TIME POVERTY

Each day, *Neha finds herself caught in the exhausting cycle of meeting expectations from both worlds – where every hour is accounted for, and every moment spent on herself feels like an indulgence she can’t afford. She has given up her passion for sewing and embroidery and gardening due to her dual responsibilities of a full-time job and societal expectations of never lacking behind in her ‘real’ job i.e., homemaking. Despite all that, Neha still considers herself lucky to have a supportive husband by her side, who helps her in navigating the challenges of being a South Asian woman.

In the grand scheme of the universe, time is one of the few commodities that do not discriminate between men and women. In reality, unfortunately, the clock of 24 hours does not tick the same for men and women. When it comes to time, women do not have the luxury of choice. In South Asian culture, women continue to be subjected to larger expectations, including that of unpaid labour and child rearing, without consideration for their personal desires and autonomy for generations. If anything, these women take pride in spending their days serving those around them. As does Alia, a mother of three and an obedient wife of Ataullah from a small town in Sukkur, who admits driving happiness from taking care of her family. “My kids and husband are my life,” she gushes.

Objectively, it may seem like a sweet sentiment. But for a South Asian woman who has spent her life watching women around her bending over backwards to meet the standards of the society, it just saddens me. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for a woman prioritising her family and sharing equal load with her male counterpart. However, reading a UN Women study about how women spend nearly three times as much time as men on unpaid care work, made me reflect on their true potential if they weren’t shaped into caricatures of virtues designed to serve society at the expense of their individuality.

Of course, the extent of their unpaid labour significantly depends on the socio-geographical conditions. For example, a woman in an urban setting might manage to squeeze in a cup of tea for herself amid the ongoing grind of catering to everyone around her around the clock. However, for those in rural areas, unpaid labour often extends beyond household responsibilities to include active participation in agricultural work. According to quantification of employment and time use by World Bank in 2023, 62.2 per cent of women in low-income groups work in agriculture compared to 56.2 per cent of men, albeit often without proper recognition or monetary compensation.

To put this into perspective, various organisations have been conducting ‘Time Use Surveys’ (TUS) to study how people allocate their time across different activities. A 2015 review, ‘Women’s Time Poverty and Infrastructure in Asia and the Pacific’, analysed TUS data through a gender lens. The findings revealed that women disproportionately bear the burden of ‘non-market work’, such as household chores and caregiving. These unpaid responsibilities not only limit women’s economic empowerment but also lead to ‘time poverty’, leaving them with insufficient time to engage in paid work or other productive activities.

As a single mother, Sadia Ubaid Khan does not have much of a choice between fully dedicating herself to her demanding profession of journalism and making sure her children are well-fed and cared for. However, she appears pretty content with the trajectory of her life within the rhythm of her day that starts with Fajr prayers and culminates with a cup of tea after Isha. “Once you become a mother, I don’t think there is any concept of ‘me time’,” she elucidates. “My children hover around me even when I am sleeping,” she adds.

Most of Sadia’s self-assurance is rooted in the support of her mother, who divides her time between her own responsibilities and helping her daughter with household chores and caring for her grandchildren, while Sadia is at work. On days when her mother is unavailable, Sadia finds it difficult to maintain a clean home – a task she never learned to manage, yet is still expected of her. In years following the passing of her husband, she has learned to devote herself entirely to her three children, one of whom has special needs. Now, the concept of ‘me time’ is foreign to her. “My only ever escape are work trips,” admits Sadia, “but even then, as a mother, my thoughts and days are consumed by my kids. I shop for them, just as I used to for my late husband,” she adds. However, whenever she does manage to carve out an hour or two for herself, it is void of any guilt because “I make sure that I fulfill all of my kids’ responsibility before thinking about myself,” shares Sadia.

On the surface, Sadia’s sentiments, just like Alia, reflects sentiments of selflessness and love. It also exposes the internalised expectations; placed on them to preserve the legacy of having their time spent serving others even if it comes at the expense of losing their own identities in the process. For these women, time isn’t just a personal commodity, instead it is the trade off with duty, sacrifice and fitting in the gender roles assigned by the society built on the foundation of patriarchy.

A woman’s role in our society isn’t confined to unpaid physical labour; it is also bearing the weight of emotional labour of those around her, suppressing an unbaiting urge to scream and give up, all to preserve the sanctity of a home she may have no rights over – should the man one day decide she doesn’t.

Neha’s independence and self-reliance allows her the luxury of setting boundaries with her in-laws, though it comes with an onslaught of negative emotions, including guilt, dread and melancholy in the aftermath of spontaneous plans with her friends after work. Despite recognising the toxic societal expectations that vilify women for putting themselves first, she can’t help but come up with an off-hand excuse to justify taking some personal time beyond what’s designated to her. “I, an educated, working and privileged woman than many in this country, feel so small at times in front of the bitterness from the people around me,” laments Neha.

The surprising irony of a Pakistani woman’s agony is the pretence that it doesn’t exist – by both herself and those around her. A million thoughts run through her head when presented with the rare opportunity to pursue a hobby. And if she dares embrace it, albeit at her own inconvenience, it is conspicuously frowned upon and akin to somehow disrupting the natural harmony. After all, how dare she take away from her time, her day that is expected to be spent entirely rallying around others’ needs?

As evident above, women have become so accustomed to not claiming their time for themselves that it is hard to picture a life without someone hovering over them waiting to be tended to or being berated for harbouring desires that might deviate from cultural obligations.

Sahar, a pharmacist, homemaker, and mother of two, reflects on the toll of her daily responsibilities, admitting that even in rare moments of free time, exhaustion leaves her unable to pursue her personal interests. “I’ve been eager to learn more about Islam, but I simply don’t have enough time to read religious books,” she expresses.

Sahar’s tale is emblematic of how the cultural expectations gradually nibble away from their individuality, that too unknowingly. She shares how her husband encourages her to keep her hobbies, yet, in a society where her time is never truly her own, it is no more than a pipe dream.

With so many bids placed on her every minute, Sahar’s experience mirrors that of many South Asian women, whose identities are forever redefined by their ability to navigate the trade-off between their time and earning the title of ‘good’ in relation to the traditional roles expected of them in society.

This ordeal does not come without consequences. According to Neha, burning the candles at both ends has changed her in ways she doesn’t recognise. “My energy levels are very low. I hardly ever feel happy about things, I am angry all the time, lost my filter, lash out at very small things. I am no more the same person I used to be,” sighs Neha.

Neha’s account is the harsh reality of being a woman due to the myriad of expectations that come with it. Dr Saman Zia, a behavioural therapist based in Lahore, corroborates how the pressure to please everyone around them comes at the expense of neglecting their own selves, leading to feeling ‘stressed’, ‘overwhelmed’, and subsequently ‘losing their spark’.

“Society drills it into women that their worth comes from taking care of others. So, they grow up thinking taking time for themselves is selfish and not an option. In the long run, these women end up feeling stuck, exhausted, and even resentful, which hurts their health and relationships,” explains Dr Saman.

The concept of self-care for these women is repeatedly dismissed with the simplistic argument that they stay at home all day. But the repetitive nature of their tasks not only negatively impacts their productivity but also leaves them feeling ungratified. This is why the mental health expert declares taking personal time out as ‘survival’. “Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish. It’s survival. Set boundaries, speak up, and remember: you can’t pour from an empty cup,” stresses Dr Saman.

For women like Neha and Sadia, the complexity of their lives is magnified by the perception that working outside home is purely a matter of personal choice, irrespective of the financial or situational necessity behind it. Their days off are not truly their own – a myriad of household errands and family responsibilities await, leaving little to no space to prioritise their own well-being. The constant expectation to seamlessly balance professional duties with traditional caregiving roles only deepens the strain, making the idea of self-care feel like an unattainable luxury.

The fact that these women have little control over how they spend their time underscores a deeper issue: a profound lack of agency and autonomy in their daily lives. With societal expectations, family obligations, and economic constraints constantly weighing on their conscience and influencing their decisions, they are often left with an eroded sense of self, unable to figure out what to do with themselves when not serving others.

Our society is in desperate need of a revamp from ground level. When discussing women empowerment, state-level institutions often dismiss the plight of those participating in unpaid labour within the sphere of urban and rural communities. Acknowledgment that the issues exist is certainly paramount, followed by implementation of laws, policies, and programmes to tackle the systemic inequalities and discrimination that prevent women from choosing how they spend their time.

*Name has been changed on condition of anonymity. Bazigah is a journalist who is passionate about uncovering societal issues, cultural dynamics and the nuanced portrayal of women in South Asia. She can be reached at bazigahmurad01@gmail.com