So I am standing on the road and I am waiting for my car. And even though I am wearing quite a lot, it doesn’t feel so.
A bike passes by and the guy sticks his tongue out, for whatever reason. I am thinking, “What the fuck is wrong with him!”
Then I get flying smooches from another pair on the bike that passes by and I look at myself and think, “Am I really in a fucking bikini here?”
Now I look at myself again and I wonder what I did wrong. How could I have gone wrong? This fall was going to be all about a low-profile. I had let go of the striped-pants I wanted and used-up all my money on “Shalwar Kameez.” Alright, maybe just kameez. I had prepared well to come to the University of Punjab; got myself about 10 new Kameez-ein stitched. Who would not want to keep a low-profile going to school with the terrorists-to-be? Even though a pair of jeans and a Tee is pretty damn covering according to me but I set my rules, this time, especially for the Jamiat at the University of Punjab. And I can’t stress this enough but I GOT A WHOLE CLOSET FULL OF KAMEEZ-EIN. AND I WEAR A STUPID DUPATTA TO THIS UNIVERSITY, EVERYDAY!
Coming back to the road, the kameez and the dupatta was apparently not enough. My clothes were not tight, they never are. Yes, I was wearing half-sleeves but my dupatta was covering most of my arm.
Oh and my dupatta was of chiffon so I guess, kill me?
Or kill me for my short hair? What was it?
Coming back to the road for real this time, a rickshaw stopped by, “Kahan jaingi?” I shook my head in order to tell him that I am not waiting on a rickshaw but he was just there, staring and insisting.
Later, a car stopped by and three men came out smiling at me, talking to each other ABOUT me and yes that’s easy to tell. Well, they did pass by me but almost when I was dead sure they were going to stuff me in their trunk and drive away.
Anyway, for about 15 minutes, I was everybody’s business. I was a rabbit that had walked into the lion’s den and there were countless lions in that den.
I remember two men distinctly, who passed by me without looking at me. That was the little humanity I saw; two men who had lowered their gaze on seeing a woman. Period.
I wanted to believe that morality requires no authority and everyone had some in them. But it’s probably false to assume that there is innate morality in man. We are not genuinely good. I come out on the street and I know this for a fact because every man looks like a wolf there. The streets and roads of Pakistan, for a person like me, are the same as forests where you find a carnivorous beast at every step you take. Men, here, are hungry animals. They are not human. It is impossible to think they have families, sisters and mothers.