Who helped me struggle onto my chubby toddler feet. Who helped me spell out my first big word (dinosaur). Who helped me learn to tell time, even though every other kid in the class magically seemed to already know this. Who heard me whine and complain about training bras. Who saw my sometimes snotty-faced pre-teen… Continue reading Thank you God, for the Women
They say you shouldn’t use the word hate, because it’s very strong. It makes you look nasty, and mean-spirited. Well guess what? Sometimes, I hate this interconnected online world. I hate the way my Gmail is linked to my Facebook and my cell contacts are synced with everyone I know on Twitter, and Pinterest and… Continue reading You Have One New Notification
Guess what. Most days, neither do I. The way my thighs jiggle when I run, and the “wholesome” curve of my fat arms. You don’t like my body. I don’t like myself. Just another fat girl. The chubby friend. The girl who is fun, and interesting and creative, but c’mon, you’d never date her. I… Continue reading Oh, You Don’t Like My Body?
We’ve all talked about it, whether it’s in hushed tones when our mothers aren’t listening, or maybe when you’ve just broken up with the last guy – we want Prince Charming. Whether or not we admit it, and even if we hide behind the whole “Of course you always have to compromise – especially as a… Continue reading Who is Prince Charming?
It’s been a while since I’ve brought the topic of marriage onto this blog. Some of you might remember my post about rishta aunties. I wrote that post three years ago, easily quipping about how twenty-somethings in Pakistan are always fretting about the all-seeing potential mothers-in-law hunting them down. Well, guess who’s a twenty-something know?… Continue reading So When Are You Getting Married?
while there will be plenty of people with celebratory smiles (and hopefully, cake) and words of praise, there are some facts you need to get straight before work life completely surprises you. This is a list of just some of the ones I’ve managed to figure out (thanks for the heads up, everyone in my life).
I’m sitting in my aunt’s living room, amidst an ongoing argument on the issue of the electricity and expenses of cooking food without gas, the usual start to my day in this household. Every day, since she returned back to Pakistan five years ago, I’ve watch my aunt wake up to a very typical version… Continue reading Coming Home – A Thought
Education, apart from being the cornerstone of a successful and fulfilling life, helps mold and polish students and Ilmesters Academy aims to make your child shine. The administration, faculty and staff members are pleased to invite your family to the Open House. Ilmesters Academy is an IB World School with the goal to meet the… Continue reading Ilmesters Academy Hosts an Open House in Karachi
I was talking to a friend a few weeks ago, and over sips of chai, we shared our lives with each other. During our discussion, we realized that so few of our colleagues enjoyed picking up a good novel, and diving into the story it holds. In elite universities in Pakistan, we hear discussions about… Continue reading BOOK SALE! Get your books here!
There is a way in which the myth of peaceful resistance is flattering to the oppressor and disabling to the oppressed. It’s as much the oppressor’s narrative as anyone’s. “You ought not to fight us with more than the image of your own broken body,” it says, “for we who oppress you are good and rational — most of the time. We have the same interests as you, and understand that you enjoy the same basic rights. We, your rulers, simply need to have our consciences pricked from time to time.” By couching the antipathy as a mere moral lapse, the oppressor is permitted simultaneously to deny the actual material basis of the social division and hence the necessity for a struggle for liberation that is more than merely symbolic, and to perform a mental splitting-off from its own identity of those aspects of itself it can now pretend were inessential deviations from its rational, humanistic core. Just as the United States broadly did with the benighted South of Bull Connor and the Klan. As if the story of American racist oppression was one of mere regional ideological peccadillo and not one of the founding principles of the whole nation’s economic structure. As if the story of Apartheid were simply those nasty Afrikaners and their gauche racism. They’d probably lived in Africa too long and allowed its “tribalism” to rub off on them, and so deviated from the European universalist norm. Still, one of us in the end, eh? – Three Fingered Fox