“Education before Erection”

Pardon me if my title is too direct for some of you but honestly there was no other way to put it.

Beginning further, the topic of sex is considered taboo in a country like Pakistan as well as throughout the whole subcontinent. Why you must ask? I don’t quite know myself. Considering it’s a natural act performed by everyone everywhere around the globe whose outcome are none other but us human beings. Then what is so inappropriate about it that we can’t discuss it openly?
Why is it okay to do it but not talk about?
Why is it okay to see it but not okay to have any questions about it?
Why is it okay to share it via internet but not okay to receive proper education about it?

In this blog post I’m not here to discuss about sex education specifically but education as a whole. Let’s start by keeping it simple. Having intercourse means having kids. Having kids means taking up the responsibility to raise a part of the future generation. Capiche? Well how do you expect to raise and educate a generation when you yourself are not educated and raised properly? And how were your parents supposed to raise and educate you properly when they themselves were not raised and educated properly. And just like that this goes on and on and on… way back. Why are so many children homeless and begging on streets? Why are so many kids depressed and suicidal? Why are so many mothers going into post-natal depression? Why do so many fathers feel their only job is to earn money? All of this is due to the lack of education and upbringing which has been going on for a long time now and has starting to seem normal. But sadly, it isn’t.

No matter how uneducated a person maybe they still are educated enough to know how to make babies. And once they’re into the world then what? Lack of attention, mental stress, depression, anxiety, poverty, high expectations, imbalance and finally leading to them being adults and repeating the same cycle over again. (SIGHS…)

1. To the in-laws who force their children to have kids, let them decide since they are adults which was probably the reason why you decided to get them married no? STAY OUT OF IT!

2. To the couple who feel it’s an obligation to get pregnant the very next day of your Walima. No, it’s not. Chill. Being pregnant is a big responsibility since you’re contributing to the future generation and if you want your contribution to be worthy and mentally happy give it a thought and take your time. Rushing into it is just going to leave you both unprepared and then the poor thing unprepared for the rest of its life. Okay?

3. To the men who won’t stop till they drop (have a son). Go f*ck yourselves! (that was meant seriously.) Ain’t your girls fault you ain’t got no Y chromosomes. So yeah give her a break and go actually f*ck yourselves. You’ll probably get lucky this time.

4. To all the mothers who get pressurized into having kids and then go into depression. It’s going to be your kid so whether or not you want it, it should only be your and your man’s choice. No one else’s. And if your husband isn’t complying then find a sensible way to make him understand. If that doesn’t work either, then you married a douche-bag and need to get rid of him before he starts taking decisions for your life and your body! It’s never late for anyone.

5. To all the new kids in the scene. Firstly, aren’t there more important things you should be doing right now like take piano lessons?? Anyways always remember “Educate before you Ejaculate” (inside a condom). Thankskbye!

6. To all the humans out there, please be a hundred percent sure you want kids before having them because once you do there is no choice of backing out. You have to go through with it till the end. They are the future of this planet. Don’t take them for granted. Because there are a lot of kids out there who deserve homes but don’t have one. Act maturely. Don’t let your “accidents” ruin the future for yourself and for them. Sex isn’t a joke.

[This article was solely based on personal observations and experiences not targeting any specific gender or group. So please read if you want to and ignore if you want to. Agree or Disagree. As for criticism there’s no cure for that yet! Also, I do not own the copyrights of the images used.]



My heartbeat increased as she moved closer to my row. The entire hall was silent. As if time had come to a standstill. So quiet, that I was afraid if she heard me breathe I’d be in trouble. “Hands out front!” she yelled as she came to the boy just a few seats away from me. She wore her specs at the tip of her nose which I, for some pointless reason feared would slip off any second. With her gray and black frizzy hair tied up neatly in bun and a dress as pale as her skin, she almost seemed immortal.

“Hands out front!” she squawked. This time in front of me.
She had reached me.
Everything around me reeked of fear.
I couldn’t think clearly.
I shuffled in my position trying to get myself to speak up. But my lips wouldn’t part. “Hands..out….front! I said!” she yelled again almost startling me . I felt as if all eyes were on me now. And before I could even think, she quickly pulled both of my arms from behind me and firmly examined them thoroughly. “Long nails. I see…I see. Well I’ll take care of that.” she bellowed, while frantically scanning me throughly. I had shut my eyes by now. Hoping this whole situation would just vanish from right before me. I felt her bony cold grasp free from my arm while the other still as tight as ever. A sudden current of pain escalated throughout my entire body. Almost causing me to wail out loud, but it wasn’t that easy. Not for me.
nine and finally ten. I counted as the cold, metal clipper went one by one past each and every finger. With each count, more pain, more pulling and tearing, more shreds of skin and more warm sticky stuff oozing out.
Which I figured was blood.
But I had decided. I would only open my eyes once this nightmare was over.

A routine cleanliness check that would happen every week at Our Lady of Grace Juvenile School of Bronx. It was the newly appointed warden’s first day at work. She had just been transferred here from a prison job. You could easily guess she was “hell” just by looking at her.
Only if I were able to speak up.
Able to explain myself.
Able to tell her that  my nail clipper had been snatched from me and flushed down the toilet by some bully.
If only.

But I was a wimp. Just as my father would say. I silently thought, while dragging myself through the dark hallway towards my bunk. “Here, I think you might need this.” said the freckled boy while handing over a pair of scissors. He had this sorry look on his face. His name was Nicholas. I remembered him from when I arrived here. It was also his first day that day.
I silently accepted the scissors and went on.
Hunkered beside my bunk and started snipping away.
Cutting off the remaining shreds of skin. The blood had dried up. My fingertips felt sore and my hands, sticky. But at least the nails had been cut. Till the very bottom. And that’s what mattered. Right?
Because till date I fear growing out my nails never being able to forget.

I learned my lesson.

Was it necessary?
I do not know.

Could there have been any other way of conveying it?


Firstly, let’s be honest.
I don’t drive and neither have I learned yet. But I make up the 70% of women in Pakistan who like me, have yet to learn. As for the other 30% well, I salute them for their confidence and bravery. (Because well as we all know Pakistani traffic can get messy at times not to mention the barely there, traffic rules.)
Wait, did I just say confidence?
No sorry, I take that back. Because see, that’s where the problem lies. And that is the whole purpose of my article.

The need to be able to drive is for one’s own ease. So that you’re independent enough to transport from one place to another. Not relying on anyone but with your own free will. So that makes it a right, right? (pun intended)
Well men and women in Pakistan are given this right and both make full use of it. Unlike some countries like Saudi Arabia where women are deprived of it.

Well my question is, why is it that we women are given this right but are not confident about it?
We own the road as much as they(men) do.
We’ve earned our license just as they did then why are we not confident about our driving?

Why do we let them boss us around on the road?
Because we’re women?

Why do we allow the drivers of the opposite sex to give us those nasty looks when we stop at a signal?
Because we’re following traffic rules as per the oath we take when earning a license?
(But what would they know since majority of them don’t even have one.)

Why do we allow them to mouth out curses and use foul language for when we drive by them, while they’re stuck at a signal?
Because they’re to weak to bear seeing us women go ahead of them?

Why allow them to honk at you if you’re in front of them and they’re “god forbid” behind?
Because women are supposed to be a step behind men as per their stone age teachings?

Why is that when a woman makes a traffic mistake the gender is blamed but when a man does, it’s just a “mistake” and let it go with throwing a few rupees?
Because we’re women?

Why are they allowed to snarl and laugh every time they see a woman behind the wheel as if its something so unusual and hilarious?
Because we’re women?

So pardon us if we’re too busy following the rules to stay safe and are not “bad-ass” like you if that’s what you call it.
Sorry if our driving is too slow for you because as I mentioned before, Safety First. Yes, even before your ego.
Excuse us if we could care less for bribery and would rather solve an issue legally and the civilised way.
Sorry for not being a man because why would we even want to when we’re women!

This goes for both men and women respectively,
If you’re educated enough to drive then you’re educated enough to respect one another.
If you’re educated enough to drive then you’re educated enough to embrace your rights with confidence!

[This article was solely based on personal observations and experiences not targeting any specific gender or group. So please read if you want to and ignore if you want to. Agree or Disagree. As for criticism there’s no cure for that yet! Also, I do not own the copyrights of the images used.]

Fear of what?

As it trickled down from between my legs it felt warm. Kind of soothing. Considering how the rest of my body felt numb by now. It was harshly cold. And dark. It had just snowed today so there was this white blanket wrapped around the whole neighborhood. Only if it were a warm one.
At least eight minutes had passed since I had been standing here. I knew that because Mrs.Greenspan taught us that sixty seconds make up a minute and I had counted till sixty, eight times by now. Just how much longer till I went back inside and snuggled in my warm bed?, no idea. You never know what’s going through Baba’s mind.

Eight minutes earlier,
She came down sliding from the bannister. All washed up, nice and clean and ready for dinner with Baba. An occasion which occurred twice in a year, or if she was lucky even thrice.
“Baba! I’m back, what are we having today?”, she curiously asked while peeking through all the rooms looking for him.
The door to the basement was open which meant he was probably down there.
“Baba? Are you down there?”, she yelled out while still at the first step. She could not get herself to go all the way down as it was too dark and cold, two of her biggest fears.
“Yes, come down. We’ll be having dinner down here. Uncle Mosby’s here too.”, he answered.
Uncle Mosby, this man never meant well. He was her Baba’s best friend but she disliked him.
“Can’t you come upstairs? It’s dark and cold down there and I’m afraid. Please?”, she willingly asked hoping that he would.
But who was she kidding. After a few minutes of no response she finally heard footsteps. As they came near she had guessed as always, something wasn’t t quite right.
Grabbing her arm Baba pulled her aside. He smelled of that green glass bottle he once made her fetch for him, down the alley in Harlem.
“Afraid of what you said!?  The dark and cold? Rubbish! What are you three? Is that how I raised you, to be a wimp!” he yelled while shaking her thoroughly. She just stood there expressionless, wide-eyed ready for what was about to happen next.
He led her to the kitchen and dragged her out the door into the backyard.
“Afraid of the dark and cold you said? Well you’ll be spending the rest of the night out here missy until you learn how to be a man. Hear me?” he dictated as they scurried out onto the pathway.


A total of twenty minutes had gone by now. It was getting chillier and darker as time went by and I had praised myself a million times till now for keeping my socks on or else god knows how I’d be standing out here! My appetite had vanished completely. All I wanted was to go back inside and apologize to Baba, hoping he would let me go back to my room. Must be warm and cosy there, I thought while staring at the window. I looked down and saw my pee had frozen onto the pavement. It actually made me laugh a little. I could not wait to tell my friend Nicholas about this for when me meet. Only if I made it out of here alive, that is.



Everything seemed so beautiful or perhaps it was just confined to her emotions?
She didn’t know.
All she knew was that today nothing could go wrong. It all felt like a fairytale, just as the ones she would secretly hear her neighbor reading to her child every night.
A shining sun, clear blue skies, white birds flying just above and the deep blue ocean.
How lucky must these people be who get to see this everyday, she thought to herself and smiled secretly inside.
She had a feeling she might become amongst the fortunate very soon.
Just the thought of it made her full of joy and she clutched the neatly tied pink box as tight as ever.
Skipping through the cobblestone alleys and curiously observing the surroundings they finally stopped at a green door.
Her father let go of her hand, turned towards her and said,
“You remember what I taught you right?”, to which she obediently nodded.
He then knocked.

mans hand using door knocker on wood effect upvc door cold calling household

Everyone always told her that she looked exactly like her mother. The same eyes, rosy plump lips and jet black hair. But she would never take their word seriously, not until she had seen for herself. Mother had gone away to live with her momma and baba in some other country, as she was told. Nothing seemed wrong about this whole arrangement. In fact, it was very sweet of momma that she went to look after her parents. If she were in her place she’d had done the same. She felt pride in her momma.
It was always fine for when she felt lonely she’d always long for a person who’d hug her tightly, kiss her forehead and talk to her all night long. Who could that person be perhaps? A question she always asked herself. Not her Baba for sure. He was never home.
Ever since her Baba had informed about them going to surprise momma on her birthday there hadn’t been a single night she had slept properly. The excitement and curiosity was too much for her little self to handle. Even Baba had begun to notice her and started showing a bit affection ever since.
Everything was perfect as it should be and she couldn’t have asked for anything more.


The twisting sound of the door knob made her come back to reality. She for a moment had totally been lost in her own sweet thoughts as always. She straightened up her posture and elevated her gaze towards the door.
“Surprise Momma!”, she yelled as she was told.
The butterflies in her stomach which were fluttering uncontrollably, suddenly came to a stop.
A handsome looking half naked man almost as old as her Baba was standing at the door asking who we were looking for.
“That’s not momma”, she silently thought to herself.