**Being Typical in an Atypical Society
by Ayesha Javed Akram **
Last week, a guy came up to me and casually asked me out. I looked him up and down. Took note of his shaved head, his rather dandyish linen trousers, the pouch of his belly and decided against it. He looked me up and down and asked why. For a moment, I was at a loss for words and then out of desperation, I clutched at the excuse most of my friends fall back on; “I’m just not this type of a girl.” With a snort, he shrugged and walked off and left me feeling like an overly ripe banana that a truck had just passed over.
To be honest, I meant what I said. Despite the zipped up shallus and the fitted jeans I occasionally slip myself into and despite the many male colleagues I interact with at University and elsewhere, the morbid sense of morals that my mother has ingrained in me over the last twenty years is now too firm a part of me to allow me to let go of it. Even now when a guy comes and sits too close to me on the sofa, I find my self nudging my body away from him.When a male colleague offers to drop me home, I usually drag another person along to avoid sitting in the front seat with him. When an exuberant karachite steps off from the plane and opens his arms, I politely side-step them and reach out for his bags.
Is all this abnormal? In most middle-class conservative families, these are the norms girls have no choice but to live by. Infact, here if a girl does otherwise she is labelled as ‘fast’ and quickly married off in an attempt to save her ‘honour’ as a middle-class mom explained to me on the occasion of her sixteen year old daughter’s rukhsati. “There was no other way out. My daughter was becoming kharab.”
Why do people give me weird looks when word gets around that I have never gone out on a date or roll their eyes when they see me stiffening up at a friend’s attempt to playfully punch my arms is because neither do I belong to a middle-class society, nor to a particularly conservative one.
The crowd that I hang out with is the one that frequents gig nights (and always as a couple), hangs out at Zouk on Saturdays and thinks nothing of a little necking on the third date alone. Hence, when I walk into a gig night accompanied by my cousin, sit at a table in Zouk with my family and refuse to even bare my neck much less allow it to be licked, I’m bound to evoke a reaction. There are those who are sympathetic - “Don’t worry you’ll find a man.” Then, there are those who are honest - “Are you sure you’re straight?” Those who are helpful - “Come, I want to introduce you to this guy that I know.” And those who are extremely helpful - “Hmmn, if you would just get your eye-brows properly shaped up and perhaps start wearing one of those padded numbers…”
What none amongst them find easy to accept is the fact that I am actually not interested in going out. This isn’t because I haven’t come across tempting enough offers. I still remember the 6 feet musician whose mere presence gave me goosebumps or the athletic banker whose smile I kept remembering for a week after our first meeting. And contrary to what others say, my sexual drive is not impaired and has no inclinations of heading off in the reverse direction either. My simple, humble reason for saying ‘No’ over and over again is because I really do think it’s wrong.
**Not wrong in the sense that I consider it immoral for a guy and girl to date each other but wrong because of the lies and deceits that are a part and parcel of this package. “Mom can I go to Hajra’s house for dinner?” And at Hajra’s house, a car awaits to spirit you away. “Of course not, he is just a friend.” “And yes, I cuddle all my platonic friends.” “Are you out of your mind - no physical intimacies what so ever?” Well none except for just a bit of french-kissing every half an hour or so. **
I know in most cases these girls have no choice but to fall back on such lies and stories but I still think it is wrong. **If you’re going out then have the guts to own up. To tell your mother that yes you are in love. To hold his hand in front of your grand-parents. To kiss him boldly on a Saturday afternoon when Freddy’s café is booked. To nod your head and say yes, we do enjoy wrestling around. And if like me, you don’t have the guts for all this then just don’t get into it. **
This is what I mean when I say “I’m just not this type of a girl.”