‫ہٹاو اس نقاب کو‬

‫کیا کر لوگی اس کے ساتھ تم‬

‫اوپرچيونيٹیز کم ہوجائ گی ایسے تمہاری‬
‫فارن یونیورسٹیز اکسیپٹ نہیں کرتی نقابیون کو‬

The deep sense of humiliation pierced through my body giving me goose bumps and
leaving me in dungeons of disdain. My opinion of contemporary world and modern
ideology just shattered while cold wind of patriarchy gushed down my cheeks.

But my mind was damaged by the truth, when I arrived in the nation's capital with a
dream to pursue my A-Levels. The freedom of choice is a great right that everyone
should have, unless it resembles a certain religion. Inclusion of diversity is
important, but people with different attire would never be included. Everyone is
equal regardless of what background, ethnicity, culture or religion they belong
from as long as they don’t physically represent it according to these standards, I
was the most exceptional outlier possible.

Why? – Because I am a veiled girl.

Criticism or backlash was never my reason to give up. Raised in Khyber

Pakhtunkhwa for most girls was identical to a bird with clipped wings; but my
parents never ensnared me with a net or cage. Despite teaching me how to adapt in a
plethora of communities, my diverse lineage of Siraiki, Pashtun and Punjabi came
with societal pressure that chased me with pitchforks of suggestions like early
marriage, and torches of only secondary education. My parents were the armor
protecting me from these incoming arrows. Their unwavering trust made me stand firm
during the storm.

Hoping on to country's liberal capital, I had many concerns, but facing

criticism for my attire was definitely not one of them. My confidence shook but did
not shatter when I faced implicit degradation and backlash for my attire in my
early days of choosing to do niqab (veil). My mere presence agitated people who had
labeled me as a narrow-minded outcast.
I was soon talk of the town for being social, and actively involved in co-
curricular activities. Many people found it hard to digest that I prospered with my
veil. The veil was just a piece of clothing I wore; it did not stop me from
reaching any heights but definitely limited the number of heights available for me.
The freedom disparity acted as a driving force for me to challenge the
stereotypes and bring forth genuine inclusivity. Student council elections opened
the ideal gateway. The school offered a fair opportunity to run for the position of
head-girl, but the hindrance lied in changing mindsets, not getting votes.
The coalitions were already formed, as these students had grown up together. As
the sole outsider, I was destined to be the lone wolf. This left me no choice but
to individually reach out to everyone, as even a single voice could change the
course of the tide. My 6 minute speech unshackled their minds, and when I realized
that they saw me for who I was rather than what I wore, I was already triumphant
before the results.

On the Election Day I saw the change, the change I have been rooting for,
the change of mindset. I was accepted and known as Zuha Imman in my school, not as
the “The niqabi girl”. I got my identity back with the post of head girl. Winning
elections was a triumph. A difference was created, for the first time in my
school’s history a niqabi won an election with a landslide victory. My mindset also
altered. “Verily, with every hardship, there is ease”. And so, despite the looming
unease regarding my attire, people chose to stand for what they believed in, and
kept their differences aside. This gave rise to a more positive approach and
expanded my horizons of acceptance. I learned not be afraid of dark and be in the
awe of the light, and all you need is to stay persistent and determined.