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Tag Archives: Farahnaz Zahidi

The lifafa culture and the materialistic desire to ‘earn’ more Eidee

Published: June 26, 2017

There has to be more to Eid than that stash of money the child tucks away.

Anybody who has grown up in Pakistan recognises that pretty lifafa (envelope) in pastel colours or in whites, embellished or plain, sometimes with just a name, at other times with loads of prayers written carefully. Inside, the coveted crisp notes and the smell of the currency printing press chemicals.

These notes give many a banker sleepless nights during the last two weeks of Ramazan, as clients are ready to both beg and intimidate bank officials for fresh notes. Fifty ya 100 walay (ones). Five hundred walay. 1,000 walay. Even 5,000 walay if the family is upper tier.

Getting eidi is the one time when we all enjoy feeling young because every one of us is younger than someone for the most part of our lives. When all those hands that used to give us eidi, the khala, nani and phupha are long gone, it starts to get lonely at the top.

While gifts are a part of Islamic culture and the exchange of gifts is encouraged in Prophetic traditions, eidi is a very specifically cultural manifestation of that in our region. It is that time of the year which children look forward to. As an expression of love and blessings from elders, it is a beautiful gesture.

But over time, something about eidi has changed. As purely money is involved, we see a certain materialism tainting this cultural tradition. The children of today are smarter than their yesteryear counterparts. They are not as interested in the wishes written on the lifafa. What they are interested in is the ceremonial adaab (salutation), and then running in a corner and quietly opening a bit of the envelope to peak in and see whether the currency is red, blue, or reddish-orange.

But then again, children are a reflection of what they observe their parents doing. Many parents, if not all, also take their child in the corner, ask what a certain relative gave, and return the money accordingly. The gesture has become more of a barter system.

While there is nothing wrong with enjoying the money we collect from elders, and it is in fact endearing to see children counting the money they get as eidi as an extended form of spending money, it is not in good spirit if that is all that the children are looking at.

The lifafa culture and this desire to ‘earn’ more has entered many a religious ceremonies. The Aameen ceremony (completion of the Holy Quran) and the Roza kushai (the first time a child fasts) have also become similar occasions where the focus has shifted from prayers and duas to money. The fault does not only lie with parents and children expecting eidi, as those at the giving end are too busy to go and buy gifts. Also, the eidi or lifafa usually cost less than the gift itself.

While money is a reality of life, such customs and attitudes of parents subliminally condition children to gauge people by monetary standards too soon. It is important to keep reminding the child that the one who could afford to give Rs100 only gave it with as much affection as someone who gave Rs1,000. There has to be more to Eid than that stash of money the child tucks away.

Instilling the right values on Eid may prove to be a challenge for parents. It is doable. But for that, attitudes of the parents would have to be up to the mark as well. Because when it comes to children, it is the parents that set the tone.

Childhood Interrupted – Child Marriage in Pakistan

Published: June 14, 2017
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While there is an increased awareness about the concept of child marriage, much needs to be done at grass-root level. PHOTO COURTESY: Haseeb Siddiqui

While there is an increased awareness about the concept of child marriage, much needs to be done at grass-root level. PHOTO COURTESY: Haseeb Siddiqui

KARACHI: When Safiya was married off to a man, some 20 years older than her, she was barely 13. Her body frame was slim. She was still gaining height and had no idea about the physical demands of a marriage or motherhood. Within just three months, this resident of an underprivileged part of Karachi was expecting.

“My brother was married to my husband’s sister. It was a watta satta (exchange marriage). They waited only until the day I started menstruating after which I was married off,” said Safiya.

The birth of her first child, born premature, was an ordeal for Safiya. She received several pints of blood for transfusion as she was anaemic and she barely survived. Today, Safiya is a 16-year-old mother of two. She laughs when anyone asks whether she even prepared for the marriage and for the responsibilities of parenting.

“Does it matter now whether I was prepared for it or not? Girls have to do what they are told to do. In our social strata, this is just how it is. We are like cattle. We are born, married off to bear a child and eventually one day, we die.”

In Pakistan, according to lawyer and gender activist Maliha Zia Lari, the legal marriageable age for girls and boys in Sindh is 18, while it is 18 for boys and 16 for girls in the rest of the country.

“A marriage with a female child under the age of 16 is punishable under Section-498B of the Pakistan Penal Code 1860. In Sindh, punishments extend to girls aged 17 under Sindh Child Marriage Restraint Act,” she continued while shedding light on the legal aspects around child marriage in Pakistan.

Pakistan has recently outlawed child marriage and toughened penalties for those guilty of the crime in an effort to crack down on the practice estimated to affect one in five girls in the country. A minimum five years in prison that may go up to 10 years is the punishment, in addition to a fine of up to Rs1 million. A legislation passed by the National Assembly (NA) in February 2017, also bans forced marriage involving women from minority groups.

For a second time, the NA’s Standing Committee on Religious Affairs in the following month unanimously rejected a draft ‘Child Marriage Restraint Act’ aimed at increasing the minimum legal age for marriage of a girl to 18 years from 16.

Despite the laws and surging criticism, child marriage victims like Safiya continue to endure a cycle of lifelong disadvantages and miseries.

NA panel refuses to raise minimum marriage age for girls

Pakistan is also a member of the South Asia Initiative to End Violence Against Children (SAIEVAC), an inter-governmental body which has adopted a regional action plan to target child marriage. Yet, at the grass-root level, social attitudes remain static.

According to a Unicef report, State of the World’s Children 2016, at least 21 per cent Pakistani girls are married off before they turn 18. Now, this number on the ground is, of course, higher since a significant part of the populace in Pakistan remains unregistered. Therefore, they also do not show up in surveys. Almost 60 million children in Pakistan are not registered at birth – approximately 65 per cent of children in the country – according to Unicef.

Regrettably, the ramifications of underage marriages are also both physical and psychological.

Dr Azra Ahsan, a gynaecologist and consultant at the National Committee for Maternal and Neonatal Health, disagrees with the argument that a girl attains physical maturity at 18.

“All the organs of a woman including the genital tract continue to grow and mature until she is 18. The emotional maturity, however, comes much later. To me, a girl at 18 is still a child,” she stressed and added that marrying a girl at a tender age and then lumbering her with pregnancies and children is taxing her capabilities to the limits.

“Sexual relationship, pregnancy and childbirth are catastrophic for young girls. For them, a sexual relationship becomes a nightmare. Going through a pregnancy is a test of endurance even for grown-up women and one can only imagine what a burden it should be for a child girl,” said Dr Ahsan.

She maintained that when a fully grown baby tries to negotiate its way out through a small immature pelvis of a young mother, it becomes a harrowing experience for that child.

Man accused of child marriage sent into police custody for five days

“This not only results in a horrible agonising pain but can also cause pressure ischemic injuries to her genital tract and the adjoining organs. As a result, holes known as Obstetric Fistula appear between the genital tract and the urinary tract and/or the bowels. She then dribbles urine or stool constantly. The lives of young child mothers are literally nipped in the bud.”

For Samar Minallah Khan, an inspirational documentary filmmaker, a girl is forced to grow overnight into a child marriage.

“Child brides are at a risk of physical and emotional violence, and pregnancy-related complications. Depriving a child of education means perpetuating a cycle of poverty, violence and inequality. The very concept of a girl child as ‘someone else’s property’ prevents parents from investing in her future,” she said.

In Minallah’s experience, child marriages are mostly practised in the garb of culture and traditions. Once a girl child is betrothed, she becomes a property of the family that she is supposed to wed into. “There is no concept of documenting such [child] marriages. There are legal lacunas to determining the age of the child.”

Minallah’s documentaries mainly focus on culturally sanctioned forms of child marriages including ‘pait likhi’, ‘swara’, ‘vani’, ‘sang chatti’, ‘irjaai’, ‘addo baddo’ and ‘watta satta’.

“Not many urban Pakistanis know about the forms of child marriages and which is why more in-depth understanding and research needs to be carried out,” she explained. Minallah underlined that during January 2016 to May 2017; only over 35 cases of swara, vani and sang chatti were reported in the media.

Gender activist Lari wants Pakistanis to start talking more and that too openly about the impacts of child marriages in the society. “We need to emphasise that child marriages are void and not a real nikah. We need to provide economic incentives at community levels for families insisting them not to marry off their girls at a young age.”

Too young to marry: Police thwart child marriage in Khanewal

“Any action taken must be consistent, state-owned and sustainable,” she added while suggesting campaigns at schools and strategic intervention points for adults.

While there is an increased awareness about the concept of child marriage, few voices have also started making a lot of noise against it in Pakistan.

Designer Waqar J Khan and his team started one such campaign that made waves earlier this year with the hashtags #fashionforacause and #againstchildmarriages. The fashion shoot showed three girls dressed as child brides, juxtaposed alongside their photos in sportswear ready to take on the world.

“The purpose of the shoot is to build awareness about child marriage, and promote women in public spaces, especially the sports field,” said Khan.

Younger girls mean long birthing life, which is considered important in our culture. Lari feels that it is still a taboo to talk about women’s sexual and reproductive issues and the hush around the subject means that people do not actually see the human impact.

“The custom [child marriage] is linked to patriarchy, power and control. We hear statements like, older girls get too set on their ways as compared to the younger girls since the younger they are, the more adaptable she is.”

According to the gender activist, women in Pakistan witness several examples around them – their grandmothers and aunts – who were child brides and mothers and so they also think, if they were fine, what is the problem?

“There is a reluctance to see a girl as a child. She is seen as a woman as soon as she reaches puberty and thus must be married off before her sexuality becomes out of control”, complained Lari.

While there in a rising need to bring a change in the overall Pakistani mindset, Minallah thinks that stringent legislation, complemented by strong implementation was also required. Most importantly, supporting girls’ education is one of the single best investments a country can make to help poverty and prevent early marriages, she added.

“A girl who has completed her education is less likely to experience violence after marriage and have children when she herself is a child. Above all, she is more likely to be conscious and healthy,” Minallah concluded.

Preventing child marriage has a significant bearing on women’s education in the country. Therefore, it is important that the state must challenge unfair social norms strengthening child marriage by using legal and advocacy campaigning tools.

 

With additional input by Ali Rahman.

Udaari reveals Pakistan’s best kept secrets

Published: September 29, 2016
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PHOTO: Draamaz

PHOTO: Draamaz

“Watch Udaari; it is unlike any other drama,” I had said, trying to convince a friend to watch the drama. “No way! Children being abused. Don’t want to even think about it,” was the immediate response.

Brushing issues under the carpet is what we do best. A study titled ‘The state of Pakistan’s children 2015’ by the Society for the Protection of the Rights of the Child (SPARC) states 10 cases of child sexual abuse took place every day in 2015, bringing the total to 3,768 cases last year. These are registered cases. Any educated and realistic guess will tell us that to get the real number it would have to be multiplied manifold. Of these, a lot of abuse cases are incestuous. Communal living may have many advantages as a support system but also exposes unassuming children, and even grown-ups, to the dangers of sexual abuse and rape.

Mann Mayal has ended and Twitter can’t handle it

What Udaari has done is remarkable. It was not because Ahsan Khan played out a difficult character with unexpected brilliance, and that Samia Mumtaz played Sajju so convincingly that everyone who saw the drama wanted to bring her and Zebo home and protect them. It was a brilliant play, well scripted and directed, and technically could have been more nuanced and the characters more layered, but this is not a review of Udaari. This is a look in the mirror. And Udaari became that mirror.

As a journalist who has worked on gender rights and sexual and reproductive health issues, I have met victims of rape of all kinds, including victims of marital rape and sex workers who were raped. Rape is never a laughing matter. Whenever someone cracks a joke about rape, I think of the times when these jokes may not have bothered me because I had not met the butts of those jokes and heard their stories in person. I had not seen the scars, both physical and non-physical, that acts of cowardice and weakness such as domestic violence, sexual abuse and rape leave behind. Watching Udaari made me think of some unfortunate souls, victims and others survivors.

When those children in Kasur, who were sexually abused by the gang who made a living out of selling videos of the acts and blackmailed them, saw Udaari with their families, what must it be like for them? What was the reaction of viewers who saw Udaari in groups or in isolation in Pakistan’s many homes where traders of the flesh reside? The woman in Tharparkar who was gang-raped some two years ago, and got justice after I wrote her story that prompted a suo moto action by the chief justice – what was she thinking when she saw Udaari? The play hit home with the audiences. But it must have been an unforgettable watch for those who have directly or indirectly been exposed to such despicable acts.

Udaari cast shares final thoughts as fans await finale

In 1980 an Indian film, Insaf ka Tarazu, starring Zeenat Aman was initially met with negative responses for being too bold. Rape was something that was not meant to be depicted so openly. It opened certain shut doors. Udaari has managed a much bolder theme more than two decades later in Pakistan, deftly and without relying on the objectification of women as sex objects. It has succeeded in making sure that the take-home message remains that one who has been raped need not be a victim but also be a survivor, instead of the focus being on Zebo’s youth or beauty. This is no mean feat.

But perhaps the biggest contribution of any article, news clipping or talk show, or any drama like Udaari is daring to make taboo and hushed up topics like child sexual abuse open to discussion on a dinner table, at work place and on social media. Let us stop pretending that these evils don’t exist in our society, and that too closer to us than we think. Recognising an issue is the first step to solving it.

Qawwal Gali after Amjad Sabri

Farahnaz Zahidi July 24, 2016

http://tns.thenews.com.pk/qawwal-gali-sabri/#.V5RfIfkrLIU

The palpable fear after Sabri’s murder in the historic neighbourhood in Karachi and much more

Qawwal-Gali-0081
Qawwal Gali is the collective name given to a group of five streets, named after five renowned Qawwals. — Photos by Faisal Sayani

The atmosphere in Qawwal Gali is uncharacteristically subdued since Amjad Farid Sabri’s life was snuffed out prematurely. “I knew him from the time when I called him Ummi and he called me Saifee, and we were just young boys, not Amjad Sabri qawwal and Saifuddin qawwal. I still cannot believe he is no more,” says Sabri’s friend, Saifuddin Qawwal, still shaken weeks after his death.
Waves of fear after Amjad Sabri’s murder in broad daylight have reverberated 9 kilometer south from the late qawwal’s residence in Liaquatabad to Qawwal Gali, the historic neighbourhood in Karachi where the clans of the famous Qawwal Bachay reside. Yet, these custodians of the Qaul refuse to shift to more affluent or safer residential localities of the city. “This is not just our area. It is our tradition. Our lifestyle.”
Karachi’s Qawwal Gali is the collective name given to a group of five streets, named after five renowned Qawwals: Munshi Raziuddin Qawwal, Moeen Niyazi Qawwal, Kallan Khan Qawwal, Jaafar Hussain Nizami Qawwal and Bahauddin Qawwal. Between 80 to a 100 families of qawwals reside in these streets near the Shoe Market area. They safeguard a tradition that travels back to almost 800 years, when their ancestor Miyan Saamat learnt this spiritual musical art form from Hazrat Ameer Khusro, the 13th century Sufi musician, poet and scholar. Popularised versions of the unforgettable and powerful poetry of Ameer Khusro, like “Chaap tilak sub cheen” and “Mun kunto maula”, have trickled down to Pakistani masses, who get a feel of spirituality through these renditions. But the hub of the original, undiluted art is the Qawwal Gali. These families have been guarding these compositions over the centuries, and their entire lifestyles are moulded to fulfill the responsibility of keeping alive a tradition they see as almost sacred.
While Sabri was not a Qawwal Bacha, a shared tradition and profession has led to lasting bonds between all networks of Karachi’s qawwals. In the wake of his death, all of them, too, are overcast by fear. The qawwal Gali in downtown Karachi, then, is ironically the one place that they feel safe in. “It is our sanctuary. Fear is nothing new to us. Staying here is our only survival,” says Saifuddin, who is an important member of the Najmuddin Saifuddin Qawwal Brothers ensemble.
When asked if he is ever tempted to leave this profession or Qawwal Gali, Toqeer’s answer is a vehement no. “This profession is our recognition; we must protect the tradition our ancestors left us with. I started learning this art at the age of seven.”

Qawwal-Gali-004
The fear factor is not just about safety; they also fear their younger generation will get lost in the contemporary world and lose out on this art they see as a divine gift. Their offspring, with increasing exposure to the outside world, do express the desire to move out towards better areas. “But we explain to them how important it is for us to stay here,” says Saifuddin.
“Our community has a lot of unity. Our joys and sorrows are shared. There are certain cultural traditions we live by. We would not survive elsewhere and neither would our art,” says Rauf Saami, the eldest son of Ustad Naseeruddin Saami, and part of the Saami Brothers ensemble of Qawwals.
Rauf does not believe in coercing his children into this profession, but wishes that this ilm (knowledge) does not die out. “But times have changed. I’m realistic.”
Qawwal-Gali-004
The work of qawwals is very nocturnal in nature. “Our work is at night. We leave home early evening and return around twilight. The more posh parts of Karachi are not alive during night time. Can you imagine what neighbours of Karachi’s affluent parts would think if 12 men are entering a house every day at 4am?” says Saifuddin.
The Qawwal Gali does not go to sleep. Its residents sleep during the mornings and are up and about in the evenings. The chai dhabas never close. The riyaz (musical practice) never stops. The hustle and bustle never dies out.
“While we are away, whether for performances at night or during our frequent travels outside Karachi, we are at peace that our families are safe. Here, everyone watches out for each other’s families, despite professional rivalry.”
Rauf echoes that sentiment. “We don’t only look out for other qawwals but also for our supporting members of the ensembles. We are there for each other whenever we need each other.”
The qawwali business is seasonal in nature, and the flow of money can be ad hoc. The community also supports each other in lean times when the earning is limited. In such times, they pay each other’s hospital bills and children’s school fee.
The women of Qawwal Gali are the biggest support for their men. “The women of our households do not have any complaints. They understand the demands of our profession,” says the 26 years old Toqeer Ahmed, who belongs to the Khurja Gharana’s Nohar Bani branch. Their ancestral lineage are one of the first things they learn, but their women’s names are not registered in those lists, neither are they allowed to sing. Till today, a majority of the qawwals marry within their families.
“My nikah is to be held soon,” shares Toqeer with a smile. The match was fixed within his family, “but my choice was also considered. This is a big decision. How can it be done without my choice?”
When asked if he is ever tempted to leave this profession or Qawwal Gali, Toqeer’s answer is a vehement no. “This profession is our recognition; we must protect the tradition our ancestors left us with. I started learning this art at the age of seven.”
In Toqeer’s opinion, if the Qawwals try their hand at any other profession, it would take them hundreds of years to make a mark.
“Why should we lose out on the honour and respect this profession has given me? And as for the Qawwal Gali, it is the only place in the world I feel I am me. It is my identity.”
In true Qawwal Gali-esque style, Saifuddin sums it up by reciting this couplet in Urdu:
Apnay markaz se agar door nikal jaao ge
Khaak ho jaao ge, afsaanon mein dhall jaao ge…
(If you wander away from your pivot,
You will become nothing but ashes, nothing will remain of you but tales and fables)

Thank you Abba, for making me the woman I am

Published: June 19, 2016

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.

Day 5 #Ramadan #Quran #Verseoftheday #DoNotSayUffToThem

﷽‎

Day 5 – DO NOT EVEN SAY UGH OR UFF TO YOUR PARENTS

17_23

And your Lord has decreed that you not worship except Him, and to parents, good treatment. Whether one or both of them reach old age [while] with you, say not to them [so much as], “uff,” and do not repel them but speak to them a noble word.

Today, I was speaking to a friend who has been undergoing the same issues as so many of us, and as myself. Elderly parents growing weaker every day pose more challenges than we acknowledge. We looked up to them all our lives. Now they look up to us and are dependent on us. They are no longer financially or physically supporting us. They no longer have that control over us which made us lower our voices in front of them. And herein lies our test. This beautiful ayat from Surah Bani Israel (17:23) starts with the very basic belief – belief in the oneness of Allah. And in the same verse, Allah (swt) reminds us of who is most deserving of our good behaviour, patience and kindness.

But the key here is the old age bit. Not only are they no longer dependent on us, but at the twilight of their lives they see their lives as downhill, and they have achieved every goal they had, and this realization often makes them cranky and unreasonable.

At this stage of life, children need to exercise patience. Even the smallest of reactions like rolling eyes or saying Ugh or Uff or speaking to them harshly may wash away our good deeds.

Read this: Abdullah Ibn ‘Umar saw a Yemeni man performing Tawāf (circumambulating the Ka’bah) while carrying his mother on his back. This man said to Abdullah Ibn ‘Umar, “I am like a tame camel for her! I have carried her more than she carried me. Do you think I have paid her back, O Ibn ‘Umar?” Abdullah Ibn ‘Umar replied, “No, not even one contraction!” [Al-Adab al-Mufrad Bukhārī 1/62]

And in a hadith, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said :

“A father’s pleasure is Allah’s pleasure, a father’s displeasure is Allah’s displeasure.” (Tirmidhi)

The following verse (17:24) even specifies our body language with parents, advising us that our shoulders must be lowered, and teaches us to make dua for them.

Parents are not saints or angels and are not without faults. But they are the most sincere and selfless in their love for their children, and no other love compares with that, though in Islam each relationship has its own distinct place. So, despite their shortcomings and the age related weaknesses, one must continue treating them with honour, love and affection.

Also, as spouses, one must never restrict one’s wife or husband from serving their parents.

May Allah (swt) enable us to act on these verses, and shower upon our parents His Mercy. Ameen.

Intolerance or Awareness? Thousands of Pakistani women opting for Khula

Khula: A woman’s right to divorce with dignity

Published: April 1, 2016
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PHOTO: REUTERS

PHOTO: REUTERS

“There is more to life than just a man,” says Sajida*, explaining her decision to file for Khula. A working woman in her 30s, she is one of the thousands of women from Karachi who opt for it every year. “For my mother and women from earlier generations in my family, even thinking of Khula as an option was impossible.”

Khula is prerogative of husband, not courts, says CII

Where Khula – the right of a woman to seek divorce – is concerned, Pakistani women, today, are on the brink of a major social change. The numbers of women opting for it is growing at an unprecedented rate in Pakistan’s urban centres and data retrieved from family courts confirms this.  Within the first 10 days of 2016, 36 applications for Khula were filed in Karachi alone. On December 31, 2015, 12,733 cases of Khula were still pending in family courts of four districts in Karachi – South, East, West and Centre districts. In recent years, Malir seems to have the highest number of registered Khula cases among all localities of Karachi. On December 31, 2015, there were 700 filed cases in Malir. Within 45 days, another 200 were added bringing the average to about five new cases a day in this area alone. “If 10 cases are resolved or disposed, 50 new ones are added. The numbers keep growing,” says Urdu journalist Arshad Baig, who has spent years reporting court stories in Karachi.

The Council of Islamic Ideology’s recent declaration that it is un-Islamic for courts to use Khula without the consent of a husband to dissolve a marriage triggered heated debate on the subject. Yet, with Pakistan’s family law allowing it, women are now more ready to use this right when a marriage gets too much to bear.

According to Pakistan’s family law, in the law of Islamic jurisprudence, Khula remains a woman’s unequivocal right. “The court cannot deny the woman the right of Khula,” says lawyer Summaiya Zaidi, adding that Khula is when the wife applies to the court for dissolution of the marriage contract. While Islam encourages the family unit be kept intact, provisions of Khula and divorce have been given to both genders to be able to free themselves if a marriage fails despite trying on grounds of solid reasons.

The Pakistani women risking it all for their rights

In Zaidi’s experience, the most common grounds for women seeking Khula are domestic violence, physical and/or emotional abuse, inability of husband to provide for her financially and lack of love or affection given by the husband. “It can also be just general unhappiness or hatred for the husband. The provision for Khula is found in the premise that Islam concedes the right to a wife to free herself from the contract where life becomes a torture for both.” However, Zaidi explains this is not an absolute right but is controlled by the court. “A successful exercise of this right is dependent on the Judge reaching the conclusion that the spouses cannot live together within the limits of God,” she says. In most cases of Khula, as permitted by Islamic law, the woman agrees to let go of the Meher (dower) that the husband has to give to her and may also agree on further monetary negotiations to work her way out of a marriage.

Mufti Muhammad Zahid affirms it is a right Islam has granted to women. Like many mainstream muftis (Islamic jurists), he believes both spouses must agree on the act of Khula. “One sided Khula initiated by the wife with the husband not agreeing to it, is unreliable,” he says. But he also agrees that the Qazi, which today amounts to the Judge of a family court, can nullify the nikaah on solid grounds.

Fight for rights

Khula is different from Talaq-i-Tafweez, explains Zaidi. The latter is the power to grant a divorce; this right, though, belongs to the husband, yet it can be delegated to another such as his wife or a third person either absolutely or conditionally, limited by time or permanently. “The person to whom the right has been delegated can then pronounce Talaq accordingly. In essence, this means that the wife can divorce herself. Such a Talaq, once exercised, would be effective after expiry of 90 days unless revoked by husband or wife,” says Zaidi. The nikahnama carries this optional clause and with rising awareness an increasing number of women have begun to check the box of Talaq-i-Tafweez in the marital contract.

For women like Sajida, Khula is what she calls a lifesaving decision. While reasons for Khula vary from couple to couple, in Sajida’s experience it was her ex-husband’s lack of responsibility, taking her for granted and considering her useless. “He was very jealous and unkind. I cooked for him and looked after the house and even contributed financially but he never valued anything. If I were not an educated or working woman I would have committed suicide,” she shares with a shudder.

Khula was not the first option for her and she tried to make things work for almost a decade. “I just wanted him to respect me but he never did. He told me many times that I am fat and ugly,” she says. Sajida’s ex-husband, who suffered from bipolar disorder, let go of her very easily. “We didn’t have any kind of physical contact since years, so he felt guilty. I feel it was the main reason he easily let me go,” she says, and shares that she considers herself lucky to be out of a life of confinement.

‘Khula’ without husband’s consent is un-Islamic: CII

For some of Sajida’s contemporaries, however, the options are less relenting and women are forced to live in marriages where the reasons for opting for Khula would be more than valid, such as impotency, mental or physical disorders, and abuse or even infidelity.

Time to accept

While Khula is undeniably a right and the acceptance levels may have increased, it is never taken lightly. The first reaction of most people Sajida encountered was that this is the price urban Pakistani women are paying for economic empowerment. ‘Yeh human rights walay aur TV dramay aurton ke dimagh karab kartay hain (human rights activists and television dramas have corrupted our women)’ is a common reaction when the increased rates of Khula are brought up.

Women’s rights activists fiercely defend a woman’s right to be able to liberate herself from a crippling marriage. “But it’s never a good thing that a family gets broken. Unlike what people assume, human rights activists like myself, who support women’s rights, do not encourage women to seek divorce and make it their duty to listen to both sides of the story. We try to reconcile their differences,” says Mahnaz Rahman of the Aurat Foundation.

But sometimes the differences are irreconcilable. Such was the case with Naila* who stayed in an abusive marriage for 26 years but never considered seeking Khula. Instead, her marriage ended with her husband divorcing her on his second wife’s pressure. “I am from the generation when mothers taught their daughters ‘Jis ghar mein shareef aurat ki doli jaati hai, wahan se uska janaza uth ta hai’ (a decent woman’s funeral is in the same home where she goes as a bride). This doli-to-janaza mentality was so firmly driven in a girl’s mind that she chose to suffer in silence,” says Naila. She could not take that leap of faith as she felt staying in the marriage was for her children’s better future. The onus of protecting the children from the effects of a broken home sat squarely on the mothers and women would also brush issues under the rug for this reason, confirms Naila. “But sometimes children are better off when they do not see their mothers tormented,” she adds.

Reasons cited in cases of Khula vary but experts agree that economic empowerment of women is translating into the fact that they are no longer willing to live in a perpetual abuse or neglect. “With economic independence comes a sense of self-worth.  A sense of rights and women wonder why they should tolerate unjust behaviour,” says Rahman.

“We are witnessing fairly rapid social change in cities across Pakistan with regards to gender norms and as Pakistan is one of the most rapidly urbanising countries in the world, these changes are significant for the country as a whole,” says Nida Kirmani, who teaches Sociology at Lahore University of Management Science and is a gender activist. In Kirmani’s opinion, migration to cities opens up possibilities for women to move away from the restrictions of extended kinship networks, which sometimes allows them more room to challenge social norms.

More and more girls in urban Pakistan are getting equal opportunities of education. They are topping the grades and getting good jobs. “See Karachi: Two generations of boys in this city have gotten pre-occupied with political activities, their education and careers took a back seat. The girls filled that gap, and excelled, and went ahead,” adds Rahman. But she agrees the levels of tolerance among women have receded. “The overall climate of intolerance in our society is effecting the institution of marriage too,” opines Rahman.

Wind of change

Khula may be a woman’s right but is not always a smooth ride. Based on the cases Zaidi has handled, she advises women to make sure they get all their valuable belongings out of the house before they leave. “Leave first for a safe secure home and then apply for Khula,” she says, explaining how a woman applying for Khula can make the man vindictive and even harmful. “In most cases the potential drama of divorce is unveiled when one reads the grounds for Khula as stated in the Plaint by the woman. Even if a man was willing to grant the Khula, once he reads the allegations against him he may become defensive; it affects his ego,” mentions Zaidi. She believes it works both ways: If a woman were to read such allegations against her, her ego would also be hurt. “It is never nice to read in official documentation that one was an awful spouse,” she adds.

“It was a shocker when I received that brown envelope from the court informing me that my wife had applied for Khula,” says Salman*, a resident of South Karachi, who confesses that the document was the wake-up call which made him amend some of his ways. “Our families got involved because our three children’s lives were at stake and convinced her to give me a second chance,” he shares. It was then he agreed to go for marriage counselling with his wife. “If this had not happened, I know I would have continued beating her. I am not a bad man. I love my family. But I never thought her threats of leaving me could ever be true. I never took her seriously,” he says. Eventually, the couple did not get separated. According to his wife, “No one changes completely but now he knows he can’t cross certain limits.”

While Khula may be a liberating option for women not all women are innocent or fair in how they file the cases. Revenge is a very real factor both in cases of Khula or divorce and both genders indulge in this very basic human emotion.

Zaidi has worked on cases where the man needs defending. She cites the example of a case where the man was not guilty of the reasons specified in the Suit against him, which were cruelty, mental torture and lack of financial security. “If we didn’t defend him he would have to pay her maintenance,” she says.

Undoubtedly, more Pakistani women today feel empowered enough to leave unhappy marriages. “Most people would argue that this is cause for concern,” says Kirmani. “But I think this is a welcome change as many women suffer too long in silence.” But for single mother Aisha*, who opted for Khula and remarried few years later, this trend is neither good nor bad. “If previous generations suffered, with more awareness of women’s rights hopefully future generations will progressively get better. It’s a part of progress, of life moving forward.”

*Names have been changed to protect identity.