opinion
As a child, I was always drawn to the title ‘A Doll’s House’ due to its connection with a dollhouse I admired in my nursery class. I recall reading a children’s version of the play at the British Council’s Library in old Islamabad. While most of us are not living in a Doll’s House or are treated as moom ki guriya, we often cannot respond vehemently or serve a defamation notice or stand up for ourselves. There are manifold reasons for this, which can be rationalised without necessarily being legitimised. The world has transitioned - from a doll’s house to Barbie and the corporatisation of feminism. Objectifying oneself has turned into freedom of expression, is this true feminism?
To clarify, there is no intention of criticism, satire or self-praise in these lines. I do not claim expertise in feminism or mastery in the world literature. My upbringing surrounded by books led me to encounter and appreciate classic literature in English and translations, alongside my immersion in Urdu literature. Also owing to my mother and her progressive mindset.
Many of my peers may not forget how banned books, including works by Manto, Ismat Chughtai and Faiz Ahmed Faiz played a significant role in shaping our thoughts, as well as the various perceived ‘cheap thrills’ like the low-budget Pakistani films with limited technology but compelling lyrics and storylines. Many of us would likely have become social media stars with blue verification ticks if new-age media had been available back then.
As an occasional academic in Pakistani universities, I am often surprised that a significant majority of young students excel in English literature, gender studies, and media studies with perfect American-accented English and impressive grades seldom engage with such literary works. The reason for my astonishment is this is not taught in school or are subjects that are often prevalently spoken about in our society.
As I mature, I realise that life and people are not just black and white. Even the strongest women, who are feminists can find themselves making compromises beyond their control. It is no wonder that Parveen Shakir’s poem ‘Tum Mujh Ko Gurya Kehtay Thay’ evoked great sadness and anger in me. I wondered how an intelligent and attractive woman could sound so submissive and fall for a controlling man. I have to admit that my love for diverse music genres encouraged me to sing and dance, especially Madame Noor Jehan’s tunes. One song, ‘Jo Chahay Mujhe Banado Mein Moom Ki Gurya Hoon,’ picturised on Mumtaz in the movie ‘Intezaar’ (1974), left a life-long impression. These memories validate my early conformity to societal norms, my aspiration to be a ‘good woman’ and my fear of a questionable marital status. However, something shifts as many of us grow. Perhaps awakening from ignorance poses a significant threat to gender inequality and misogyny.
This is not limited to Pakistan, its culture, or its subcultures. Rather, it’s a global phenomenon. Many women journalists, including myself, have experienced this in the form of ridicule, tarnishing, and mental trauma.
It is important to understand that the power of enlightenment often presents fewer choices than abusive power does. There is no magical wand to cure abusive power. What we, as young feminist activists guided by firebrand mentors like Tahira Abdullah or Kishwar Naheed, and the soft yet, firm ones like the late Najma Sadeque or Shahla Zia, once regarded as objectification is perhaps now perceived as freedom of expression. This tweaking may require further unbiased exploration. It is hoped that the apparent unrestricted women are genuinely liberated and can truly exercise their choices without being burdened by the surcharge of poverty and patriarchy.
The writer is an intersectional feminist.
