“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?