In 2016, I took my first international trip to Dubai and felt liberated in the city. People who are close to me may find this statement to be an exaggeration – I have been quite an independent person since forever. So, what was so different about the city that I can’t have it in Karachi – the city I grew up in? To explain what being liberated means in a Pakistani city is a bit complicated. The complexity is even greater when you have to pen down your experience as a woman in Karachi – the metropolitan city. For many in Pakistan, the fast-paced Karachi is actually a safe haven where they can find some solace after fleeing the suffocating environment back home.
But the city – which really doesn’t care what its inhabitants are up to – is also guilty of making its women uncomfortable. When I talk about being liberated in Dubai, I try to relive the feeling I had when I stepped outside the house and didn’t look around to meet the gaze of a group of men sitting near a tea stall. I didn’t flinch when I saw a man on a bicycle, silently praying that he would keep his hands in control. When I walked in crowded spaces, I didn’t hear the whispers of MashaAllahs. While our car waited at the signal and I stared out of the window aimlessly, I didn’t see a man double my age constantly turning around and looking at me. When I went for a Zumba class, I didn’t have to take a long chaddar or Abaya on my way to the gym. When I returned from dinner with my friend at close to 11pm, I didn’t think twice before grabbing the cab. When I sat inside the bus, I didn’t care about who was sitting behind me.
It sometimes gets frustrating to explain why I miss Dubai. Friends raise their eyebrows when I say that women’s mobility is restricted here – that my mobility is restricted. If I say that I wore jeans in Dubai comfortably, I will risk painting my country as a sepia-coloured backward country we hate to see in foreign movies where women wear shuttlecock burqa. But even with a dash of modernity in our clothing, we can’t really shake the fears we have when we venture outside.
How many times have we wrapped a 2.5m-long scarf around our shoulders just because we have to use Careem to work? How many times have we sent our car tracking details to our family just to be sure? How many times have we taken a screenshot of the captain’s details so that we have proof to send to Careem’s customer centre in case the captain refused to take us to our destination?
It is these points that make it all the more important to give words to those feeling of liberation I felt far away from home – from home! It is hard to tell how painfully heartbreaking it is for women in Karachi to have this love-hate relationship with the city. How can you possibly hate the city you grew up in? How can you betray the city that – in its limited capacity – offered so much to you? How can you? And even though I love my city to the core, I feel suffocated here.
When we talk about basic women’s right – their mobility in the city – men sarcastically say that liberal women (which is often used as a slur) in Pakistan want to walk on the streets in a bikini with a bottle of wine in their hands. I’d say let us first walk in our Abayas and long chaddar peacefully.
The writer is an assistant editor at The News.
Email: aimen_erumhotmail.com
Twitter: manie_sid