I was checking social apps’ notifications before sleeping as usual, when I saw the BBC report about Ghulshana honour killing case.
Gulshana, a 23 year old girl, was murdered in district Sanghar, by her brother in the name of honour. She was married, and 6 months back she was thrown out of her house by her husband who alleged that Gulshana had an affair. The report says she begged her brother not to kill her.
I can imagine how much she would have resisted and begged her brother not to kill her. Another night I’m going to stay awake… another disturbing night.
Now all I imagine… all I see in my head and all I sense is Gulshana’s face. Even after the struggle of trying not to think about her anymore, I cannot help myself.
A girl killed in the name of honour and I can’t take her out of my mind!
In the silence of midnight, I am imagining the scene that continuously grabs my attention. I can feel a weird silence all around her dead body, the frightened girls of her age and the younger ones are watching the dead body from the window...
They are not allowed to touch her.
A body that was alive, breathing, dreaming, and hoping she would win. She would keep herself safe from her brother, from the society, which does not allow a girl to breathe. It does not allow women to live. It prefers the so-called honour instead. The fragile honour that is sometimes compromised when the women of a house do not wear the veil. They kill girls for this and do not feel guilty.
The girl's body along with her dreams, wishes and desires, are all in the casket and will be buried soon. No one will listen to her mourning.
My mind goes again to the girls, who are not crying for her. One must be her friend as she seems more depressed. Their eyes are not wet, lips are closed, but I can feel the grief, the sadness all around.
They say no one cries for the girl who gets killed in the name of honour. Honour is all we have.
So, they coloured the roof red with her blood to keep their honour secure. No one is touching her because she got killed to save the honour of the family.
The honour that this society has placed on women’s shoulders. It does not let her dream. It does not let her think of a different life than the traditional one. This honour has murdered another dreamer. This honour has ended the journey of girl in this world.
The night will end, and days will go on. We will forget her like we forgot Qandil Baloch and all other poor souls.
I am giving another try to sleep. Closed my eyes and am hoping someday they all will stand together and end this system that does not allow us to sleep peacefully.
I whispered the verses of Imtiaz Dharker's Poem Honour Killing to myself,
“At last I am taking off this coat,
this black coat of a country
that I swore for years was mine,
that I wore more out of habit
than design.
Born wearing it,
I believed I had no choice.
I'm taking off this veil,
this black veil of faith
that made me faithless
to myself,
that tied my mouth
gave my god a devil's face,
and muffled my own voice.”
Goodbye to another soul.
Gulshana, a 23 year old girl, was murdered in district Sanghar, by her brother in the name of honour. She was married, and 6 months back she was thrown out of her house by her husband who alleged that Gulshana had an affair. The report says she begged her brother not to kill her.
I can imagine how much she would have resisted and begged her brother not to kill her. Another night I’m going to stay awake… another disturbing night.
Now all I imagine… all I see in my head and all I sense is Gulshana’s face. Even after the struggle of trying not to think about her anymore, I cannot help myself.
A girl killed in the name of honour and I can’t take her out of my mind!
In the silence of midnight, I am imagining the scene that continuously grabs my attention. I can feel a weird silence all around her dead body, the frightened girls of her age and the younger ones are watching the dead body from the window...
They are not allowed to touch her.
A body that was alive, breathing, dreaming, and hoping she would win. She would keep herself safe from her brother, from the society, which does not allow a girl to breathe. It does not allow women to live. It prefers the so-called honour instead. The fragile honour that is sometimes compromised when the women of a house do not wear the veil. They kill girls for this and do not feel guilty.
The girl's body along with her dreams, wishes and desires, are all in the casket and will be buried soon. No one will listen to her mourning.
My mind goes again to the girls, who are not crying for her. One must be her friend as she seems more depressed. Their eyes are not wet, lips are closed, but I can feel the grief, the sadness all around.
They say no one cries for the girl who gets killed in the name of honour. Honour is all we have.
So, they coloured the roof red with her blood to keep their honour secure. No one is touching her because she got killed to save the honour of the family.
The honour that this society has placed on women’s shoulders. It does not let her dream. It does not let her think of a different life than the traditional one. This honour has murdered another dreamer. This honour has ended the journey of girl in this world.
The night will end, and days will go on. We will forget her like we forgot Qandil Baloch and all other poor souls.
I am giving another try to sleep. Closed my eyes and am hoping someday they all will stand together and end this system that does not allow us to sleep peacefully.
I whispered the verses of Imtiaz Dharker's Poem Honour Killing to myself,
“At last I am taking off this coat,
this black coat of a country
that I swore for years was mine,
that I wore more out of habit
than design.
Born wearing it,
I believed I had no choice.
I'm taking off this veil,
this black veil of faith
that made me faithless
to myself,
that tied my mouth
gave my god a devil's face,
and muffled my own voice.”
Goodbye to another soul.