and ask themselves the question, “What is it that defines me?” If it is what you look like, and if that is the source of the highs and lows of your self-esteem, then clearly there is a problem. It is also important to honestly ask ourselves how we look at other women — do we value them on the basis of how they weigh, dress and look, or on the basis of who they are and what they do.

Change trickles in slowly, and it takes forever to change mindsets. But unless we, as women, start the change from within, we cannot expect society to change from without. So the next time you compliment a woman, let it be about more than “You look amazing”, and move it to “You are amazing”.

Me and my Hashimoto’s – Living with an Autoimmune condition

Farahnaz Zahidi April 15, 2018 Leave a comment

 http://tns.thenews.com.pk/hashimotos/#.WtmSb4hubIU

If a person has one autoimmune disorder, there are chances that he or she is susceptible to getting another one

I am a journalist, and there is this thing with journalists – they have this insatiable need to inform others about what they learn. Journalists are people who relay information, even if it is information about an autoimmune disorder they are suffering from.

I have been wanting to write about an autoimmune disorder that I have been suffering from. In turn, I wanted to write about autoimmune disorders – a wretched group of diseases that very many people suffer from, but often do not know what it actually is that is making them feel unwell.

I started asking people who I knew had different autoimmune disorders. Many of them agreed to speak to me for the write-up but requested anonymity. Others refused to speak about their disorder. It is understandable as it is not easy to announce to the world that you have something that makes you feel unwell so often.

But autoimmune disorders need to be spoken about and written about because they are more common than we realise. We also need to speak about what we go through because it is a means of helping those who are going through something similar. Suffering from a disease or a disorder is not something that should embarrass or demean us. It is what it is. All we need to do is manage it the best we can, and for that we need awareness. Write-ups like this one are aimed at just that one goal — creating awareness that might tell someone else reading it that “you are not alone”.

For me, it started with just feeling down and listless and unusually cold, very cold. I saw people around me sitting comfortably in air-conditioned rooms with fans on in Karachi summers, but I felt spears of cold entering my ribs and my back. Getting up in the morning became a struggle. There were aches and pains and just feeling down, with no energy. I started realising that I could no longer lose nor maintain my weight that easily. But I knew it was time for an SOS when out of nowhere I would break out into rashes — rashes that would come out of nowhere and disappear without any medication as well.

I googled all my symptoms. My google search findings remained inconclusive. Not knowing what is going on inside your body is one of the scariest feelings because you cannot do much about what you don’t know.

Awareness about my Hashimoto’s Thyroditis has led me to understand better things like where my constant fatigue stemmed from, and why insomnia keeps making surprise visits to me, and also why unexplained aches and pains keep coming and going.

My symptoms led me to knock on the doors of many genres of doctors — general physicians, skin specialists, orthopedic specialists, homeopathic doctors, and even a psychiatrist, as google kept bringing up the suggestion that perhaps this was nothing but depression. It was finally an allergy specialist who, luckily for me, was extra cautious, and advised me to get my tests done, including one for autoimmune thyroditis. The result was clear. I finally had a diagnosis. I have what is called “Hashimoto’s Thyroditis”, and it is an autoimmune disease. It is an annoying disorder to put it simply and honestly, because it makes life a drudge. The good news is that for the most part, it is not an extremely dangerous condition. Yet, living with an ongoing condition is a test of patience — both physically and emotionally.

To put it simply, autoimmune diseases are when the cops who have the job of catching the bad guys start harming the good guys. It is when the body starts getting attacked by its own immune system, and instead of attacking infections and anything that harms us, the immune system starts attacking the normal body tissues.

Why do certain people get them and others don’t is a question medical science is still trying to answer. It can be one of many reasons. For starters, more women get afflicted by these disorders than men do, and one reason experts give is the female hormones, particularly estrogen, that may lead to a predisposition to autoimmune diseases. Another reason could be hidden in our genetic pool. Certain families report higher incidences of illnesses like Multiple Sclerosis and Lupus, but there is no way of telling why some people in these families get them and others don’t.

Are autoimmune diseases on the rise? Many medical experts believe yes they are, and they feel environmental factors like ready use of chemicals and solvents, unhealthy environments, and infections could be the culprits. But others feel that these diseases have always been there but we are just getting better at diagnosing them. Some suspect the increased use of fats, sugar, and processed foods. Unhealthy food choices lead to inflammation that leads to an overactive immune response in the body. Another hypothesis is that use of sanitisers, antiseptics, vaccines and keeping one’s self in overly sterile environments leads to a lack of exposure to germs, and resultantly sometimes our immune system overreacts as a result and goes into autoimmune mode. And maybe, just maybe, stress and emotional trauma triggers these disorders.

Some common autoimmune disorders are Rheumatoid arthritis (RA), Psoriasis, Multiple Sclerosis, Systemic Lupus Erythematosus (Lupus), Inflammatory Bowel Disease, and even Type 1 Diabetes. Some of these like Lupus can lead to serious complications if not managed with care.

If a person has one autoimmune disorder, there are chances that he or she is susceptible to getting another one.

Awareness about my Hashimoto’s Thyroditis has led me to understand better things like where my constant fatigue stemmed from, and why insomnia keeps making surprise visits to me, and also why unexplained aches and pains keep coming and going. I have understood that I have to regularly visit a doctor for follow-ups, and keep a check on my thyroid levels. I have understood that taking medicines regularly is a lifeline. And I have understood that a healthy lifestyle –healthier eating, exercise, yoga, sleep, faith in God – will help me in this fight against this disorder.

I have also come to understand that one needs to be more sensitive to what other people are going through, because we often do not know what is causing that person to feel a certain way. Why do certain people feel down more than others? Why do some people put on weight more than others? Why do some sleep like babies while others struggle to even get a few hours’ snooze? Why do some people feel so hot and others feel so cold? Who knows who among us is going through an invisible but debilitating condition?

Autoimmune disorders are not all bad, then, are they? Maybe they make us a better person.

Farahnaz Zahidi

The writer is a freelance journalist with a focus on human rights, gender and peace-building. She works in the field of Corporate Communications.

Old age matters – What being a caregiver to my mother & her passing taught me

Farahnaz Zahidi November 12, 2017 5 Comments

Caring for the elderly is not just an act of love. It is a skill that one acquires over time, whether you are family or a paid caregiver. It is an upward learning curve, and the only way out is through

Two months ago, I lost my mother after her ten years’ long battle with the debilitating and progressive disease called dementia. On that first night after she passed, I got a message from a friend saying, “As you settle down to spend the first night without her in this world….” These words struck a chord with me. As people poured in to condole, and said, “you must have been prepared,” I honestly didn’t know if I was actually prepared, even though I knew it was inevitable. You’re never really prepared for the emptiness the loss of a loved one leaves. Yet, awareness helps us deal with this testing time.

For those who can afford to hire help or get their elderly loved one treated by trained healthcare practitioners, the blow is relatively cushioned, and the biggest struggle is the emotional pain one goes through to witness them fading away. This is when you learn the word ‘palliative’ care. “Sadly, less than 1 per cent Pakistanis have access to specialty palliative care,” says Dr Atif Waqar, Geriatrician and Section Head for palliative Care at the Aga Khan University Hospital, Karachi.

Geriatrics and Palliative care, as he explains, are two different sub-sections of medical care. “Geriatrics is care and treatment of the elderly, while palliative care is aimed at relief and prevention of suffering for both the patients as well as their families. Palliative care is not necessarily end of life care; that is a common misconception that sometimes even healthcare providers have,” he explains. Palliative care, then, is a more holistic approach. “It is actually all about living, not death. However, if all treatment options have been tried and exhausted, then palliative care does involve end of life or hospice care.

“Geriatrics is care and treatment of the elderly while Palliative care is aimed at relief and prevention of suffering for both the patients as well as their families. Palliative care is not necessarily end of life care; that is a common misconception that sometimes even healthcare providers have,” says Dr Atif Waqar.

Thus, we can say that all end-of-life care does come under palliative care but all palliative care is not end of life care.” Palliative care is a shift in focus where medical practitioners try to palliate the symptoms. Studies show that terminally ill patients actually live longer with holistic palliative care rather than with aggressive treatment.

As a son and caregiver, Afaq Ahmed, who lost his mother a few years earlier and his father just six weeks ago, has had to make some tough choices along with his siblings. He describes the painful experience of seeing his father, who loved to eat, refusing to eat due to dementia. “He would purse his lips tightly, and even if we managed to put something in his mouth, he kept the food in for a long time,” he says. The disease progressed, and he shares that it was a very tough decision when they decided that they wouldn’t use [aggressive] means to prolong his agony.

“Doctors and physicians are trained to save lives, which is why sometimes they use invasive means to keep the patient alive, but end up prolonging their suffering,” says Dr Waqar, and shares the questions that palliative care doctors put in front of the patients’ families. “Questions like ‘What would your loved one have wanted? Would they have wanted to live with this quality of life in a state of complete dependency? Would they have liked to be on a ventilator or someone pumping on their chest for CPR when it’s of no benefit? Would they rather choose to pass with dignity?’” What is often seen as defeat, then, by caregivers or physicians, is actually an informed choice.

“Doctors told us to consider if this is the kind of life our father would have wanted. My parents repeatedly used to say that they would not want a life of dependency and they were ready for the transition. We based our decision on the honest answer to that,” says Ahmed. He and his siblings decided to not force feed their father, neither by mouth nor through means such as a nasogastric (NG) tube.

Read also: Care for the caregivers

However this does not imply that all medications and treatment is discontinued. According to Waqar, intravenous fluids and antibiotics are actually therapeutic and if they help alleviate symptoms they should be continued till the end. Pain relieving medicines, like Morphine, are an option at this stage.

“Morphine is on WHO’s List of Essential Medicines that should be available because it is everyone’s right to be relieved of pain. But in Pakistan limited hospitals are given very specific and limited quotas. We strongly urge the concerned drug regulatory and health authorities to make it available to trained medical practitioners,” says Dr Waqar.

Ahmed and the family did use last resort pain relieving medications to ease his father’s pain in the last few days. “These medicines are not easily available but you can get them through the hospital or doctor under whose treatment your loved one is.”

It is not, however, easy to predict when it is time to let go. “Prognostication, or an estimation of survival, varies from illness to illness. It is both a science and an art. The variables differ from person to person. Doctors run tests to determine the actual situation,” says Dr Waqar. In his opinion, estimation is much easier in terminal stage cancer, for example, but not so easy in neurodegenerative diseases like dementia.

“Sometimes end stage patients surprise you and bounce back. There are dips, plateaus and peaks in their condition. However, when we see a steady decline in these four areas — functional, clinical, nutritional and cognitive — we know that the patient is approaching the end.” You see your loved one becoming increasingly dependent for even small chores, from being on the wheelchair to being bed-bound, and sleeping most of the day.

“They eventually stop eating; it starts with a decrease in taking solids but goes onto difficulty in even swallowing liquids. This is a natural process towards ‘transition’ which we commonly know as death. When the organs begin to shut down, the caloric requirement becomes lesser and lesser,” explains the doctor, adding that the family often thinks they are starving, which actually they are not; they no longer need that much nutrition. Caregivers attempt to force feed them which does more harm than good as the food ends up going in the lungs and aspiration pneumonia can develop.

In a lot of cases, the patient suddenly begins to show improvement or a burst of energy in the last few weeks or months. “That is actually the calm before the storm. This burst of energy helps them finish unfinished business. These facts are scientifically proven and are not hocus pocus,” Dr Waqar says. In his opinion, people in their end stage have very strong awareness about the upcoming transition. Patients are known to experience visitations of their loved ones who have already passed on and are now beckoning them. Near Death Awareness (NDA) is part of the dying process but caregivers often confuse it with delirium. Some patients who can articulate their experiences communicate what they are going through; others, like patients of advanced dementia, may not be able to.

The role of the caregivers, whether they are family members or paid staff, is one that is both painstaking and rewarding. Zaiba Emanuelle, a certified nurse in Karachi, works with elderly patients and has seen a surge in the number of nurses being employed in homes for the elderly. In her experience, patients are easier to handle compared to families of the patients. “The family keeps interrogating us. I understand that they have to do it, but it’s not easy dealing with them,” says Zaiba. “I have learnt that to deal with elderly patients, you have to understand them, and treat them with as much gentleness as one would treat children. It’s all about patience and flexibility.”

As a caregiver, I have learnt tremendously about life and death because of this sojourn on the path of dementia with my mother. I have learnt about what it means to be an elderly person in the twilight years of life, or to be a caregiver. Caring for the elderly is not just an act of love. It is a skill that one acquires over time, whether you are family or a paid caregiver. It is an upward learning curve, and the only way out is through.

When senior citizens are not a priority

Expecting specialised geriatric care might be too ambitious for the average Pakistani who sometimes does not even have a comfortable home or a devoted caregiver. “The numbers of neglected and abandoned senior citizens have escalated, and the reasons are many,” says Faisal Edhi of the Edhi Foundation that has been taking care of abandoned and underprivileged elderly since inception.

He feels that the dismantling of the joint family system, urbanisation, the thrust on industries, and the increase in population — all this has left families with little time to care for their elderly. “The government needs to face this reality and think of setting up old-age homes in peri-urban areas and outskirts of cities; this would be a much more economical option compared to hospitals. But senior citizens are not the priority in an already failing service sector,” he says.

In 2014, both Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa (KP) and Sindh provincial assemblies came up with laws guarding interests of the elderly. The laws are ambitious. Sindh Senior Citizen Welfare Act, 2014, aims at lodging establishments, free geriatric and medical services, 25 per cent concession in all private medical centres and 25 per cent discount on purchase of essential commodities to name a few. However, what is missing is the implementation. Quality care for the elderly requires a steady stream of money, something not many Pakistani families can afford.

http://tns.thenews.com.pk/old-age-matters/#.Wh–3kqWbIU

How Junaid Jamshed used ‘Us Rah Par’ to foreshadow his transformation

By Farahnaz Zahidi

Published: January 4, 2017

https://tribune.com.pk/story/1283173/junaid-jamshed-used-us-rah-par-foreshadow-transformation/

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Junaid Jamshed on fusion music, Pakistan’s elite and singing naat. PHOTO: AMEER HAMZA

KARACHI    : For him, the song was never about a beloved. It was always about the Beloved. But he could not have said it then.

The stubble Junaid Jamshed sported in the video was perhaps one of the first times the strikingly handsome singer was seen with some form of a beard. But it was seen as part of the costume for the character of the taxi driver he played in the video, chewing on a match stick while looking intently at a female gypsy singer.

PHOTO COURTESY: PAK FILES

As the nation reeled from the shock of his abrupt death in the airplane crash that took away 47 lives almost a month ago, both his songs and his naat renditions started going viral on social media. It could not have been either/or. It had to be both. Some chose the former part of his singing career – mushy, poignantly phrased and softly rendered ballads and patriotic songs that helped each one of us emote at some phase of our life. Others chose his latter offerings –Islamically inspired renditions in which he sung praises of Allah and the Prophet (pbuh). Then there were those, few in number, who celebrated both phases of the icon’s life – his voice had been with them in moments of both majaazi (of the beloved) and haqeeqi (of the Beloved) Ishq.

Recap: Some of the pop icons we lost to 2016

That was Junaid – a nexus between the two extremes. The song that was shared most by his fans on both ends of the spectrum was the ballad from his solo album in 1999, Us Rah Par. This is deeply ironic; that song represents the transformational phase of this complex, layered and loved icon of Pakistan. It would be unfair to his audiences that what he revealed about this song is not shared with them.

“That song was much deeper than romantic love for me, unlike what the video portrayed,” he had said, while talking to The Express Tribune in 2013. “By 1999, the transition in me had started. Others may not know but I know that for me, that song was about my journey. But at that time, it could not have been shown.”

Against the backdrop of his statement, the lyrics begin to make more sense:

Hum kyun chalein

Uss raah par
Jis raah par
Sab hee chalein
Kyun na chunein
Woh raasta
Jis par nahin
Koi gaya….

Time was to prove that whether people agreed with his choices or not, he did go on to choose a path that few from the entertainment industry would dare to step on. “The song had been conceived metaphorically,” Junaid had shared. While the lyrics were penned by Shoaib Mansoor, Junaid’s interpretation was very different. “I confess that I had no plans of leaving music at that time. But the love of Allah had hit me. I could feel I was changing. I couldn’t run away from it.”

Thousands bid last farewell to JJ

In many interviews and talks he gave later, as part of his work as a muballigh (evangelist), he shared that despite having fame, money and popularity, something in him would not let him rest, as if something was amiss. Investing himself in a material world had begun to seem like a waste of time. “It started with me going to religious people and the mosque for my own spiritual healing. I had everything – fame, money. But something was lacking. I felt incomplete. And being in a masjid made me feel calm. Masjid still has the same effect on me. Masjid, to me, is the place where we discover humanity.”

Junaid found his direction and that led him to discover the peace in himself we all aspire for to be complete within. PHOTO: JUNAID JAMSHED FACEBOOK PAGE

Dil udaas nazrein udaas

Dilbar nahin gar aas paas
Din raat aah bharna
Aur beqaraar rehna
Yeh khail hee bekaar hai
Kuch bhi nahin angaar hai
Is aag main jalein kyun
Pal pal jiyein marein kyun

Many temptations tugged at his heart all through his life. He never stopped loving music, but eventually he made the choice that felt right to him. “The life of this world and the Hereafter… if you please one, the other will be upset. It’s a choice you have to make,” he had said.

An enduring memory: A conversation with Junaid Jamshed

I remember asking him if he missed his past as a singer. “Naheen yaar. No withdrawal symptoms of my past life. I am not proud but happy that as a singer, I contributed to the spirit of patriotism and my country in a positive way. I lived that part of my life to the fullest. I cherish my time with the Vital Signs,” he had said, adding that he recognised that his voice was a gift from God. “Shoaib’s poetry and my voice touched people’s hearts. They could relate to it. Rohail, Shehzad, Salman, Nusrat, Rizwan, Asad Ahmed, Amir Zaki…they are much better musicians than I ever was. But somehow, I have a voice that people connect to.”

Taimur Junaid recalls the relationship he shared with his father. PHOTO: FACEBOOK @TAIMUR JUNAID

He knew he was a people’s person. “Mein awaami aadmi hoon. The work I am doing now has much more human interaction, compared to the showbiz days. Back then, the stage was in between,” Junaid had said.

Chalo ishq ka kaha maan kar

Apna sanam pehchaan kar

Kisi ese rang rang jaayein

Sab se juda nazar aayein…

Much to the frustration of his fans, who perhaps never forgave him for giving up music, Junaid went ahead and did what he had to. H,e indeed, did become coloured in a colour that made him stand out amongst all. He saw that as the colour of the Divine.

Watch the song here:

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The Junaid Jamshed not many knew

Sitting here, writing a blog that is an obituary for Junaid Jamshed. This is surreal. It is unbelievable. And is an unpleasant and painful task, but one that I must carry out as someone who knew him well. Because he would have liked me to write this. For two reasons: Firstly, Junaid, or JJ, or Jay as close friends called him, was a people’s person. He did not mind the attention. He was used to it from a very early age. I remember asking him, during one of the three interviews of his I did spanning over two decades, whether he was so used to attention as a celebrity that even when he came towards religion, he enjoyed the adulation. He laughed and did not deny it. So he would be ok with this. But secondly, and more importantly, he would appreciate that the correct, and the factual, and the good is written about him. Junaid was not as guarded with the media as I initially thought…not guarded enough. His utterances often got him into trouble – he did not weigh words as one would expect from someone who had spent most of his life under the spotlight. So he ended up saying things that ruffled so many feathers at both ends of the spectrum. More than three years ago, after I met him and Shahi Hasan at Shahi’s studio for a feature story, he had later requested me to write about the other side of him. “People just see me as the person who stops women from driving cars and wants to deny women independence. I’m not like that! And there is more to me. Can you write something positive about me?” he had said. I had told him that journalism is something I do with honesty, and I will not write positive stuff unless I find positive stuff about him worth penning. He agreed. I did end up writing some positive stuff after all. That is what I am doing once again right now. He would have wanted this.

So there is stuff about Junaid we all know but then there is stuff that we all don’t know.

Like the fact that he was big on not just charity but in particular about mother and child health, and had raised money and set up many medical care centres for maternal health. “The year was 2003. I remember reading somewhere that a woman travelling from Jhang to Faisalabad on a tonga in full-term labour died because no maternal health facility was close by. That story shook me. Pakistan’s women should not have to go through this,” he had said in that interview. During the interview, I had shared with him about the good work being done at the Koohi Goth Fistula Hospital. He started working on gathering both funds and support for the cause, and then raised enough money to support and cover the cost of some major projects the hospital needed funds for. Those getting treatment don’t even know that the person who helped give them a new lease of life is Junaid. The many unnamed individuals and families he was helping through his charity work will be hard hit at the loss.

Like the fact that he always, always struggled with his inner self after having chosen the path that he chose. I recall another pointed question I had asked, jestingly. “So the beard is your choice. But why not trim it?” “Yeh mat bolo (Don’t say that). It’s not easy,” he replied, and I felt guilty I ever asked that. An excerpt of the interview went like this:

“Sitting in Shahi Hasan’s studio, his fingers, a couple of times, delicately traced the contours of the guitar strings. But an inner commitment is stronger than the temptation. He hummed a few lines, but stopped. The darling of the Pakistani masses is no longer a balladeer. The passion has been channelised towards a higher love. His songs formerly talked about how to woo a beloved… his nasheeds and naats still do. But the Beloved has changed. JJ has evolved.”

Trying to practice religion is an uphill task. There is always discrimination, and criticism, and of course he had to bear all that. Misogynist. Chauvinist. Mullah. The titles were many. So were the attacks on his selfies with female friends. Ironically, these were often hurled by the very people who supposedly believe that one should live and let live. The very people who will forever rely on his songs when they feel patriotic or heart-broken or in love or happy or sad.

For me, his voice has been with me through me own transitions. From a music buff to one who developed the heart and the taste for the naat and nasheed genre, his voice was a part and parcel of the journey. Even at the age of 52, his voice sounded young and untainted.

Junaid, like all of us, had his shortcomings. I strongly disagreed with so many of his stances, and agreed with others, like many of us. But he was a good soul, a loving son, husband and father. He made efforts to help others. He did help thousands, both through his charity and through his role in reviving the faith of so many. Like all of us, he may have fallen and gotten up many times on the path he chose. But he chose to stay on that path anyways. Not many take that path after a taste of such fame and adulation. Reminds one of his song:

Hum kyun chalain uss raah par jis raah par sub hee chalain

Kyun na chunain who raasta jis par naheen koi gaya…

He is just one story and this is just one obituary out of the 47 who lost their lives today. Each story unique. Each life unparalleled. Lives full of promise. Lives cut short.

Life is short. And unpredictable. If we take home one thing from Junaid’s passing, which I pray will be accepted by Allah as shahadat (martyrdom), it is to stop judging others.

Rest in peace JJ. And thank you for all the goodness you spread and the service you offered to humanity. May you be rewarded multi-fold in the Hereafter.

Published also at http://blogs.tribune.com.pk/story/43759/the-junaid-not-many-knew/

Thank you Abba, for making me the woman I am

By Farahnaz Zahidi Published: June 19, 2016

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All I want to do is be a good person like him, so that I can become the best legacy he left behind. PHOTO: PINTEREST

It’s been almost nine years since Abba left us. I have written much about Ammi since then, about how she did not take his going so well, about her dementia. But I have somehow avoided writing about my father. Perhaps there is too much to write and it is difficult, even for someone like me, for whom words come easy.

In the last few years of his life, his health was flailing and he knew. He started to wrap things up, though he loved life and fought for it till the end. In that twilight phase, what came up repeatedly was him and I mutually agreeing that he needed to pen down his biography.

“I can be your ghost writer,” I had suggested. “You can be my assistant, and help me edit it. The rest I can do myself,” was the expected reply.

He really didn’t like depending on others.

It is Father’s Day today.

It’s not that I am big on celebrating ‘days’ personally. But it is because he was big on celebrating every occasion and so everything would become an excuse to celebrate – me getting good marks in a test, Father’s or Mother’s Day, Eid, second day of Eid, third day of Eid, some uncle or aunt performing Hajj, a promotion, returning from a trip, or something as simple as making a decision.

“I have decided I want to be a journalist and writer abba. I think I wasted time studying Business and Economics,”

I recall telling him after I was midway an internship at a magazine after my Bachelors.

“If you are sure that’s what you want, then I am sure you will excel at it. Let’s celebrate, everyone, we have a writer in the family now,” he said, taking the family out to eat.

The celebrations were usually at Bundoo Khan near Quaid’s mazar or some old Chinese place in Saddar, with generous helpings of food and lots of conversation.

My father was born in a remote village in Sindh. I have been asked multiple times in my life that he must have favoured his sons, my three brothers, more than us three sisters. I honestly reply that he loved each one of us equally, but if at all he had a tilt, it was towards the daughters – he treated us more gently and with more tenderness and gave the same opportunities to all his children irrespective of gender.

There is something about daughters who have had a father’s unconditional love and support – they are inherently equipped to handle what life throws at them, both the good and the not so good. We have read it so many times but nothing could be truer – a father is the first and the most important man in a daughter’s life. He acts as the wind beneath his daughter’s wings in a world that may sometimes try to put her down. He fills up the gaps which life may create in the niche of her heart. He stays with her, every step of the way, whether he is there with her or not.

I choose not to sanctify my father. When my siblings and I sit down and talk about him, we do not pretend that he was a saint or perfect just because he is no longer alive. We still laugh about some of his things we used to laugh about in his lifetime and we still recognise where he could have made better decisions. But we could not be more thankful having him for a father – he was an unusually soft-hearted, brilliant, smart and sensitive man, who was par excellence in his roles as a husband and a father.

From a village in Sindh to Aligarh Muslim University to a never-ending journey of acquiring education to serving his people, so that today it is one of the few and almost completely literate villages in Sindh, he lived quite a life. His book is due soon.

Till then, I walk around this world with many of his ideals etched in my heart and I live by them. Like him, I believe books, education, travelling and health are most deserving of spending your money on instead of clothes, shoes and other tangibles, because the things we buy don’t last, but human experience does.

I hope I can do even a minuscule portion of the kind of work he did to serve humanity, but I do believe, like him, that we are here for a purpose bigger than just our own little lives. Most importantly, he taught me that one must not be afraid to be one’s self, he allowed me to speak my mind and voice my thoughts.

Thank you Abba, for not stifling my thoughts and allowing me to learn to agree and disagree with people, yet respect and cherish them. Thank you for all the times you allowed me to debate and engage and converse with you about politics, religion, poetry and the many faces of activism. That has helped me become my own person. And thank you for teaching me what selfless parenting is all about.

I look so much like my mother they say and I am so close to her. But here I am, walking around the world with my father’s imprints – the rock on the bridge of my nose, the impatience when the other person does not get me, that slight lack of tact, the desire to forever have something to do, the tilt towards the mystic, the excitement at seeing every day as a chance to do more and so much more.

It’s pretty worthless telling people the ceremonial things like “take care of your parents till they are there, you don’t know how it feels when they are gone.” If they love their parents, they do and will for sure. Each one of those who read this, especially the daughters, will have their own stories to tell, stories of them and their Abba, dad, papa, baba, Abbu – whatever you call that most important man in your life  – the man who unwittingly made you the strong, loving, feisty and dedicated woman that you have hopefully grown up to be.

The circle of life continues and you are giving back the same to your children.

On Father’s Day, I don’t want to cry remembering my father, or on any day for that matter. All I want to do is be a good person like him, so that I can become the best legacy he left behind. That’s what children are supposed to do when parents have left – become for parents a Sadqa-e-Jaria (a continual charity). That way, we can continue to serve them and cherish them. And love them.

The making of the SPECTATOR

As a teacher at the Media Studies department of Institute of Business Management, during Fall 2015 I taught a course called “Magazine Production”. At  the end of the course, as their final project, my students produced an online magazine called SPECTATOR. It is a very interesting effort with quality stories on diverse subjects. My students have done me proud. Do take a look and read/share their stories.

Apart from the more formal Editorial I wrote for, here is look back at how we spent these four months.

The making of the SPECTATOR

By Farahnaz Zahidi

There’s a story. And then there’s a story behind the story.

So there’s a story of 23 strapping young individuals, and a teacher, who met in IoBM’s media lab one September morning, and embarked on a four month journey. The magazine that you are now looking at, Spectator, is the end result of those four months, which I hope you will read and enjoy.

What happens in the media lab stays in the media lab. Well, most of it. But here’s the thing. The whole exercise of being a student or a teacher of media studies, or being a journalist or a media person, is the inner compulsion to share information. Here’s some info about what happened during those four months.

The “Magazine Production” course has been exciting, to say the least. A class full of strong-headed individuals led to passionate discussions, resulting in both agreements and disagreements, and above all learning to disagree with civility and mutual respect. We had an eclectic mix of people in our class. We had the ideological young man who intersperses sentences with revolutionary poetry and the quotes of Karl Marx. And we had a young lady (I use the word “lady” intentionally) who has this royalty about her, in a very amiable way that made us feel we need to become classier. We had the photogenic hero whose one liners and crazy humour put everyone in place. We had someone who does not believe in conforming to norms and does not get threatened with getting less marks, but ends up doing well nonetheless. We had the student who reminded us that the best things come in small packages. And we had the best CR a teacher can have, helpful and efficient.

Each one of them is special and unique and brilliant in their own way. The ones mentioned and the many not mentioned here.

Incessant chatting, poring over each punctuation mark, loads of work, listening to Farida Khanum with hushed silence during tea breaks, bonding by sharing stories of our lives, reiterating the love of journalism and the written word, and a whole lot of learning. The fact that we were all studying how to produce a magazine meant we were not limited to one topic or genre of news and storytelling. Thus nothing was out of our domain. Above all, by dividing them into small teams for each assignment, the art of working as a team was taught to the students.

I say “we were all studying” because I have learnt though teaching these talented individuals. For that I am grateful, especially to the Head of Media Studies for his cooperation, support, and for having the perfect understanding of how media studies works.

Each one of the students and the teams (editorial team, marketing team, photography team, design team) have worked hard and pushed their boundaries.

This initiative is a labour of love. Here’s to the Spectator.

 

I Study, Therefore I Am

It is truly nostalgic to stumble upon this blog from five years ago. Life has come a long way since then.

The one permanent thing in life is change. I have changed much since then 🙂

But this Masters program was the re-starting point in so many ways. Here’s to education….and to me and my fellow nerds.

FARAHNAZ ZAHIDI MOAZZAM — PUBLISHED JUL 23, 2010 01:29PM

Last summer, multi-tasking breathlessly between free-lance writing, part-time teaching and being on my daughter’s case, I met a friend who, when I asked her the ritual “what’s up”, told me smugly that she was preparing for her Masters exams from Karachi University. My interest peaked instantly, as I badgered her with her questions: Why, how, what, when, and where. She is the same age as me, same profile, married, teenage kids, happily into the home-maker zone, with a stint or two on the side to ward away boredom for the thrill of it.

“Studying? Now?” I confess, was my response too. Books? Notes? Being thick-skinned and wanting to give exams that require coffee to keep you awake at night and have ink-stained fingers during the day? Between playing mommie, wifey, taking care of elderly parents, the socializing, the cooking, the groceries, the rounds to the tailor, maintaining a home … the best I can do is catch a show on TV, read or write for mental stimulus, and use Facebook to catch up with friends. Studying seemed a far cry. But something on her face told me she was enjoying every minute, even though she complained of exhaustion. She had the glow of forbidden excitement all over her face – an excitement that we often write off way too early in our lives. The feverish thrill of challenging yourself, of having a new dream and the anticipation of accomplishing something you as well as others think you can’t do!

On way home, I kept thinking about it. My inner soliloquies were never-ending. Somewhere after my graduation as a position-holding student with Business Studies and Economics as majors, I had figured out that Business Studies had never been my calling. I was “prone” to literature; it made me happy, while writing provided me with Catharsis and purging of emotions. But back then, we did not have career-counselors, a choice to mix up subjects of Sciences and Social Sciences, and movies like “3 Idiots” telling us that the world is your oyster.

But today, I had a choice to make a more informed decision. And so Masters in English Literature was my new goal in life. Little did I know that this would be a great learning experience, teaching me more than what the Greats have written. My husband was all for it, saying he believes that the role of a parent, a spouse or a friend is to let each other grow, and support them to fulfill their dreams.

The general reaction I got was “Why?”, and “What are you going to do after that?” But then those friends who believed in following dreams encouraged me in ways that I had never imagined – dropping by cooked food, picking up my daughter, leaving a pack of groceries and offering to lend me their driver so I wouldn’t have to drive to the University. In many of my girlfriends, I saw a feeling of living their dream through me.

Standing in queues for the admission process wasn’t easy. I had forgotten how to rough it out in a government institution. No concessions were made for me by the multitudes of students, even though I was older than most of them by a decade. The ride in the rickshaw the day of my first exam when my car broke down wasn’t a joyride. Neither were the long walks to the centre when I missed the university shuttle. The lecherous innuendos of a particular bored male invigilator were disturbing, specially the fact that whenever any student asked him for a B copy, he would say, “fikar mut karo gurya, mein hoon na!” Yet most of the invigilators were cooperative and respectful.

The Masters syllabus was tougher than I had anticipated, and acquiring the prescribed books was not easy. One particular day, after endless trips to Urdu bazaar and still not finding the books I needed, I landed up at Karachi University’s English Faculty’s Photostat shop. Standing in lines in the sweltering May heat, I sent an sms to my daughter saying I think I want to give up, to which she replied, “Come on mom, it’s all worth it in the end.”

From the day I filled out the form, a plethora of happenings has impacted the way I think. I have seen the brightest students coming from the humblest backgrounds. I have sensed how invigorating being competitive is, something that a comfortable and complacent life takes away. I have felt charged by the viable energy that seems to flood an educational institute. I have pushed myself to the limit of physical and mental endurance by studying till late night and waking up at five in the morning and writing till my fingers ached, in a bout of flu. Above all, I am a richer person in terms of knowledge, as a profound study of literature teaches you much about yourself and humanity in general. I fell in love everyday with a new writer. One day it was Keats with his Odes, the other day it was Marlowe dancing his way into my heart with “Dr Faustus”, and yet another day Hawthorne’s “The Scarlet Letter” would make me understand life much better.

It is fascinating to learn that a growing trend world-over is people going back to school at any stage. Mental idleness leads to aimlessness and eventually despondency. To be a contented and creatively-active person, one has to keep doing something that keeps your zest for life alive and inspires you. For me it was a study program. For another, it might be learning a new language, baking or venturing into something entrepreneurial. Who knows whether I clear all the papers this year or not, but I hope to persevere till I do. After that? Well, maybe learning product photography professionally. Whatever makes me feel alive.

Farahnaz Zahidi Moazzam is a freelance writer.The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

http://www.dawn.com/news/813345/i-study-therefore-i-am

Dementia: Still Ammi

By Farahnaz Zahidi / Creative: Essa Malik

Published: May 18, 2015

“So what exactly is wrong with your mother?”

This is a question I kept hearing for seven years. Initially, I would reply, “She has let herself go after my father’s death” or that “she is depressed.” My responses have kept changing over time, as I learnt, unlearnt and relearnt about my mother’s condition, because what she was going through was much more than just melancholy or depression. The shock of my father’s death had triggered the progressive disease called dementia.

My mother showed no symptoms earlier in her life that could have indicated she could be prone to dementia. All I remember is that in her forties, she developed insomnia and began relying on sleeping pills. She often forgot where she had left the keys. There would also be bouts of paranoia wherein she felt she was being watched by someone or that someone was trying to harm her. My family and I shrugged them off, thinking she was overly cautious. Throughout this time, Ammi remained functional, meticulously managing her home, family and relationships.

Her dementia began progressing after an emotional trauma at a later stage in life, in her case the loss of a spouse and so, the deterioration began. Within months, she seemed to have aged by a decade. She was at a loss for words — literally. Having lost one parent already, we — my siblings and I, all adults — felt a double loss. We kept calling on psychiatrists and urging Ammi to stay strong. But today, we understand that she was never weak —  she was just not well.

Since then, her dementia has drastically progressed. While all the medical information one might require is available on the internet, personal details on how you can deal with dementia are sparse. It is amongst the most common ailments of old age but unfortunately goes undiagnosed and misunderstood in our society. While, I know some of my family members will disapprove of me writing about this private family ordeal, someone must speak out to create awareness regarding this debilitating condition. With this, I hope to offer support to patients, family members and caregivers who share what my precious mother and family went through and are going through on a daily basis. Since knowing Ammi, she would have wanted me to share anything that could help others.

“You say she has dementia but remembers your name?”

How does one explain to an unassuming friend or relative what exactly dementia is. Most people don’t take it seriously unless you call it Alzheimer’s disease. We have all heard about Alzheimer’s so I suppose it rings a bell but in reality, the two conditions are very different. According to the National Institute on Ageing (NIA) USA, dementia is a mental disorder that affects communication and physical performance adversely while Alzheimer’s specifically hampers the parts of the brain responsible for memory, language and thought control.

Memory loss is, nonetheless, one of the main aspects of dementia. It isn’t just the names and faces of people that a patient forgets. For instance, one of the key tests our geriatric specialist (an old age specialist, in layman terms) ran on Ammi involved asking if she remembered which day it was and if she could tell the time on the clock. When she couldn’t, her dementia was confirmed. With one’s thinking affected, basic functions start getting compromised, specially language, vocabulary and communication. A patient knows what an object such as a spoon or a glass is for and uses it as well but has forgotten what it is called. He or she knows if she has a headache but has forgotten to call it a headache. They know what they feel like eating but forget the name of the fruit, vegetable or dish.

But what is truly amazing is that in most cases, the patient’s consciousness does not alter until the very last stages. Even if Ammi struggles with my name, she knows who I am. Social skills remain intact until the advanced stages so even if they don’t recognise visitors, patients generally make normal, pleasant and general conversation. However, they do realise something is not quite right with their memory and try to cover it up with generic responses. Often when someone asks Ammi if she recognises them, she smiles and says “How could I not?” She has forgotten their name but is aware that it is someone she knows and that it would be rude to admit she didn’t recognise them.

In a strange way, it is comforting to know that your loved one still feels the important things in life: a connection with other humans and the Almighty. The ability to laugh, cry and experience pain and joy are blessings that stay with the patient until the dementia progresses beyond limits. 

“I have forgotten how to walk!”

In the advanced stages of dementia, things start getting serious with various symptoms (sometimes irreversible) manifesting themselves. For instance, one morning Ammi stood up and wouldn’t walk forward. “I don’t know how to walk,” she kept repeating while we urged her to take a step, eventually giving up and letting her return to bed. Ironically, the next morning, she was walking again, with support as per normal. The doctors attributed this to a “mini stroke” which admittedly frightened us but we were assured that such episodes are common during old age. Over time, we learned to watch out for sudden changes in Ammi’s personality, behaviour or body language for possible signs of mini strokes and to deal with them accordingly.

A patient suffering from dementia often forgets how to chew and swallow. They can no longer gulp down food and water as normally as they used to. The result can be not eating enough, which may lead to wastage and eventually starvation if nutrition is not given to the body by alternate means. Another complication of this is Aspiration Pneumonia, which happens when food particles enter the lower airways, causing repeated bacterial infection. The patient can also lose bladder control and forget how to exercise basic functions like passing stool or urine, which we take for granted. The result is urinary tract infection, among many other, related problems. 

The caretakers, in this process, learn new concepts, and their vocabulary increases. Words like dignity sheets, silicon catheters, zinc oxide and peg tube are new to us. Before my mother went through this, I did not know who a geriatric doctor was. A more difficult word we learnt is “Palliative care” which is specialised care for serious patients with ongoing illnesses. Some doctors will, when you ask them what it means, say that it means “end of life care”. But that is not so in all cases, and many patients successfully come back from the palliative care stage to rehabilitation. In Pakistan’s urban centres, certain hospitals have begun home based geriatric and palliative care systems so that the patient can get the best care at home.

“But life goes on.” Or does it?

Life does not go on — at least not for the caretaker of someone with a progressive mental illness. Just recently, I texted a friend who has experienced a similar situation with a loved one and although we hadn’t spoken in months, she immediately understood how I felt. I told her that I was breaking and she said, “It does things to you. It alters you in strange ways.”

Truer words have never been spoken. The helplessness of a parent — someone whom you have grown looking up to — is perhaps one of the worst heartaches in the world. Not only must you watch them suffer but the child inside of you dies bit by bit, no matter how old you are.  Accepting that the person who raised you is no longer functional or needs an attendant or a nurse for the most menial of tasks is extremely difficult. Accepting that someone who loved food will never again eat by mouth due to the risk of aspirating and must be fed via a feeding peg in the abdomen is tough. Accepting that they will be bed-bound and catheterised for their remaining days takes a toll on you too.  In the midst of managing nursing staff, memorising sheets of medication and managing doctor appointments, one forgets that life was ever normal.

There is also that unsaid fear when a voice in the head whispers: What if you inherit your mother’s condition too? Over time, you learn to not dwell on the thought, pray to God that that does not happen, and move on.

It took me a while to accept that in so many ways, my mother is exactly like an infant. We make her do exercises and play games with her that will improve her motor skills. We sing her nursery rhymes and songs that she enjoys. Her eyes light up when she sees us. Her needs, now, are very basic, just like a child’s. But through it all, she still is our Ammi.

A few silver linings and things to do 

Here is what you can do to help yourselves and your loved ones through their illnesses: 

•  Balance and manage your work and families well and take care of yourself physically and spiritually, otherwise you end up being of no use to your loved one.

•  Breaks are a must, as is taking turns if there is more than one caretaker. It is at times like these that one thanks God profusely for the family values that help us stick together.

•  Try to spread awareness about dementia and similar disorders among your social orbit. There is still a general lack of knowledge and social attitudes need improving. For starters, tell visitors, politely, that they cannot discuss the patient’s condition in front of them.

•  Choose good doctors who can be reached at any time. Have numbers and contacts of nursing staff ready. Emergency medicines and numbers of ambulances are a must.

•  Try and develop an inclusive culture when it comes to older people in society. They need not be isolated and confined to their room.

•  Spend as much time with them as possible. Company, care and encouragement can result in surprising improvement.

•  Learn to retain the good counsel and support you get from understanding friends and relatives. Ignore patronising attitudes and unsolicited advice. Each patient is different and each family’s situation varies.

•  It helps to stay positive in such a situation and remember the good times. Keep telling yourself that your loved one has, for the most part, led a full life and that their present state doesn’t define who they are or were. Faith and prayer helps you stay strong.

•  Talk to others who have been through the same. You will realise that many other people have gone through this and you are not alone.

•  Cherish this time. It will pass, as will the exhaustion. Enjoy the physical warmth, love and the prayers of your parent.

•  Most importantly, do not give up on someone just because they are old. Even if you cannot cure the disease, there is so much you can do to make them feel comfortable and feel loved.

Understanding dementia 

Dementia is caused when the brain cells fail to communicate with each other. Damaging of nerve cells that may occur in several areas of the brain is why dementia affects people differently, depending on the area that is affected. However, even though the symptoms may vary, some of the common ones include:

Cognitive changes:

– Memory loss

– Difficulty communicating or finding words

– Difficulty with complex tasks

– Difficulty with planning and organising

– Difficulty with coordination and motor functions

– Problems of disorientation

Psychological changes:

– Personality changes

– Inability to reason behaviour

– Inappropriate behaviour

– Paranoia

– Agitation

– Hallucinations

Published in The Express Tribune, Ms T, May 17^th, 2015.

http://tribune.com.pk/story/886462/dementia-still-ammi/

Real men do(n’t) cry

By Farahnaz Zahidi Published: November 16, 2014

http://blogs.tribune.com.pk/story/24860/real-men-dont-cry/

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Long before the Madhuri-fame advertisement, as part of a campaign against domestic violence, reminded us, we had all heard, “Larkay naheen rotay.” PHOTO: VIDEO SCREENSHOT

He was sharing some of his deepest secrets about his childhood; his fears, his regrets, his loss – of a loved one, of dreams, of time lost that could have been utilised better, of a life that could have been. I witnessed this man break some barriers in those moments as he dared to bare his soul, something men in our society are not taught to do.

But most importantly, this man dared to cry, that too in front of a woman.

In those moments, I saw bravery. Because he kept saying,

“See? I’m crying. I didn’t even know I could cry so much. Don’t tell anyone I cried, okay?”

This “he” is not any particular man. And the above lines are not any one particular incident. I have witnessed it more than once. And every time I have realised that for a man to cry in our society is a difficult boundary to push. We associate manliness with certain outwardly signs, like physical strength, like a temper bordering on rage, like earning a lot of money and like being not very in touch with one’s emotions.

Emoting and crying is something that is considered an aspect of femininity. We grow up listening to maxims like,

“Mard ko dard naheen hota”.

(Men don’t get hurt)

Long before the Madhuri-fame advertisement, as part of a campaign against domestic violence, reminded us, we had all heard,

“Larkay naheen rotay.”

(Boys don’t cry)

So men eat, laugh, sleep, feel happy and sad, but are not supposed to cry as that is seen as a sign of weakness. Generation after generation of men grow up with this pre-conditioning. When a natural outlet of grief or frustration is not allowed in the form of tears, the next best bet for men is either cruel silence or anger. We keep talking of rights of women, but usurp men of this very basic freedom to express emotions without both men and women not even realising it.

The most courageous of men ever are my role models; the Prophet (pbuh) and ‘Umar (ra) and ‘Ali (ra), and their peers. They changed the world. They won hearts and they won territories. They fought bloody battles like lions, with bravery unrivalled. They buried their loved ones with their own hands, and went back to the work of serving the cause of upholding justice. And through it all, they dared to cry, unabashedly. We have all read accounts of how the Prophet (pbuh) wept profusely, sometimes on the death of a loved one and at other times for the fear of Allah (swt) and for concern for his people. We accept that, and love that, and idealise that.

But today, a man who is moist-eyed is often seen as a weakling.

There is no doubt that women, biologically, are more prone to crying, as testosterone prohibits crying to some extent and that is the hormone that almost defines men; this is perhaps why, on an average, men cry once a month and women about five times a month, especially during the premenstrual phase and after their menstrual period. However, culture and allowances of freedom of expression also have to do with gender disparity when it comes to crying. While excessive crying can be symptomatic of other psychological issues, there can be considerable long term harmful effects of not allowing someone to cry.

Parents, and especially mothers, need to understand this when bringing up boys. Crying is a natural, organic form of human expression and is a right if carried out in moderation. When we stop men from crying at any age, we deprive them of a natural human catharsis. We also rob them of a certain sense of empathy that helps them understand why women or children cry. This is precisely why many men, unable to handle a crying woman, end up getting up angry and ask her to stop crying or ask in frustration why she is crying.

Any human emotion, if stifled unnaturally, will have harmful effects, and will end up being channelised into other negative emotions like anger or emotional disconnect.

Manliness, often translated as strength, is not just about not crying. Some of the things we see as signs of strength, like violence, anger and yelling, are actually signs of inherent weakness. Strength is about a certain amount of emotional intelligence and the ability to communicate with one’s self and with others. It takes strength to show that you are vulnerable. This is what makes us human.