A story of love, loss and second chances by Nikita Singh, releasing this Valentine’s Day.
Are you taking care of the calcium needs of your child ?
Somali Roy tells us that her eyes were opened to the reality of womanhood through Tehmina Durrani’s My Feudal Lord.
This story has been shortlisted and published for our June ‘As You Write It’ writing theme: The Book That Hooked Me.
Somali, in her own words: A freelance writer, foodie and a passionate traveller based in Singapore. She has an interesting story up her sleeve, for anybody who’s ready to listen.
I do not own the book that hooked me. A friend loaned it to me over a decade ago and I returned it after reading. So, what I write here is from memory, and in a way that’s good because a decade has erased the sundry and filtered only the parts that matter.
Growing up in a small town, I never realized that I lived in an opaque sanitized bubble – where my womanhood was sheltered, protected and cared for by parents. When I moved away, the bubble got flimsy. I was put in charge of my womanhood, but still too naïve to realize that you can’t just wear it like a batch pinned to your school dress. You are needed to protect it with an intensity that goes deeper than your mother’s wisdom talk – do not answer eve teasers or look at them in the eye, just walk away – and sharper than the safety pin you must carry on a crowded bus.
My Feudal Lord finally burst that bubble. For those who haven’t heard of the book, it’s the autobiography of a Pakistani author, Tehmina Durrani, who takes us on a journey from being born and raised in a repressive society, to enduring a traumatic marriage as the wife of Ghulam Mustafa Khar, a visible politician during Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto’s government and inveterate woman abuser to being emancipated and contesting for the rights of women.
Imagine my surprise when I read comments in a forum, blatantly deriding Durrani for coming out in the open and exposing “spicy” details of her life. Like telling the world, how her husband raped her when she went to visit him in jail, while her body was recovering from fresh surgery, or his incestuous relationship with her younger sister while they were married, or how he robbed her of the last drop of human integrity, when he battered her with a shot gun and stripped her naked?
Her father urged her not to file for divorce, “You can only leave his home in a coffin”. And her mother’s advice to deal with a ‘husband who behaves in a strange or unreasonable manner’ was to treat him like a sick patient who needs medical attention – “Deal with him like a psychiatrist”.
Being the citizen of a patriarchal society where the cultural norm for women is to remain silent against oppression, I sensed the stifling darkness of the corner she was pushed into, which led her to offer “spicy” details of her life for public consumption.
This book spoke to me about the extent to which feminism can be exploited which is boundless it seems, the extent to which conventional upbringing turn women – both the victim and her mother, in this case – as enablers, accepting such inhumanity as “fate”, reconciling with destiny and the implausible extent to which she endures it in silence, careful lest she harms the “honour” of her man, secretly pushing her pride under the carpet till it’s stained with her own blood.
“A prisoner ultimately settles into a monotonous routine. Anger recedes, senses dull. The spirit is crushed,” surrenders a pregnant Durrani after being brutally bashed by her husband because she visited a male doctor.
I don’t own this book because I don’t need to. It stands on a shelf somewhere deep, reminding me that there are countless shoulders that slump and ache with the burden of womanhood, while I have the luxury of flaunting it as a coral brooch pinned to my dress.
Somali Roy is a freelance writer, foodie and a passionate traveller based in Singapore. She
This article takes me back a decade when I experienced this book. A friend had recommended it to me as I was looking for a serious read. The reason I say ‘experienced it’ is because it is not just any serious book that you can read, put back on the self & forget about….it alters your view of the world. It changes the way you see the society we live in & the way it treats it’s women. It makes you realise how blessed some of us are never to have seen, let alone gone through, such trauma!
“How her husband raped her when she went to visit him in jail, while her body was recovering from fresh surgery, or his incestuous relationship with her younger sister while they were married, or how he robbed her of the last drop of human integrity, when he battered her with a shot gun and stripped her naked?” These are the lines that stood out to me not just today but a decade back too. They’re cemented in my memory. I’m not sure if it’s a woman thing but these are the only things I remember most from the hundreds of pages I read…maybe because as a woman I could not even entertain the idea of something like this happening to me – it was purely horrifying!
I went on to read a few more books on similar subjects – Princess, Girls of Riyadh…& finally stopped…it just got too depressing and I was beginning to turn in to a man-hater…couldn’t afford that at such a young age! But they served their purpose…they would never let me forget that for every small discomfort that I face, there are countless traumas faced by women everyday, sometimes for most parts of their life. That they don’t have the ‘luxury’ of freedom, equality & security which should be any human being’s basic right! Most of us in the liberated world take them for granted…well books like these remind us not to…
This rating is not so much for the book as for the woman herself.
Still, if only for her horrible experiences, I was inclined towards giving this book a 3-star rating. One sentence in the whole book totally ruined it for me – the lady goes to India and is allowed to enter without a visa (her husband has asked the Indian Govt for assistance in overthrowing the existing Pak regime) – she wants to, and is allowed to visit Ajmer Sharif along with a couple of special agents in tow – she complains about this as if implying that the Govt should have left her free to roam the country without a visa – then, the clincher for me: when she prays in the shrine, the agents are standing in the same room – she has the almighty gall to think:
“Their Hindu presence disturbed my Islamic prayers.”
God in Heaven, what unbelievable poppycock!!
I truly could not breathe for a few seconds, and actually re-read the paragraph a couple of times to make sure I wasn’t reading it wrong! Damn it, you’re in MY country, under the mercy of MY Govt, and our ‘Hindu presence’ disturbs your prayers?
Was she not saying her ‘Islamic prayers’ when she had illicit liasons (her words, not mine) with another woman’s husband while still married to Anees?
I wonder how her ‘Islamic prayers’ were not disturbed when she broke Sherry’s marriage and home?
Were her ‘Islamic prayers’ not disturbed when she broke her own home and the heart of her first husband Anees?
Where were her ‘Islamic prayers’ when she dumped her first daughter Tanya (not once, THREE times!) in order to run off with her ‘feudal lord’?
After this, the whole book seemed an exercise in self-indulgence. Both, she as well as her 2nd husband come across as self-centred, self-consumed persons, and I daresay, they deserved each other.
Author’s Corner: With Shefalika Verma
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Not Only The Things That Have Happened
A Life In Words
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