arch Mubarak!” The words resounded at the Lahore Press Club on February 12, at the press conference that was to inaugurate the Aurat March.

This year, Aurat March and Women’s Action Forum had decided to hold the march a month in advance, due to the approaching month of Ramazan. In my head, the decision was made so that those who would be fasting shouldn’t find it difficult to join the march. However, at the press conference it was explained that since women are mostly the ones taking care of sehris and iftars, the expectation from them to fast and arrange elaborate meals at their homes and then also show up at the march was unfair.

This was my first time marching for the cause I deeply care for. The first couple of times, I could not participate because I was studying abroad. Later, the pandemic had struck. As an almost 30-year-old woman now, working as an academic and paying my own bills, I decided not to ask for anyone’s permission (pat on the back). Dressed up in my newest attire and jhumkas, I set out on what would be one of the most heartwarming experiences of my life.

As the marchers gathered in and around the Press Club, the little girl inside me, who had grown up hearing stories of Asma Jahangir and her troupe’s resilience, felt a surge of emotions. The academic in me, however, wanted to have all her students there, just to be alongside the women marchers who showed the same resilience as the late Jahangir.

The marchers proceeded towards Faletti’s Hotel on Egerton Road, where I saw Khawar Mumtaz walking right beside me. Earlier, at the press conference, she had narrated the story of how things turned insanely violent on the same day 42 years ago when a bunch of brave women marched in protest against Qanoon-i-Shahadat, a draconian law that relegated women to the status of lesser citizens under the dictatorial regime of Gen Zia-ul Haq. As someone who had played a major role in the protests back then, and was still active, Mumtaz gave a newbie like me great hope and inspiration.

The march was led by Nighat Said Khan, one of the WAF’s founding members and a staunch supporter of the feminist movement in Pakistan, in a wheelchair. As much as I was excited to see my ‘sheroes,’ I was also in utmost awe of them.

Amidst spirited chants of “Torr torr kay bandhanon ko dekho behnein ati hain” and the speakers blaring “Hum inqilab hain,” I could not help but feel a festive vibe. From the marchers moving ahead with their slogans and vigour, to a former student of mine offering me and my friends some gajras, to the sun shining in all its glory and us claiming the road — even if for an hour or two — felt like a festival I needed as a woman.

There were a few curious men who had come out of their office buildings and were staring at us, but they didn’t interrupt anything. Forty-two years ago, this wasn’t the case.

any reported that the turnout was low, but I believe the march was a victory. Seeing young women police officers, hand in hand, offering us protection was so reassuring. Forty-two years ago, this wasn’t the case, I was told.

A few curious men had come out of their office buildings and were staring at us, but they didn’t interrupt anything. Forty-two years ago, this wasn’t the case.

I saw some not-so-well-meaning Youtubers hanging around, but I’m sure they didn’t quite get the kind of juicy scoops they wanted. The marchers chanted “Mera jism meri marzi” in unison, and there was no hue and cry about it. Only a few years ago, this wasn’t the case.

Upon reaching our destination, an intense dance performance was presented by artists from Ajoka Theatre. The performers highlighted women’s ordeals as a consequence of dowry, domestic violence, forced marriages and much more.

It is worth mentioning here that the organisers as well as the volunteers of Aurat March had made sure that on top of its charter being inclusive, the march would be the same. Whether it was the recitation of Pushto tappay by Pashtun feminists, or the sign language practitioners narrating everything; whether it was all of us chanting a Palestinian liberation song or making speeches about the resilient Baloch women; whether it was the conversations about domestic workers’ rights or the demand for changing religious minorities’ family laws; whether it was about the rights of the hari, funkaar or working women, or women unlawfully suffering in jails — every single aspect of the march screamed inclusion.

In addition to performances and speeches, there were activities such as the Wall of Rage where the marchers would go and write about their experiences in a patriarchal society; or the purple ‘ballot boxes’ in which the marchers could cast a vote based on the phrases they had heard in their life. A purple chaadar, called Umeed ki Chaadar, which depicted messages of hope for all, was laid down by the volunteers.

The theme of this year’s march was Feminist History. This was also the reason why I could not have missed it. The organisers of Aurat March together with members of the WAF shed light on how there’s a dire need for inclusion of feminist history in the Single National Curriculum, so that students from an early age would learn stories of strength, courage and valour of women who led the feminist movement in Pakistan.

Since this was my first time at Aurat March, I was quite nervous about what could go wrong. However, as the day progressed and I got busy with the festivities, I realised that all it takes is a little bit of courage and faith. The rest is history.

Sau baton ki eik hee baat

Ho ker rahega Aurat March.

Faaria Khan is a lecturer at LUMS and a human rights researcher. Her research interests lie at the intersection of education, gender and South Asian minorities.