Mariya Ali

Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.

Category: Feminism (Page 2 of 3)

Veena Malik vs. Muslim Cleric

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAO8oc93UVQ

I love how Veena Malik confronts this cleric and raises some fantastic points – there is so much more to concentrate on in Islam than one actress dressing or acting inappropriately. It’s true and it’s often looked over – Muslims spend so much time defending our faith to the outside world, that we forget to defend our faith to each other.

Terrorism, for example… If you watch the news, all of the muslim councils “condemn” terrorist attacks after they are undertaken, but what is done to prevent them? In Ramzan, multiple media campaigns are run to raise awareness of Ramzan and rozas, but where is the media in discussing the true meaning of “Jihad”? Where is the media in teaching young impressionable Muslims that killing innocent civilians is a sin? What about teaching Muslims that, regardless of whether they disagree with Western values, millions of Muslims live happily and are welcomed in western countries by the same people that they want to kill?

Although the above clip is about defending Pakistan and Pakistani values, Veena Malik brought up some great points about Islam and the role of the clerics in allowing the corruption that exists within this religion to continue.

What an inspiring woman.
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Finally: Justice for FGM

bohra women

http://scroll.in/article/755852/in-australia-three-dawoodi-bohras-face-supreme-court-trial-for-circumcising-their-daughters

A good friend of mine who currently lives in Australia told me about how the court case against the Bohra community in Australia was garnering a lot of exposure in the media. The above article does an exceptional job (thank you Aarefa) of coming from a neutral place (which is very hard for me to do with my views on this matter) and stating the facts so succinctly.

Finally there are public ramifications for breaking the law and harming your own flesh and blood.  The mother-daughter bond is so strong, yet religious zeal is strong enough that it convinces people to hurt their own daughters and delude themselves into thinking  that they are doing this for their daughters’ well-being.

7 years in jail? A small price to pay for the lifelong effects that this procedure causes the innocent little girl. I do sympathize with the fact that if convicted, this would render the daughters mother-less for that period of time – however, the flip side is that it will serve as a strong deterrent to others who consider inflicting this procedure on helpless girls.

I acknowledge the Australian authorities for spending so much time and investing so many resources in gathering unequivocal evidence that these events took place – even exposing the corruptness that exists within the Bohra community structure; the trickle down unspoken threat of the consequences of speaking out, the secrecy surrounding the procedure and the coercion of the innocent girls to keep quiet over such a scarring event.

Here’s hoping that this is the first of many prosecutions – let there finally be punishment for this crime. Perhaps the negative exposure may make influential players change their position and save thousands of girls from being subjected to this brutal experience.

An Unbearable Pain

It’s unnatural to bury your child.

I just spent the afternoon having lunch with a lady who had lost her daughter 9 years ago. The pain that she carries with her is hard to see. I went with her to visit her grave, which she does every day. She took the rose petals that she keeps in her fridge and asked me to scatter a few petals for her. Her house was a shrine to her daughter, her room kept exactly the way it was 9 years ago. Pictures of her daughter were all over the walls and the counters. It was sad to see the pain that she carries around with her all the time and the tears that trickled. I messaged her to thank her and she said that she was sorry if her tears made me feel uncomfortable, but this is part of her life now. I have never seen so much pain in a person’s eyes before. Even after 9 years, her grief is so raw and visible.

My heart goes out to her and to all of those who have lost a child.

It makes you realise just how precious life is.

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Men, At Least You Can Pee While Standing Up

Men’s Rights.  I suppose if I think of someone who says that they believe in Men’s Rights, the first word that comes to mind is chauvinist, which really doesn’t have the best of connotations.  As a self-proclaimed feminist, I am a staunch believer in women’s rights and equality, however, I think people lose sight of the fact that sometimes it’s not particularly easy for men either.  I seem to be into making lists nowadays, so I’ll continue to use this MO.

Reasons why it sometimes sucks to be a man

  1. Affirmative action.  Women are given preference
  2. You’re always shitted on for the glass ceiling and pay gap, although the majority of you have no part in it
  3. You’ll never get maternity leavefeminism
  4. Nobody really cares about you at your own wedding
  5. You have to pay to get into clubs
  6. You don’t get to wear makeup to make yourself look better – think dark circles and no concealer
  7. You have to shave
  8. Hairy chests
  9. Beer guts
  10. Pressure to have a six pack
  11. Hairy armpits
  12. The potential to develop moobs
  13. You can’t wear a bathing suit so you have to go topless  (See points 8-12)
  14. Regular haircuts
  15. Business casual means shirts, regardless of the weather
  16. You can’t wear heels if you’re short
  17. It’s hard for you to get away with overtly checking women out

But on the plus side, at least you can pee while standing up.

India’s Attitude Towards Women: Statistics Can Lie

The girl in the Delhi metro

India’s Daughter. This one movie created a stir across the World. Banned in India, this is a piece that follows up on the fatal gang rape of a female 23 year old that took place on a bus in Delhi, India’s capital. The perpetrators were interviewed and an outrage was caused by what they had to say.

Singh says: “A girl is far more responsible for rape than a boy” is for rape. And, he adds: “A decent girl won’t roam around at 9 o’clock at night. … Housework and housekeeping is for girls, not roaming in discos and bars at night doing wrong things, wearing wrong clothes.”

The outrage was most certainly justified. However, I would like to spend some time showing the other side of India, the one that isn’t addressed in this film. After all, Indira Gandhi, the world’s longest serving Prime Minister, was female. And Indian.

I looked towards the door. In front of the exit stood a young woman, with her streaked curls tumbling onto her forehead. Her black dress, which ended only a little over her knees, hugged her fragile body. Standing on bright red heels, she stared into the compartment. The compartment stared at her.

Stories of Delhi – no, of Gurgaon! – rushed through my head. I wondered why she would want to enter this world, instead of the first compartment marked pink with white flowers. Her right hand clasped the strap of her Hidesign bag. She held it tightly against her body, and stepped forth into our hell. The compartment breathed the outside air, and waited for her eagerly.

I thought I saw the old man next to me nod in apprehension. The two men nearest me barged into me, compressing me in the process; I dropped my shoulders, brought my feet together and became insignificant. Every man around me reacted the same way and transferred, to some extent, the lack of space to his immediate neighbours. I waited for someone to burst out in anger and frustration.

And then, I witnessed the most extraordinary scene. The lady walked in and turned her back towards the compartment. Two young fellows and a pudgy, middle-aged man formed a semi-circle around the lady, around half a foot in radius. Men backed away, giving her a whole foot of freedom in front of the sliding door. Every other man in the vicinity gave up a few inches to accommodate the lady – to ensure they stayed at a decent distance from her.

In a country known for rapes and crimes against women (in the rape-capital of that country), I could see how statistics could lie. This was a most brilliant and inconvenient depiction of the same culture which is being blamed for violence against women.

“Ting-ting, ting-ting,” and the doors closed.

Great importance and emphasis is placed on family values in India. Sisters, mothers and daughters are for the most part, fiercely protected by their male relatives. There are always going to be men who have no respect for women, men who demean, belittle, hassle and attack women, but in a country with a population of 1 billion, there are many men who do not.

I have been encouraged by watching “social experiments” carried out on the streets of India. Actors and actresses play out different scenarios where the men are seen harassing the women and the behaviour of passers by witnessing this has been very encouraging. In fact, I have even seen footage of a male passer-by beating the male actor, to the extent that the actress had to intervene and explain that it wasn’t real.

Of course, India definitely does have a long way to go before equality is attained. We still have very traditional roles, there is still innate issues with attitudes towards women and we are still objectified in Bollywood. However, I don’t think the current state of affairs is quite as bad as the media is portraying.

After all, sometimes statistics can lie.

Female Genital Mutilation: India’s Well Kept Secret

Bohra brides

Those who know me even vaguely are aware of how firmly against the practice of FGM I stand. It saddens me to think of all of the innocent, unsuspecting girls who trustingly go to a doctor or an elder, only to be brutally mutilated, oftentimes without any anesthetic and in poor sanitary conditions. There are so many reasons why I believe this is so wrong on so many levels. I previously wrote a blog entry on this topic.

Today I was sent a great article on FGM within the Bohra community:
http://www.thequint.com/2015/apr/07/female-gender-mutilation-indias-well-kept-secret

To highlight a few points (my comments are italicized):

“When I was around seven, my grandmother took me on an outing. We went to a dingy building. The women there told me to take my panties off. Then all the women, including my grandmother, pinned my arms and legs down. One of the women took a blade and began cutting me down there. I screamed in terror and pain.”

Those may be the words of only one woman, but they convey the anguish faced by many.

I 100% wholeheartedly agree with this. This practice has no place in 2015. It is barbaric, brutal and unislamic. Mutilating innocent girls in the name of religion, scarring them for life and causing so much grief and pain is not something that a benevolent God would endorse, let alone enforce.

“Tasleem’s goal was to collect enough signatures to present to the Bohra High Priest, His Holiness Dr Syedna Mohammad Burhanuddin, ordering a ban on this ritual.

However, Burhanuddin’s spokesman, Qureshi Raghib, regrettably ruled out any change and claimed he had no interest in discussing the issue:

I have heard about the online campaign but Bohra women should understand that our religion advocates the procedure and they should follow it without any argument.
– Qureshi Raghib, Dawoodi Bohra community spokesperson”

And with what authority does Qureshi Raghib speak? Has he personally sat down and studied Islam, to find the actual context of the Hadith that this tradition is based on? ( A woman used to perform circumcision in Medina. The Prophet (peace be upon him) said to her: Do not cut severely as that is better for a woman and more desirable for a husband.) Notice how a woman who was already doing this procedure was told to not do it severely. Nowhere is it said that this is a required practice in Islam. Has Qureshi Raghib ever sat down and listened to a woman describe her experience? Has he ever seen the look of sheer terror in a young girl’s eyes when they first see the blade? Perhaps then he may develop an interest to discuss the issue.
Mr Raghib, I am a bohra woman. Who are you to tell me what I should do with my body? Who are you to tell me what parts to keep and what parts to cut off? Who are you to tell an innocent child that?

“Debate on this subject is generally taboo and any discussion sacrilege. The women of this community, are made to believe that it is practised all over the world, as well as crucial for their social acceptance.”

Exactly. It’s all kept secret, not to be spoken about. Even amongst us girls, the topic is rarely discussed. This is why this practice continues, despite the fact that it is illegal. Education is needed so that people can make informed choices, rather than “follow it without any argument”.

A great blog on this can be found at https://breakthesilencespeakthetruth.wordpress.com. Bravo to the woman who has created this site, going against the grain and standing up for what she believes is right. It’s high time that the rest of us women who have endured this primitive procedure, or those who know anyone who has been through this trauma stand up and take back our basic human right to keep all of our organs intact.

PS. Please sign the petition

10 Life Lessons I learned from my grandmother

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Today marks a month since I last saw my grandmother’s beautiful face, heard her soothing voice and laughed at her funny jokes. My life was enriched greatly through every moment that I shared with her and I would like to share 10 of the very many things that I learned from her.

1. Never let another person dictate how you feel
I remember several occasions when Nanny was spoken to abruptly and harshly. Raised voices, undeserved criticism and mean words intended to hurt were flung at her, a scenario which would reduce many others to tears – but not Nanny. She would brush it off, smile and then offer the other party a cup of tea. She taught me that your feelings are yours and it is your choice whether to allow others to create or change them, so simply choose not to.

2. It is always a good time to have a good time
I can’t recall a point in time where I was ever around Nanny and not smiling. In 15 years of living under the same roof and countless interactions since, I have never had a frown on my face because of her. More than happiness though, she was just so much fun to be with. Whether it was dancing in the aisles at an Elvis Presley impersonator concert, checking out cute guys or going for a musical, Nanny proved to me that with the right company and the right attitude, everything is fun. I’ll miss her cheeky smile when she knew she was up to her mischief, but I will continue to keep her legacy alive by trying to have as much fun with others as I did with her and endeavour to be that much fun to be around too.

3. Never underestimate the impact of a small gesture
It was 2009 and I was in a dark, dark place. I was hospitalised and having a particularly rough time. I remember the nurse coming in and giving me a cupcake from Millie’s, my absolute favourite. She had told me that my grandmother had come to give it to me and so I asked her where my grandmother was so that I could thank her. After all, the hospital was an hour and a half by train from her house and at that point, Nanny walked with a cane. It was a huge effort for her to come all the way to see me. Informing me that she had left, I called Nanny.
“Nanny, where are you?”
“I’m on my way home dear. I came to drop off your favourite cupcake because your dad told me that you weren’t doing well. I left because I didn’t want to disturb you. I hope you feel better soon.”
Needless to say, with every bite of that cupcake I felt better and that one act of kindness is one of my most precious of many lovely memories that I have of Nanny.

4. A simple phone call is all it takes to show someone you care
There’s nothing worse than being wrapped up in a warm duvet in a cozy bed when you’re sick and then having to jump up and run downstairs to answer the phone call before it goes to voice mail. Unless, of course, the phone call is from Nanny.
“Hello darling, your dad told me you’ve got a cold. I was just calling to see how you are doing.”
Or
“Hello Mariya, your dad told me that you didn’t sleep too well, I just wanted to make sure you are okay.”
Every single time I was sick, without fail, I would get a phone call. Every time I will be sick, I’ll hear that phone call in my head and remember the healing feeling of knowing that someone cares that much for you, knowing that she always will.

5. Make the most of life
Nanny’s father, my great-grandfather, Albert, fought for England in both wars. During the Great War his knee was hit by shrapnel resulting in him having a limp. In the second, nerve gas left him with a chronic cough for the remainder of his life. Nanny was 9 when the war ended and she would often tell me about how she was sent to the countryside during the war to keep her safe. I believe that witnessing the war gave Nanny an appreciation of life that she carried with her and lived by for the remainder of her time here. Always looking on the bright side, enjoying each moment, pampering herself and selflessly devoting herself to her loved ones is how I will always remember her and how I aspire to live. There was a silver lining in every cloud for her and whenever I would get upset, she would tell me to “never mind. You can’t go back and change the past.” She would just move on, forgive, forget and be happy.

Along with life, Nanny had a refreshing outlook on death. “When I’m gone Mariya, I’m going to come back and haunt you. I’ll flicker all the lights and scare you!” After she passed away, the lights in the house flickered daily for over a week. I smiled and said “Hello Nanny.”
A couple of Christmases ago Nanny gave me a pendant with a beautiful poem on it. I read it and said “Nanny, you’re not dead yet!” Upon which, my mother scolded me. Now, I’m going to make a plaque for her grave with them poem that she gave me and I wear the necklace all the time.
It reads:
“Those we love don’t go away,
They walk beside us every day.
Unseen, unheard, but always near,
Still loved, still missed and always dear.”

6. Always take pride in your appearance
I look at a lot of my peers and their relationships with their grandmothers and I realise just how incredibly lucky I am to have had the relationship with Nanny that I did have. While other grandmothers had grey hair for years, my Nanny was experimenting with her hair colour. Red, light brown, auburn, blonde, Nanny was always up for a change. We had mani-pedis together, haircuts, shopping trips…I felt like I was with my best friend and not my grandmother, but then Nanny filled both of those roles. Her hair was always done, her nails were always painted and she always had her rouge and red lipstick on. She was confident and beautiful, up until her last breath and beyond.

7. Leave voice mails
Since caller ID, who even leaves voice mails? You can see the missed call, so there’s no reason to leave a message. Plus, I don’t want my voice to be recorded, not to mention the possibility of another embarrassing voice mail like I left for my friend Zenab on her family answering machine, where I started the message by calling her “Zenab Aunty”. I then spent the remainder of the message apologising for my mistake and trying to explain why I accidentally called her that and that categorically, in no way did she look like an aunty. Moral of the story is that voice mails, in my most humble of opinions, are pretty pointless.

When I came home the day that Nanny passed away, there were new messages on the machine. People had heard and were calling to give their condolences. 38 messages, some old and some new. An alert told us that there was only 2 minutes of recording time left and we would have to delete some of the messages, after all, we were sure many more people would call and they did.
Message after message was from Nanny.
“Hello, Yousuf, just calling to see how you are.”
“Hello Mariya, can you call me back please dear? Thank you.”
“It’s nice to hear Mariya’s voice on the machine, miss her, love her heart.”
And my ultimate favourite:
“Hello. Guess who?!”
It’s so comforting to know that I have Nanny’s voice recorded to keep forever and I can listen to her whenever I want. Each message reflects her personality, caring, kind, thoughtful, funny, mischievous…and each time I hear it, I feel like I’m talking to her again. So from now on, no more simple missed calls, I’m going to leave a message. I just hope that I don’t accidentally call my friends “Aunty” again.

8. Pets enrich your life
Nanny loved cats and surprise surprise, so do I. We grew up with Leo and then Tommy, the former a ginger cat and the latter a black and white cat. I have so many fond memories with them, petting them and playing with them. I resolved a long time ago to have a cat when I get my own house and have my own children, so that they too can learn how comforting and fun a pet can be. Both of our next door neighbours have cats and every time I pet them, I remember my childhood and my many memories with Nanny’s cats.

9. There’s nothing better than the written word
I remember my dad coming home one day and telling me that Nanny had given a card to me. That’s odd, I thought. It wasn’t my birthday or Christmas, the two occasions when I would, without fail, receive a card from Nanny. Perplexed, I opened the card.
“Dear Mariya,
I just wanted to tell you that I love you and that I’m always here for you. I hope you have a happy life and that all your dreams come true.
Lots of hugs and kisses,
Nanny xxx”
All these years later, I still have this card in my memory box.

10. Life is sweet
At the end of each meal, Nanny would say “What’s for sweet?” No meal could go without dessert. The last time I saw Nanny, a week before she passed, my brother and I had taken her out for lunch.
“Where do you want to go for lunch Nanny?”
“That place with the good sweets!”
My brother tried, in vain, to convince her otherwise. The restaurant was 10 minutes from our house and half an hour from Nanny. It meant I had to drive all the way back to the restaurant, then all the way back to drop Nanny and go all the way back home again…an extra hour of driving. Nanny was adamant – she wanted that dessert!

We ordered Nanny’s usual, a bunless lamb burger and we had our burgers.
“I can’t eat any more”, Nanny said half way through her lamb.

Bhai and I finished eating, looked at each other and gave each other that mischievous grin that we both learnt from Nanny.
“Ok, let’s go home Nanny. If we leave now we can beat traffic, otherwise we’ll hit rush hour.”
“But what about dessert?”
“Nanny, you said you’re full.”
With her finger, Nanny outlined a little circle on her belly and said “I left a little space for dessert, right there!”
Nanny finished a sundae meant to be shared by 2-3 people so I think the space she saved wasn’t quite as little as she claimed it was.

Bhai and I have both inherited her sweet tooth, much to the dismay of our future cardiologists I’m sure. However, Nanny taught us to always keep space for the things that you love!

Just like Nanny did with all of her meals, I will finish on this sweet note. I’m so lucky to have had Nanny, she was the kindest, funniest, sassiest, craziest, most fun, caring, sweet, selfless, loving, adorable, charming, sincere, indulging, generous, gracious etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum grandmother a person could ever ask for and I love her deeply, sincerely, wholly and eternally. I miss her every moment of every day, but I know like she promised me on my necklace, she’s with me, walking beside me and occasionally flickering the lights.

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