My selfish father had two women under his thumb.

Not many children grow up in a polygamous household. I did. My father had two wives and we lived altogether as one happy family. Until today, I cannot decide which of my mothers I revere more. My ‘badi ammi’ — birthmother and ‘choti ammi’ — father’s second wife, did their best to raise us, four girls, very well.

The only thing I was not too happy about was the lack of support from my father. Everything was about his orders and keeping things ready for him to come back home from work. As I grew up and saw how little he helped, I started blaming my mother for taking his shit.

We were four sisters, two women — my father’s wives, and one older woman — my father’s mother and the leader of all. The herd was controlled by one man all their lives.

This man dictated to them what he will eat for breakfast and set the menu for dinner before leaving for work, he decided when he wanted to sleep with which wife or whether he would rather doze off alone in the guest room.

Bringing a salary home for all of them to ‘dance’ upon was his only job. He threw tea when it did not taste good. He got up and walked away when the children made too much noise. My mothers contemplated all day to seek my father’s permission to go out of the house without the kids, only to hear a blatant ‘no’. Refusing them would massage his ego.

Bringing a second wife home did not change him. Even she, with all her charms, could not manage to reason with him. The head of all women in the family was to blame. She kept telling us that my father was extremely hot-tempered and if we argued too much he may raise his hands. A heated argument ended with him raising his voice. All women would take this as a warning to keep quiet.

I was the eldest of four girls and empathetic to both my mothers. I hated my father for his injustice and vowed to myself to not keep quiet if I was in a similar situation. My mother told me only one thing,

“This is Pakistan and in this country, the man always has the upper hand. If a woman has children to feed, she must remain under the man’s thumb”.

And so she, as well as my ‘choti ammi’ remained under his thumb, even though ‘choti ammi’ had no children of her own.

Partners in crime

Every morning, as my mother went with the driver to take us girls to school, a handsome guy would help her manage the kids. She was to drop my sister and me at our school and then follow with the two little ones to kindergarten. It was not always easy to control the two kindergarteners who were three and four then.

I saw something in my mother’s eyes for this man. Our own father did nothing to learn about the difficulties in raising the children. Slowly but surely, my mother started comparing my dad’s lack of help with the little help this man gave only at the school entrance.

My father took his second wife with him on business trips, literally combining business and pleasure. While the couple was gone and the mother-in-law was away, my mother sought after her own pleasure.

One day I caught her red-handed. My sister and I were away at a friend’s birthday party and were to be dropped back home by her parents. The party ended earlier than usual and we landed home to be welcomed by this stranger and my mother clad in her nighty. My little sisters were taking a nap.

Having another male in the house was not only unusual but also barred. My inquisitive mind started imagining all this man was doing with my mother behind her husband’s back, underneath her translucent nighty. My mother’s dazed face told me that she was up to something and did not want us around.

So, I took my sister away leaving the two their decorum. At this age, because of the various romantic novels I read, I understood that a woman needed sexual pleasure as well as compassion from her man, both of which my father was unable to give.

Little by little, the relationship between this man and my mother grew and so did instances of me catching her in the act. Once I caught her hugging him and decided to question her.

She told me that this man was like her brother and she was hugging him as he had lost a loved one. I smiled, hurt at her white lies. She was not sure I could keep such a big secret, even though I had done everything to grant her her space, at all times.

To lighten my load, I told ‘choti ammi’ that there was this nice man, with chocolate-brown eyes, who met mom every day and wished to spend every free minute with. The tables turned. Instead of ruining things for my mother, ‘choti ammi’ supported my mom’s infidelity. She watched all four kids and let her go and do her thing.

Twelve years later, my father found out about their affair. He caught both of them at a salon run by a family friend. His wife was hand-in-glove with my mother and her lover. She provided them an intimate corner in secret perhaps because she suffered the same fate.

Thereafter, whatever little conversation my dad had with his wife ended. She had made him realize that he had failed to sexually satisfy her. But it was more than that. It was about just acting normal and not dictating instructions. It was about sitting together with her and having a conversation.

My father did not need two companions, he needed a brainless keep to satisfy his sexual pleasure. While ‘Choti ammi’ provided him all he wanted without questions, my mother had already tasted the crocodile’s blood and could not be fed fodder.

A daughter may be a father’s weakness, but none of us had any sort of connection with him. My mother never justified her doing, but she did not complain about his lack of interest either. On the other hand, my father used every opportunity to call her a whore and told us to copy her lifestyle. And we did.

For public eyes only

In Pakistan, society talks and gossips. With four girls to find grooms for, my father had to prove to the world that he was keeping his women in control. In front of people, we were a completely ‘normal’ family, we prayed five times a day, the women of the house remained under the cover, the girls followed suit. This pretense could not be maintained much longer with my mother’s changing attitude.

Quickly, one after the other, just like they had created us four girls, they found grooms to marry us off. Three girls left the house with the snap of a finger. My youngest sister lingered on for more than my parents would have wanted. My mother and her lover found a match for my sister and dragged her to a family of butchers.

I grew up looking at my mother struggle to have a relationship with a selfish man. He drove her to the edge of a mountain from where she had two choices — to jump or to be pushed down. She chose to jump and survived. My father’s attitude reduced him to an insect that this tigress just crushed under her strong paws.

What our unfaithful mother taught us

Even though our mother never gave us any lectures on infidelity or polygamy, we four girls gathered:

• That as long as your partner respects and loves you, you do the same. But if there is no love and no relationship between you and your spouse, you look for another alternative. In my mother’s case, the alternative stood there even without trying, but this was not always the case.
• That a woman should seek her happiness, but do it smartly. Until my mother was dependent on her rich husband for money for her daughters, she kept her love affair secret.
• That another woman, no matter the relationship, always had the potential to be an emotional support. Even though my father brought ‘choti ammi’ to the house only to satisfy his sexual needs, my mother did not see her as a rival but as a help. She used her services to raise the kids and look after the household.

A woman can make or break a man, a family, a community, even a country. She has the power.

While ‘choti ammi’ made my mother stronger, my grandmother spoilt my dad rotten and ruined all our lives.

History repeats itself

I married a college friend quite early in life only to receive compliments from jealous eyes that coveted him. As a conservative Pakistani girl, my only chance to be the center of everyone’s attention at this time was to marry the college’s heartthrob.

Initially, all was hunky-dory. He listened to me and even agreed to things that were barred in Islam. Unlike my mother, I did not have to obey every command to be respected. All this, however, was short-lived and came at a huge cost.

I loved dancing and my husband Ishaan allowed me to continue this passion even though his family thought it was blasphemous. In return, I was expected to let him be the casanova he was.

Even though I did not want to suffer my mother’s fate, I was made to live with my husband’s second wife. Ishaan brought a common friend, Saskia, home after he made her pregnant. I did not overreact. I silently struggled to raise two children alone, first with no help at all.

Later, Saskia suffered a miscarriage and as if Allah paved the way to my happiness, she helped lighten my load. She obediently listened to my commands like my mother would listen to my father’s instructions. Having a woman under my thumb helped me learn that I too, like my father, could dictate and control.

When Saskia took care of the kids and my husband Ishaan slowly sneaked away from my bedside to the neighboring room to sleep with her, I felt used. I wanted to kill Ishaan for the paradise he had shown me before pushing me to hell. I wanted to escape and leave like my mother.

But my mother ran away with her lover only when all her daughters were old enough to take care of themselves.My children were 4 and 6 at this time and needed all the support. My mother’s advice rang in my ears,

“ A woman does have the right to her happiness but she also has a duty toward her children, if both the things can be done simultainously, it is worth the risk.”

And so I took the risk at the first opportunity I saw. I found a guy in my dance class to satisfy my lust. I did this for my husband’s peace. My new lover helped me accept his relationship with his new wife.

My husband is much better than my father. He doesn’t shout at or belittle his women. He did not think that changing a child’s diaper once in a while or putting a casserole of ‘rotis’ on the table was demeaning.

But even the generational gap could not erase one common feature between the two men. Both kept their eyes shut to household responsibilities. If the wives sat at home, they did no ‘productive’ work. The men did not voluntarily offer help in the mundane, day-to-day tasks like my mother’s lover or my lover now.

Does controlling a woman have its benefits?

In Islam, a woman must remain submissive to her husband at all times. She could expose herself only in front of her husband. She may not have male friends as men in the third world are small-brained and think their wives will eventually sleep with the stranger.

But why would a woman do that? A man who treated his wife as a friend first, before bombarding her with responsibilities of the house, had no reason to fear her loyalty.

To cover his own guilt and shame, Ishaan allowed me to dance with strange men. And what did I do? I took advantage of his trust. But he provoked me to do this. Ishaan still cheats on both of his wives and goes looking for other pussies to dip in. If my husband had taken a little more care to control his penis, I would have controlled my vagina.

“Always remember your roots. They are the foundation of your life and the wings of your future.”

I am a daughter of a man who brought his entrepreneurial skills home to control his wives. I am the daughter of a woman who dared to follow her heart and her happiness and left her husband for her lover.

Now, I am also the wife of a casanova who brought home a meek mistress. If it wasn’t for her, I would not notice that just like my father I had the skills to manage a polygamous household, and just like my mother, I could multitask and clandestinely manage my happiness with responsibilities.

The conservative country we were raised in, the patriarchal religion of Islam, and the male dominant society, did nothing to keep women under control. In fact, it provoked us to loosen a man’s grip on us.

Chaining a woman to the house and the children did not kill her needs. It temporarily submerged them until she mustered the time and energy to fight back. When this happens, the small flicker would turn into a flame, the wrath of which will consume the patriarchy.

As a strong Muslim woman, I teach my daughter to follow her heart. She will be free to study or get married. She will be free to wear a veil if she wished or shorts or nothing at all. I will not allow anyone to clip her wings before she learns to fly. I will make sure that she marries a lover who satisfies her physical and emotional needs so she has no time or desire to cheat.

Being raised in a family of daughters I can say that daughters analyze the situation before blindly following in their parents’ shoes, while boys, at least where I live, are taught to make a noise until their desires are met.

I am sure I and society will do enough to provoke my daughter to fight the fanatics, but I am not sure I can teach my son to treat a woman like he would another man. Many times I wish I could leave the third world and go to a place where women are looked at as beings with a heart and a mind.

Or maybe the women here can raise their voices against the injustice and make the third-world a better place? I still have hope against hope.