When I was married to my ex husband and was being mistreated, so many women said to me - give it 5 years. He will settle down. Everything will fall into place. This is the worse thing you can say to anyone stuck in a bad situation.
Also, 5 years is a LOT of time to sacrifice to someone who can’t get over his ego. I wrote an published a novel in 5 years. Traveled to 3 countries. Taught about 200 students. Made some amazing friends.
In fact, I lived more in those 5 years of divorce than I did in the 24 years where I was being respectable enough to attract an appropriate proposal. The amount of self worth and independence I gained still tide me over today.
Also, not sure how much someone who is emotionally or physically abusive EVER settles down. Those years are really to get you so firmly stuck into a situation that you can’t get out, and status quo and hence ‘stability’ is preserved and the extended family isn’t inconvenienced.
Abba has two death anniversaries: 21 Ramzan and 12 September. On the first I feel gratitude that I had such a good wonderful father and I remember only the good stuff. On September 12, there is a lot of bitterness: because my ex husband hijacked my fathers death.
The best decisions in my life have always involved quitting. I quit a bad marriage. I quit the fulbright scholarship and grad school because it was just not right for me. I quit several relationships with other women that were toxic for me. Quitting, if done right, is an art.
Today, my husband's uncle called me and said I was a bad mother for leaving my children for five days to meet my family in Pakistan. 'Pata nahin aap kiss qism kee maa hain.'
One thing I’ve learnt is that people who hold grief, who let it become a part of them and who survive it and still love and laugh despite feeling amputated, such people are sacred company.
When I was growing up, all mums Sunni friends came to koonday and even tasted the Niaz. Then Zia happened and Farhat Hashmi happened and one day Ammi’s best friend said we were doing biddat. She stopped coming. Many followed suit. It was very sad.
On her 80th birthday, we surrounded mum in bouquets of flowers and then gave her breakfast in bed. She burst out crying. Then we made her watch a video of all her loved ones all over the world wishing her a happy birthday. She cried some more. Then she smiled. And then cried.
The Shia version of Bridgerton balls are the majalis, particularly ones hosted by ladies at their homes, where mamas scout suitable girls for their eligible sons. Young girls, wearing the latest black lawn outfits, pretend not to notice while they are scouted. Much less exciting.
Mum was devastated not to host a Majlis at our house for the first time in decades due to covid. Then she had three dreams and managed to pull a socially distanced one in the garden last minute. May God accept her devotion to the Prophet’s family.
Someone I follow on twitter (I’ve forgotten her name otherwise I’d tag her) talked about choosing to not have children. I think it’s an excellent choice. I love my children but I’m realising that to be a good mum, I can’t follow MOST of my dreams.
I was so sad to hear about the PIA crash today. But my heart bled when I discovered that school mate died with her husband and three boys. She was such a star, had so much to do. I’m glad she and her family are together in heaven, where there is peace.
I was telling beti that because she’s a big girl she needs to sleep not with Ammi or Baba but by herself in her own room now. Beti tartly replies: ‘Ammi I can sleep with anyone I want.’ This doesn’t bode well for the future.
This is a great example of how a pedestal enchains women, by the way. I replied that my husband was, in fact, a great father and heaven lay under his feet as well because he gave a damn about his wife and children. I used the term 'mard' - 'laikin mera mian tau mard hai, uncle.'
Today I was minding my own business when my fifteen year old stepson gave me a hug, for no reason at all. Chuffed. I think I’m doing something right!
#stepmomdiaries
It's been six years since I arrived in this country. It now feels like home. I no longer dream of Karachi or even miss it. But my heart aches when I think of my mum, living bravely and by herself in a big empty house.
I tel you step-mothering is hard. But there are days like today, when my body is fighting off a nasty cold and all babies are asleep and I am hungry and my step-son is whipping up a quick hot pasta meal for me. This kid is a jaan. At the end of the day, he cares.
He doesn't SEE how his own chauvinism is hurting him. He yearns for his children, but cannot rid himself of this internalized toxic masculinity that diminishes women and children. He, like so many men, stand in their way. Patriarchy hurts him too. It's terribly sad to witness.
As a mum and house wife and a Masters whose degree isn’t recognised; as a writer who isn’t writing much, I often feel invisible. Today I’m writing to people who make me feel seen, who respond and pay attention. Some of you are here on Twitter and I just want to say, thank you!!!!
I mourn my father on one day, and mourn my own trauma on the next. But I am also grateful for all the love that I have now. I’m grateful Abu wasn’t here to see all the nonsense. I hope he’s in a better, simpler place with his mum and dad.
Can my English friends explain to me: why do you need so few bathrooms in your life? A house will be on the market for say...£1.7 million and have seven bedrooms and lots of room but only ONE bathroom. What hell is this?
‘My daughter is getter married, Mashallah. You have to come. Alhamdulillah the boy is very well settled, Allah ka shukar. He’s a Grammarian, we are also Grammarians, so you know, it’s all good, Mashallah, alhamdulillah, shukar Allah Tallah.’
In a few days I’m flying to Karachi. Will go to Abu’s graves and introduce him to my boys and imagine him beaming at them. Then I’m going to put my mum in my lap and wait for her to call me paagal before I release her. Please pray all this happens.
When I said that my husband was also a parent and perfectly capable of taking care of the children, he said that heaven lay under a mother's feet, not a father's.
Pls pray for my 4 year old niece named Zahra who is fighting for her life in the ICU. She is so little. Children should never be sick. Please please please say a two second prayer for her.
Aunty Jee just told me that an Urdu-Speaking girl must never marry a Punjabi man. A Punjabi girl must always marry an Urdu speaking man. Because Urdu-Speaking men treat their women somewhat decently.
So I have moved into a new house and it’s come with a neighbour who is a sweet old lady who is in the throes of dementia. In three weeks I’ve had to escort her home thrice, she’s come to ask for help twice already. Each time, I’ve accommodated her as best as I could.
That threw him off. Had this uncle of my husband's been a 'mard', he would still be in contact with his daughters. (They haven't talked to him for decades). He also feels a wife's place is in the home, and our income is 'pocket money' incomparable to his proper earnings.
Despite being Shia, I never quite understood the point of maatham, except of course, as a sign of mourning. Today I saw a Palestinian father hold his dead sons in his arms. They were the size of my 4 year old sons and their faces were bloody.
Husband said that lockdown made him feel listless, without milestones to count passage of time and lack of mobility. I said I have felt all this for the past four years with young children.
Had been waiting for biopsy results and I just found out I DON’T have cancer. God is great. Thinking about others who haven’t and will not get such glad tidings and thinking of them.
Woke up this morning angry because I had to clean up after yesterday’s birthday party and no one helped me and This is considered ok because I am the woman of the house and therefore it’s my job to die of housework.
I left them six months later. I couldn’t take their insensitivity, their lack of empathy and their hatred of me because I was not ‘breaking’. They took away my father’s last moments from me. They took his mourning away from me. They still dominate my thoughts on this day, not Abu
Is it wrong to end a friendship with a guy who has done nothing to you but who has unrepentantly abandoned his wife and young children in the most heartless and cruel way? Because I just did that toda
My uni tutor, who doesn’t know that I am a published writer, tells me I need to consider what kind of style I want to develop if I want to become a writer. I’m doing a course because this country doesn’t accept me as a Masters, which I am.
As most of you know, I love my mum. Going to the beach for her means having a cup of tea while standing in the waves and sipping tea. Then she will tell whoever has joined her not to wade in too deep because we are all tiny children who will drown. Exhibit A.
Mind blown to discover that hasina Moin never wrote the whole play at once. Instead she wrote whilst it was being produced and directed, seeing how the characters were developing and where they would go. It takes an enormous amount of gumption to do this.
Mum offered to pay for the driver, cook and cleaning woman to have their vaccinations for them. They all refused. Driver said it would affect his fertility. Cook said it was haram. Cleaning woman said that she didn't trust what they gave to the poor people.
I should have been there when Abu died. But my in-laws were going to an iftar and my ex-husband and his mum insisted I leave my father in the ICU and attend. I resisted and when they insisted, Ammi thought it best i ‘compromise’. Abu died while I was gone.
Ammi getting her hands wet in Gilgit. I can just imagine her looking around every ten minutes and saying, ‘Khuda kee qudrat ke kia kehnay’ and then jhoomo in ecstasy. Every time I’m out in nature, I can hear her voice saying, ‘khuda say behtar musawir aur koi nahi hai.’
I told my husband I was quite annoyed that everyone was cooking And making things during the shut down and making me feel singularly talentless. Shameless show offs I said. Five minutes later he sheepishly presented the croissants he had baked for tea time.
What followed was a night of being hammered by threats and blackmail as I refused and berated him on his timing. After the soyem, I was told by my father-in-law not to ‘overdo’ it - meaning I was not focusing on them and too much on my own family.
@HajraQadir5
Much love to you. I don’t know your situation but if you can get out, so so. Show your daughter what it is to be strong. But if you can’t, I pray you find other means of help and dignity.
During the funeral, there was a general feeling that I had somehow inconvenienced my in laws. They made a great show of things: providing food and all, but the night my father died, my ex husband insisted I leave my job (I used to teach) otherwise he’d divorce me.
Ten days after Abu died, Eid came. I was made to dress up in full regalia and pay a visit to all the in laws’ relatives when really, I just wanted to go to Abba’s grave. When I was allowed to visit my house, they came with me.
I have realised my daughter is being socially excluded by the groups in her class. It breaks my heart but working on her self esteem - have brought teachers on board. Parents - please share stories of how your daughters survived being continually ostracised by their peers.
They said Eid Mubarak to everyone. And everyone sort of looked at them as if they were crazy. When they saw the mourning, they made a hasty exit, including the ex husband. I was finally allowed some hours with my mother.
Update on my niece: she’s still in the ICU but off dialysis and ventilator. She can breathe on her own but it’s unclear how much her brain has been affected. She’s thus far unresponsive. Please pray she comes back to us. Her name is Zahra and she’s only 4.
The following weeks, they all bore down hard on me. It was as if the loss of my father made them think I had nowhere to go. So there were scoldings, silences and lots of hatred my way. I was turned out of the house twice when my mother was not in town.
All the people who told me to get a real job/ degree instead of dreaming to be a writer are now stuck at home reading and writing and wanting my opinion on their little pieces of greatness. They can go to hell.
All through this, I didn’t have the time to mourn my father. On his Chelum, my ex had a premonition that he too was going to die. And of course, he made Abu’s day all about him again.
Being solely responsible for housework all the time really deprives one of joy and spontaneity. And it’s thankless, invisible work. I’ve caught myself sipping tea and stressing about the mess around me. Also I don’t feel calm in my surroundings.
Im intensely grateful for my children and the responsibility we owe to them. But I totally understand how some men and women don’t want to down the path we have. It makes excellent sense.
A child who is protected from all controversial ideas is as vulnerable as a child who is protected from every germ. The infection, when it comes- and it will come- may overwhelm the system, be it the immune system or the belief system - Jane smiley
Their heads lolled back lifelessly in their father’s arms. And I couldn’t contain myself - I howled and beat my chest because my heart hurt too much. I hit my chest hard, again and again and the pain was cathartic. May all your children be received by Imam Hussein in heaven.
Please join me in admiring Ammi’s face as she writes a note to someone. Every time she writes, her cheeks puff up and her lips purse together primly and properly.
My biggest fear as stepmother is a failure to love.With your biological children love just happens. With step children it’s a constant choice between generosity and pettiness. A tightrope where it’s sometimes easier to fall off than continue walking.
Does any one else’s mother slam the phone shut in mid conversation without saying goodbye because she deems it over whether you do or not? All I have to say is Acha ammi and she’s like Haan khud a-hafiz and then dhuz , phone shut, conversation over while you’re still speaking.
I will end with a picture of myself and Ammi, where we share a shawl and listen to Qawwali and jhoomo the night away till 9:30 after which we both need our respective beds.
My brave and talented cousin died and was buried today. I’m so grateful to have had her in my life. Fuck cancer. Took her away in six months. The only consolation is that she is no longer in pain.
Dear Friends,
Been sitting on this news for a while, feeling too devastated with the world to post about personal achievements.
I’d like to announce that my third novel, ‘A Woman on a Suitcase’ will be published by Penguin India. Will post more details soon.
May Bibi Sakina feed you water from Kausar. May the Prophet wipe your tears away and May God’s blessing heal you from the scars this cruel world inflicted on you
#Gaza
Still remember one maulana laughing and saying that the trials of moharram bear fruit in Rabialawwal in terms of rishtas etc. I want to say he was being satirical, but I fear not.
During my first wedding I was told not to say ‘yes’ to the Maulana’s ‘qabool hai’. A modest girl waited for the question to be asked a third time. Second wedding, I said yes even before the maulana finished asking the question. All these adaaein were charming but ridiculous.
Very excited to announce that ‘A Firefly in the Dark’ is becoming a TV series. I still balk at the ‘for the entire universe and for all perpetuity’ but. Sleep deprivation and some amount of nervousness in my smile while I sign the contract here.
Sometimes I think the marriage I’m portraying in a novel I’m writing is way too abusive and then I see a post on soul sisters about the stuff young girls go through and then I realise that reality is ten times more toxic than fiction.
This is not to say I resent my children - they are a dream of mine too. But other dreams - the crazy ones, means abandoning connection and seeing only to my one desires - to be gloriously selfish - and that’s not possible.
Also I’ve been told I should bow down and kiss husband’s feet for taking care of daughter for 4 days. While I really appreciate his support no one tells him to kiss my feet when I sacrifice writing time to raise his child And cook and clean for him. The patriarchy I tell you.
I just spoke to a friend from Pakistan. She is talented, beautiful, stylish and incredibly considerate. And her self-worth is down to her ankles because she is continuously judged because she is over 40 and single.
Having four children - including a teenage stepson and rambunctious twins and a sensitive daughter, has left me depleted. I don’t feel like I have the potential to achieve anything anymore. I’m very tired.
Also, don’t use children to make a marriage work. If you don’t have them and are stuck in a bad relationship, you are bringing them into a toxic situation. That’s your fault. A man who has to be bound to you via children isn’t a man worth having.
Moving to a new country where my precious achievements - degrees, writing, and workshops etc are null and void is another blow. I did have the energy for continuity, but Not for reinvention.
This is a symptom of the main problem of mummy’s boys. They never really commit to marriage with another woman. More often than not they want someone to take care of their mummies and perhaps, when mummy is busy and they’re in the mood, they’ll do some husbanding.
Absolutely devastated to hear of Fatima Ali’s passing. She fought a brave battle and did not go gently into the night - she danced all the way there. My thoughts with her family. I hope she is pain free and eating lots of honey based products in heaven.
My husband also feels the weariness. He needs to work at a certain pace to give our children the things we want them to have. He’s tired and has little time to replenish himself as well. If we had fewer children or none at all, then I suppose we would look and feel younger.
On this her 79th birthday, (we celebrated a week earlier) here is a picture of Ammi holding my four week old twins. She was exhausted , ecstatic and also kept feeding me haldi doodh. I wish I could hug her.