When I close my eyes in solitude and think about the goings-on in my life during the past 17 years, I realize that a big part of my life is gone, withered away, wasted…I try to think of all the optimistic reasons to refute this fact, but even though I hate to admit it, I have lost…in minutes and hours and months and seasons.

Where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently to maybe change my sealed fate? No, I’m not a pessimist at all. Why I even thank God to have given me this opportunity to live life and see it up close. There must be some lessons that I have learnt, some advice that I will be able to pass on to the future generations. Lessons learnt in human interactions, cultural -setups, role of father and husband in our society, religious perspectives, various ethical issues, the sacredness of the institution of marriage, its fall-out and ramifications, the ever confusing role of a daughter, mother and wife , the whole romantic notion of giving yourself up to another man, the intricacies of marital relationship, the issues of trust and fidelity the very basis of a relationships. What they mean and how they are misunderstood and misused in our hypocrisy -ridden society.

Every single idea that I held on to as basic and sacred just turned around and hit me in my face, my whole universe came crashing down …my husband had conned me, my marriage of 16 years had collapsed, my life was suddenly altered beyond my comprehension.

What did I do wrong? Was I not a model wife ? Was I not a good mother? Was I not worthy of my married name? Did my in-laws take me in on humanitarian basis? Are they above the law? What exactly is the place of a daughter-in-law in our sham society? Who makes the rules? When will these rules change? When will a woman be treated as a woman, first and foremost, before any label of betrayal or name of disgrace is pasted to her existence? I demand answers, I need my life back, I want retribution for every injustice ever done to me.

If my life, my honour, my name, my entity is in question then all lives , all honours, all names, all entities that have brought me to this end will be in question. I will rip them apart piece by piece, and expose their true colours. So God help them all.

Let me introduce myself to you, hi, I’m Fariha Asfundiar, my maiden name is Fariha Bukhtiar . I gave up my maiden name when I married my husband, on some old - fashioned, misplaced notion that he will be my saviour next to God. Honestly, when my father came to my room after the nikah, he whispered in my ear
“ baiti Khuda kay baad khawind hota hai”, my mother like every Desi mother had the same advice for me, be good , be respectful, you are after all the younger bahu, so let the older bahu have an upper hand etc etc..

They were naturally like any other concerned parent trying to give me the best possible advice and well-wishes. And I was all set for my new life as bahu of the great Asfandiar kahandan.

Little did I know that the khandan I had just stepped into was not only a big façade, but a true representative of today’s made-up, artificial, hypocritical, rotten to the core, slumbering self - justified elite class of Karachi. Their family structure much akin to that of a hierarchy , was like a fortress with set rules and system of living. It was like living under supervision all the time, strictly following rules, watching your every action and weighing your every word, lest you be judged insolent, inferior, uncouth etc. by the higher beings and cast out. At times it was surprising how the whole cult-like existence continues to work even today, where young and old all conform and never flinch fom their set life-styles. Don’t they grow tired of this excessive show of nothingness, can they really be so blind or is this breed an actual living proof of Sumunn, Bukmum Umyun( Quran). New bahus were supposed to fit into the system and adapt, to the point where nothing original remained , those who succeeded thrived. Others like me who could not adapt were labelled as outcasts , misfits, mentally challenged and inferior, and if they wanted to get out of that culture they were never a part of it anyway. So no one gave a damn.
While there were still some who despite all their independence and intellectual prowess continued to linger on and be a pawn in the hands of the Controller.

I have been brought-up in a moderately religious, middle-class, educated family, and my parents have always taught us to value human beings more than the material gains and names associated with them. Is that not supposed to be the normal way. People are people first, designations and collar stripes come later on. Status cannot replace character, paint can not hide the face, money is material, fame is short-lived and life is transitory. The only tangible good that can come about is from authentic good deeds.

Authenticity is a rarity in our dressed-up culture, much sought after but never really found. Why, it cant even be compared to the electricity or water shortage in Karachi, since these come and go, while that is hardly available.

It turned out I was fortunate enough never to live in my susral, my husband was working in the middle-east and I was spared the pain of the daily drill of social gatherings and small talk.

But, no, life was not easy, from the word go. My husband, through no fault of his own I believe, was after all a Desi man, whose prime object in life is to reign supreme over the lesser beings in his governance. I was supposed to carry on my duties, never flinch, never complain, it was understood from day one that my in-laws were celestial beings and my marriage into this family was my great honour. My family was just a bunch of no gooders, and were supposed to conform to their inferior role.

Like a Desi wife, I conformed, lived as to meet his every whim and tailored my every move to his fancy. He had a wild temper, as a child I was raised in a very caring and non- abusive environment. I was not used to abuse hence could not deal with it. But I resigned myself to my fate like so many girls in our society, and continued to try to make him happy and fulfill his ideals of a perfect wife. It became one long arduous journey…each day heavier than the previous…..my life a little more confused… Kids came, I got busy, routine went on and I never realized 16 long years of my life had gone by.

When kids get older, mothers find themselves all alone, wondering where to pick up the lost shreds of their existence and re- define their identities, that is exactly where I found myself.

I was now in a position to finally stop and take a long hard look at myself. And what I found disturbed me, I could not find myself. Yes, I did have a reflection in the mirror, I did see a woman’s face staring back at me. But I didn’t recognize her…was she an acquaintance, a friend , a foe maybe, was she old, was she young, would she talk, will she befriend me, will I be able to share my secrets with her, will she judge me, ridicule me, would she even want to know me??

I went into a deep depression, could not understand what had gone wrong. I just was not able get up and go anymore. All my practicality and sensibility could not draw me out of this hole that I had been sucked into.

Then I remembered my friends, high school friends, friends I could talk to and maybe friends who could make some sense out of my life .Once again I forget I was the wife of a Desi man, If I needed to talk to anyone I had to tell him first, even more so, If that friend in question was a guy.

Yes, now you can start stoning me, how can a woman in her right mind, call up her old friend, who happens to be a male and ask for his help if she is breaking apart. What if anything was she thinking, did she have a past, let us all kill her before she speaks out more and tries to fend herself.

No, no , no , hold on There’s more to the story.

After my marriage to my husband, he had asked me about my college life and my past friendships , I told him there was this guy who was very interested in me, but my parents did not approve, like all Desi parents my parents too had issues with inter-marriages. Likewise he told me of all his past associations and girl-friends. To which of course I had no objection, since the past had passed. And since God had made me very pretty I assumed he would never look elsewhere.

Any way that part of my past he never forgot , and it become a thorn in his side.

I was young and naïve and not at all educated in the ways of the world. He became insecure. He would taunt me, abuse me and put me down. He never let me out of his sight. He was inattentive, a bad provider, a harsh husband and controlling man. Did not let me study, did not give me money. We never went on vacations like normal families did, he was a bad-tempered father and a poor model for my son.

He had absolutely no interest in Islam, never went to masjid never taught the kids Quran.

Although he had a good job, he never had any money. He had this habit of asking for money from my family. And they continued to give him financial assistance from time to time for years. He not only took money from my brother but my little sister, my colleague, my friend and me too. It now comes to a total of thousands of US dollars. Not a penny was ever accounted for or returned.

We soon ran into financial problems, had to sell our home. My brother was kind enough to let us stay at his house on rent, but my husband never paid the rent. Situation got out of hand and I went into this depression.

My husband who had always known of my past, asked me to call up my friend and seek his help in my recovery. I told him that was not warranted and that I did not want to talk to him. He forced me to get his number and then made me call him every day. I was a distraught woman so frightened and abused, I could not say no. He said he wanted me to talk to him so that I could get out of my depression. It turned out , he was taping my conversations to publicize my life in public. My husband was taping my conversations and was actually proud of it.

Kaisay khali khali say ho gaye meri aakhoon kay sarey rang
Kitnay gehray gehray say ho gaye dil kay saray ghum
Kitni weerani si cha gai charoon taraf
Aj toth gae rishtoon ki dor
Khatm ho gaya sara khail
Main akaili reh gae
Toofanon kay beech main
Jaisay kumla kay reh gae aj phoolon ki wo bail
Main nay chaha to bohat tha jor kay rakhon wo ghar
Meri zindagi ki sab khushi ab tamam ho gae
Zarra zarra ho gaey saray pal saray peher…

I found enough guts to erase all the conversations and confront him, he hurt me physically and my sister called on 911. My parents came from the US and ordered him out of the house. Since the house was never his in the first place.

I separated and came to live with my little sister in the University campus. I had separated but I did not stop seeing him as kids were involved and so we saw each other very often. He asked me to come back, I said yes, but first you have to talk to my parents and explain to them why you did what you did to me. I gave him a year to clarify his position, explain where the money was, why had he done what he did. Nothing happened.

Suddenly one day we found out that he has been fired from his job because of stealing stuff from his work place. Now he is jobless and still confused as to what hit him, and is still trying to convince us and himself that nothing happened and what ever did happen was not his fault. Nothing is his fault all the fault lies with me who had the audacity to call up a male friend and then had the courage to erase the tapes.

My so called modern liberal in-laws shunned me out on the pretext that I was cheating on my husband. NO I WAS NOT. I would like all ladies in my susral to look into their closets. Not a single one of them can be called an angel. I can only pity them and their hypocrisy-filled world. And I hope that one day they realize they have daughters too…what if God decides to turn the tables on them??

To each his own…

In light of all of the above said and un said ..I triply divorce my husband and I triply divorce the pathetically narrow-minded sham in-laws. And to God is our return where we will all be judged accordingly...and to Him I surrender my case.