Bury me alive

Women in the World of oppression,

Living in a misogynist society,

Strong enough to voice discrimination

There is diversity of tales of women

Facing maltreatment and abuse;

In those narratives of violation,

Women are standing firm,

Some are striving for their life,

And fighting for their rights

Some Working for their dreams,

Or struggling to make both ends meet,

They suffocate to get freedom.

Yet, the women are not safe.

If women got raped,

Murdered, or abused

Our society starts victim-blaming,

Coz that’s the only way

To beat the rap,

And to disown women,

She is carrying the whole burden,

Even if it wasn't meant to be hers to carry

But she is not hopeless.

They try to suppress her voice

Yet, she is shouting,

“Bury me alive,

If you can’t see me progressing up,

Bury me alive,

If you can’t stand us fighting for our rights,

Bury me alive,

If you don’t want to hear my voice,

Bury me alive,

If you can’t respect,

Bury me alive,

If your justice dies,

Bury me alive,

Or let me live in peace.”

"I faced harassment the very first time by my 19 years old cousin when I was 9. He used to live with us."

(Saima was sitting on the chair with her hands clasped in her lap, and her ankles crossed)

“He threatened to kill my parents or my sisters if I told anyone."

(A tear ran down her cheeks)

"I was very young and timorous, and didn't want to lose any of my family members, so I kept my mouth shut. His father owned a gun, which he used to intimidate me every time I tried to run from him to my parents."

(She leaned over the table towards the tissue box, took a tissue, and wiped her tears off)

“The first time when he molested me, I tried to escape but failed. Luckily, my father’s car came outside the house, and on realizing that, he left me, and threatened again not to open my mouth. I ran to my mom’s room. She was sleeping.

(She heaved a deep sigh.)

“It was 2 O’clock at noon. Summer was at its peak, as it was the end of July. We all used to sleep at that time. But that day, I ran to him by myself because of the video game he bought two days back. I didn’t notice his attention until he gripped me, and I still remember that thirst in his eyes to exploit my body.”

(The screen behind her back was showing the name of the show “the survivors”)

I didn't wake my mother up because I was scared she would ask me questions if she saw me frightened. I acted like I was asleep when my father entered the room. He was in a hurry, so he took whatever he came to take and go. I wished he would stay.

I laid there looking at the door, it seemed like he might come in here in a minute or two. I awaken my elder sister from sleep by saying I got a bad dream; and started crying; she got up, pulled me closer to her chest, kissed my head and hugged me tightly. I was breathless. She said; don’t worry, it was just a bad dream, but I was inconsolable. My sobbing woke up my mother as well. She got worried, hugged me, and started running fingers across my hairs. On enquiring about the matter, my sister told her about the dream; She smiled at me, kissed my forehead and said, it’s not a big deal my princess. Let me pacify you, and started reciting verses from the Holy Quran. I wish I could tell her what bothered me, but I couldn’t build the courage to tell her what her princess was going through. She didn’t ask me about that nightmare. I feared if she would ask, I might tell her.”

(The camera was only capturing her hands movement; her face was totally concealed behind the dark light.)

“Those few minutes with him in his room and that pain were the worst time of my life. I wish I never ran to him for video game. I considered him my elder brother and my parents treated him like their son, but the devil’s face revealed every time he got the chance to spill the bad out, so did he. Because of him, I feared every man around me. Those years were the most difficult years of my life.

I remember one day, when I was walking home, I got into a bike accidentally in front of the school. The cyclist stopped there to take me to the hospital, but I refused as I got minor injuries. My elder sister assured me about him taking me to the hospital. But I was so reluctant that my school staff felt it was inevitable to call my father to take me to the hospital. School staff and my sisters told my father about my behavior, but he explained it as “she avoids interacting with strangers and that’s a good thing.” According to him, I behaved right, and he didn’t bother me to ask anything and so did my mother. Yeah! It was right; I didn’t have anything to tell them. But maybe if they asked, I might tell them why I acted like this. This habitual pattern grew deep roots in my mind, and with every passing day I felt more vulnerable.”

(She took a glass of water from the table, had a sip from it, and placed it back.)

“Almost 9 years after the incident, at my sister’s engagement ceremony, I was really confident and excited because my father prioritized my opinion and made separate arrangements for males and females, even though it was a family function. When the ring ceremony started, the males started appearing on the female side to see the ring ceremony. I was on the stage but my mind was continuously towards the males. Actually, I was afraid of facing my abuser, and didn’t want to spoil my evening. It was my bad luck that he stood behind me. Upon realizing his presence, I felt a sudden jerk in my body and my heart started sinking. It had been 9 years since the incident, but I felt the same restiveness. I changed my place to avoid him, and didn’t look at him during the whole ceremony; I stayed there because I didn’t want anyone to notice my behavioral change. After guests started leaving, I ran to my room and shut myself in. Those feelings of uneasiness made me breathless, and my heart beat accelerated, I couldn't control my thoughts, I feared as it was going to happen again; that fear, that pain, that rapid heartbeat rate, those feelings of losing control of my body, feelings of shock, that feeling of someone else taking complete control of my body. Everything started playing again in front of me.

(A tear rolled down her face, her cheeks reddened)

“Those thoughts wounded my soul completely, and I couldn’t resist getting these thoughts every time I saw him. I was in my room crying badly when my father came. He asked me to open the door, and upon opening , I pressed my head against his chest and let my tears rushed out freely. It was the comfy corner I needed badly. These tears were been inside me for the past 9 years, and they wanted to rush out, so I let them. My father was kissing my forehead now and then, asking me the reason, but I was just sobbing and crying and was out of answers. My mother and my other sisters also came in; a sense of distress filled the air.”

(Her voice was shaky.)

“My father was asking continuously, did someone say anything bad? But I was frightened. I couldn’t find words to tell him anything. Even on my mother’s question, I barely said, I don’t like men and I don’t like to be around them. My father was repeating the same question about what had happened. He was running fingers through my hair and my mother was rubbing her hands against my hands to calm me.”

(Saima started looking at camera 2, as she was following the instructions of the director)

“He said, ‘Saima, my daughter, listen to me carefully. You don’t have to fear anyone until I am alive. I am here for you, my child. Tell me what is bothering you.’ His choking voice was a sign of how much he was feeling upset, he tried his best to take me in his confidence, but the thing that started circulating in my mind was how can I, after 9 years, tell them what I had survived and what I had gone through. I felt ashamed of myself. I have been like this since the incident, but they didn’t seem to bother and now they were saying to tell them everything. I wasn’t able to speak a single word. I just said, “I am okay, I have read in many books how bad all men are. They didn’t care about any women around except their own women.”

My father said, “Not all men are bad, my dear, but to be protective of yourself is a very appreciative thing.

Being overprotective means you are not confident of yourself. Your behavior is conveying negative messages to everyone around you. You have to face people and challenges. This is life and here, you cannot imprison yourself in a room. I hope you understand what I am talking about. Next time, whenever you read anything like this, it’s better to ask me questions rather than taking everything on your nerves.”

My mother said, I might not read such misogynist stuff, and she ordered my elder sister to take all the books off my shelf that disturbed me mentally. I gave a pleading look to my father; he stopped my elder sister from emptying my shelf. My mom angrily got up and left the room. My father was such a gentleman, no doubt for every daughter her father is the king of her kingdom, but for me, my father was a pure man, he kissed my forehead again and left the room by saying; I must go now to pacify her otherwise I had to do the dishes for the whole week. (Ofcourse he was talking about my mom)

(Though her face was not clear, but the viewers could see her wiping her tears off and her miserable smile.)

My sisters were with me; they both held me in a tight hug. One of my sisters said, “You don’t need to worry until we are here. We will burn the person alive if one tries to touch you.”

I was nervous. I tried to tell them about the matter but again I found my voice stuck. All these years, I was facing this trauma. No one ever asked me about the problem, but now when I hesitated to be around people, they found it as a matter to be worried about. I wish I could tell them that books are not the problem. It was not the misogynist content that bothered me, it was the person. But I was never able to tell them.

This was the biggest mistake my parents made. They didn’t let their children know what a bad and good touch was, and if someone tried to trespass on your body, how to fight it and how to take one’s parents in a trust.

There is no therapist like parents. My parents didn’t understand that their child needed to be listened to. Parents must give their children enough confidence that they share every minor detail of their life, and the most important thing is, “listen to them carefully, from childhood to adulthood, and discuss their matters with them patiently. And don’t blame them for the things they weren’t aware of.”

My father started observing people’s behavior, especially around me. He was about to retire from his job so he started planning a house in a new city, where I could continue my further studies in a good institution as I wasn’t prepared to live in a hostel alone, nor do I want coeducation. So my parents felt better about changing the city. We moved to Lahore as soon as my father retired, and somehow my behavior started normalizing as I was away from my cousin. I started studying at a women’s university. I used to sit in the middle of the third row just to avoid my male teachers. There was a teacher of mine who used to teach us psychology. He was about my father’s age, and made me believe in good men. He figured it out very soon that my fear of man is at extreme level and that’s probably because of my heart-wrenching experience. He started talking to me in class indirectly so that I didn’t feel uncomfortable. He used to give us assignments on topics about mental health and traumas. In the beginning, I hesitated to write, but when I find out that he didn’t read assignments aloud in front of the whole class, I found it safe to write everything without any fear, and the most respectable thing about him was he never asked us to write our names on assignments. I started explaining each and everything in different ways and pouring my heart out into each assignment. Whenever I finished writing, I felt very light weighted and relaxed. In each class, he talked to us for almost ten minutes, in which he guided us to get rid of traumas. But one day, he told us something very different. He said, “You know you all are your father’s princes; you all are proud of your family. You are strong enough that whoever came near to touch you, you can break their bones. Trust in your abilities and stop thinking that you are weak because you are a woman. If you want to survive in a misogynist society, you need to be strong; mentally, emotionally, and physically. Don’t trust any man except your father, brother, husband, and son. You are precious; don’t let anyone control your mind. Your mind is your own working house; don’t give the charge of it to others.” He said, “You know you have the ability to fight everything. You become weak when you underestimate your abilities and let fear control your nerves. You become weak when opinions of others matters to you more than your own. When you think about how people will react to your thoughts, and what they might think of your character. If there is anything that bothers you and that’s from a particular man, don’t ignore the feeling and fight for that. If something bad happens to you, don’t be quiet. Raise your voice for yourself, so that other girls who observe your action will take lessons from your courage and raise their voices for their rights as well. But if you quit, you’ll allow rapists to roam freely. Fight for what’s right. Otherwise, your regret will haunt you forever. Now it’s your choice to get yourself out of trauma, or be the slave of that trauma.”

Those words stuck in my head, seemed like I got the solution. On arriving home, I wrote every word of my teacher in my diary, and from that day, I started processing my trauma. Traumas can be fatal if they don’t process timely. I dealt with my trauma for about 15 years, and when I started processing it, I found sudden changes in my behavior. To process, I write things that disturbed me mentally, and then I ask myself different questions, like “why didn’t I speak up for myself for all these 15 years?” And “What can I do to get out of this.”, then I write their answers below, and the ways to handle the situation. The best thing was that I stick to those ways. I tried it until my mind got freedom from past pain, and the fire of hope started burning. My heart no longer breaks with the memories of the past. I no longer avoid people. I started going to family functions. I started working for my dream, the dream of making girls powerful enough to break the walls that stop them from making progress. So I got associated with different NGOs and today I run my own NGO. Among different career choices, I decided to work for others, especially survivors of abuse, rather than working for myself. I faced this trauma for fifteen years, and I know what this struggle seemed to me. Working for other girls like me gives me inner peace, and that’s what I have been striving for the past 15 years.

We women are entitled to better standards.

(The lights in the darkroom turned on, and flashes of the camera made Samia's face clear under the bright light, she was now speaking with a confident voice.)

I am a woman with a precious soul,

A world lives inside me,

I have an ocean of thoughts,

Hallooing like waves in my head.

I am a desert thorn,

And a mountain with rocks,

But whoever I am,

I always carry a turret of affection,

I can change thorn to roses,

And alone deal with despair.

I can heal my traumas,

My own fire of wisdom,

If I break or feel distressed,

Or I would be left alone,

If no one stands beside me,

And no one would be there to support,

I can fight all that alone,

I am a woman with a heart of gold,

I know I am worthy,

I know I am capable of love,

I know I deserve to be supported,

I know I can change whatever I want,

You don't need to tell me anything,

You don't need to mend my ways,

The best thing you can do to me,

Is to let me discover all alone,

And give me the respect that I deserve.

Beyond that,

I can walk on my own,

I can straighten all my paths,

I am a woman, the best of the creation.

I know I deserve to live on my own.

______________________________________