Fear
(A poem & a social commentary)
In the light of the morn
darkness, all around.
She tries to smile
her lips stay bound.
Invisible ropes
trapping them in place,
invisible binds
surround her waist.
As walls close in
ruthless, unyielding
a whimper escapes
No more! She’s pleading.
They continue to move
trapping her in place.
And she suffocates
in their dark embrace.
And then she’s falling
in darkness she drowns
No escape, no respite
no color, no sound.
In a world pitch black — the dominion of fear
there’s nothing to see, and nothing to hear.
In it she dwells, a puppet on leash
No chance of survival, no hope of reprieve.
I was alone in a building once.
Three floors high and there was no elevator. Only one exit — the flight of stairs I had just climbed up.
I was early.
There were 30 mins left before tuition class started and no one else was there yet. Not even the teacher. The classroom door was locked. This wasn’t a school, just a random private building.
I waited in the stairs. A large open glass window showed a view of the street below. The 9 am sun shined bright, its rays brightening up the staircase.
It was quite. Calm…peaceful. And I felt suffocated.
This is when the first two verses of this poem filtered through my increasingly frightened subconscious:
“In the light of the morn, DARKNESS all around.”
Nothing happened that day.
Sixteen minutes later another girl joined me on the stairway, then slowly the rest of my classmates and finally, the teacher arrived and we were all seated in the lecture room.
If anyone noticed something off about me, they didn’t say. I was my usual super cheery self. And I hid my feelings well.
Back home that evening and within the privacy of my room, I finally addressed how I truly felt. Acknowledged to myself that today at 9 am, in that sunlit stairway…I had been afraid.
Afraid because I was a female, alone and unarmed, standing in the stairway of a nondescript building. I shuddered to think what could have happened should someone have followed me up those stairs.
It shamed me to realize exactly how scared I had been. Because at the end of the day: nothing had happened and I felt like a fool.
I wrote the rest of ‘Fear’ in a single sitting. Fueled with embarrassment and growing resentment at that girl on the staircase. I dissociated her from myself. She was a puppet, a slave to her vulnerability. She was not me and I wanted nothing to do with her. ‘Fear’ was as an admonishment, and a lesson for her to never be scared of something so trivial again.
Nevertheless, since that day, I have never traveled without a swiss knife in my purse, not wanting to experience that feeling of helplessness ever again.
I was 15 at the time.
Today at 27 when I go through this poem again, I feel a renewed sense of anger and resentment. But this time the anger is directed not at my 15-year-old self, not at that poor frightened girl on the staircase, but at the true culprit.
Today, I am angry at the society that is responsible for making young girls (and women) feel afraid even in their safe places. Because events have proven time and again that I was right to be afraid that day. Alone, in that building, I had not been safe.
For I live in a country where no woman is truly safe.
The most recent, harrowing example: on September 9th, a woman traveling on an inter-city highway with her three children, is preyed upon by the dregs of society, gang-raped and discarded. When the Chief of Police is questioned, he, instead of taking responsibility, blames her for her “sheer audacity” of traveling without male supervision.
This is not an isolated incident. In the past 24 hrs, there have been 7 reported cases of rape in the Punjab province alone. The NGO Sahil reports that nearly 8 cases of child abuse are reported per day in Pakistan, with girls disproportionately affected.
And that is not all. Women are abused in market places, at work, at times even in their own homes. Women are killed for honor, out of scorn, or for simply being born. And when they protest outside or on social media, they are harassed there too.
I cannot condone a society where a rapist can roam free, but his victim becomes a pariah, where fake preachers take advantage of innocent children in mosques, and where survivors of domestic violence are ostracized for having the audacity to come forward.
I do not just blame the rapists, I blame the enablers, the rape apologists, the keyboard warriors, the closet misogynists, the victim blamers, the corrupt cops, and the failed justice system. Most of all, I blame this society that has failed to hold its men accountable.
As members of this society, we are all to blame, and we must all play our part to heal what I fear may already be irrevocably broken. The first step towards making this country a safer place for its women and innocents is by changing our collective mindsets and accepting accountability.
Despite what some self-righteous bigots on social media will tell you, defending women on a public platform does not make you weak.
So next time someone in your circle objectifies a woman, slutshames, or engages in so-called ‘lockerroom talk’ — shut them down. Next time when a woman raises concerns/feels uncomfortable, listen to what she’s saying. Next time, instead of enforcing restrictions on your daughters, teach your sons to show respect. And next time, when you witness harassment of any form, don’t be a spectator, speak up, raise your voice. Because if you don’t, you are part of the problem.
