Honour & Shame Essay

matchless Sunday morning I was driving my children c everywheret from their regular soccer game. It was a warm summer day, sun shining ever so brightly, making the uneven t avouch picturesque. As I drove along in my H darkeneden with rigid br give seats and the windscreen wipers that didnt work, I looked over to my sixteen year old daughter sitting contiguous to menodding and shaking her head rhythmic entirelyy to, in her words, legendary music mickle One Direction. An image of Asreen flashed through my mindKiran? the phonation on my meandering(a) ph 1 was b atomic number 18ly more than a whisper. Kiran? Is that you? .The read ride keystone home was a typical for Friday eveningIt was genuinely busy Friday evening train ride back from work, Are you able to speak up a little? I asked, raising my own voice overagainst loud chatterschatters from checkmate passengers and rattling noise from the train.I found your number in Indus Age, My the outline went suddenly went dead. In dus Age is a local monthly newspaper. iIt has largest circulation to Indian and south East Asian federation in the country. I was interviewed a week ago concerning about my plight with esteem based violence. After dickens years of lengthy legal proceeding over evidence of defect which included tampered medical records I realityaged to get a divorce. I was trusted that such crimeshonour based violence against women was prevalent and practiced behind shut doors, after my divorce I trusted to assist other women in similar situation and have my phone number published in the newspaper.I thought I lost her but then, some proceeding later, she was back. Sorry I had to hang up I thought mortal was coming. My parents are forcing me to marry a 35 year old man who I dont even know. I am a prisoner in my own house. I cant acquire it any longer. I need aid. She stopped for breath. Please help me, she verbalise in a trembling voice. She sounded frantic it seemed that she was at the mercy of her family.I didnt know who I was talking to but I knew I had to help. I spoke quickly, Can you get out? in that respect are all sorts of help available if you can get out. I knew from my own experience that if a girl has made up her mind to pass on she usually move ups a way to do it. This woman could be anywhere in the country but she was desperate and I had to reassure her. There is help for you,. I verbalize. There are women refuge houses, mass to support. I would support you. Youll be okay.But howWait, thats Dad. Hes coming. I have to go Her phone went dead.I felt anxiousiety, my pulse uncertain up as I essay as best I could to get on with my daily household choresroutine and parental responsibilities. Later in thethat evening while I was preparing dinner my phone rang again. I tried hard to understand but couldnt make out anything neglect the gasping sound panting. I turned off my range-hood and enquired, Hello?Its me, Asreen, she spoke, her voice penetratin g as if she was right next to me. I did it, I ran away(p)Where are you?Redfern.Asreen, you have to call the police. DailDial 000 I had put my phone on speaker as I washed my hands.No, I dont want police. My family will never see me again. My community will forswear me, she tell claimed almost hysterical.I could imagine why Asreen didnt want police to be involved. She was in a responsibility of fear and frustration. Her parents who love her dearly until very recently changed overnight and now consider familys honour more important than that of their daughters well-being and happiness. get wind me at Redfern railway station in 45 minutes,. I said c inclination of an orbit up my kitchen.Please dont be late,. she hung up.I called on my children and explained them that I need to go out on an emergency. I drove as fast as I could past the throughway speeding up to maximum limit. I reached Redfern at 8 p.m. it was crowded, people pushing one another to get ahead in line. fewer countr y trains hurried past while the intercity trains stopped at the programme for passengerss dark and deserted. I walked across the automatic ticket machine to find myself staring at a tall slim woman leaning against the closed door humming what I could understand a very popular song. from Justin Beiber.She looked no more than sixteen dressed in a traditional outfit her head was covered in a veil. I caught her eye and she smiled and then waved at me.Kiran, she said enthusiastically.Yes. I walked closer I could see her eye swollen lips dried smeared make up over her face. I offered her a bottle of water and walked with her to my car. No one spoke, the dickens minute walk felt want an eternity.Breaking the silence she spoke softly, Thank thank you Kiran. You saved my life. I read your story and save after I spoke to you I found courage to withdraw from my house.I didnt know what to say, I was in a state of shock. I felt rage I could barely focus on my driving I wanted to say someth ing. Asreen continued, There were bolts on all doors and someone from the family was always home. I didnt know how to get out. And if I did, where would I go?We talked about family, food, instill, fashion and umteen other issues on our way back. We talked as if we were best friends and had known each other for many years. I introduced Asreen to my children Maya and Vicky and offered her rice and lamb curry for dinner. It was close to midnight she looked very deteriorate and fell asleep as soon as she sat on the lounge.I imagined her situation it was her mother who arranged her marriage. She grew up knowing that one day the subject of her marriage would come up but didnt expect it when she was sixteen. She was one of the smartest girls in her school she wanted to become a psychiatrist. One day when her parents woke her up and told her that she was going to get engaged Asreen said bluntly, But I dont want to.For the next few days I enquired at womens refuge centre, department of co mmunity services, legal aid and other community based organisations. What followed was another court of justice proceeding lasting more than 12 weeks. I became Asreens bring up parent while she continued her education. Later that year Asreen and I started awarding to help other women from South East Asian family facing honour based violenceI sat next to her contemplating on the events of the day. I wanted to help Asreen and reach out to other women in similar situations confronting criticism and oppressiveness from inside their communities and often close family members for not being obedient to the traditional rules set by men for thousands of years.Are you alright? Asreen said wake up suddenly. I realised that I accidentally dropped my glass on the wooden floor breaking it into pieces. Why cant I live like any other sixteen year old girls? Why cant I have boy-friends like girls from my school? she cried while cleaning up broken pieces of glass.It was close to two, I was so ex hausted I could barely feel any strength in my legs. I could hear Asreens voice slowly fading away. With my eyes closed I tried to seek explanation for such acts against own daughter.The issue of status of women is always in question in a patriarchal society. For thousands of years people from Indian sub-continent had considered daughter a bitter burden, a potential source of shame to her father. Family is vital principal sort out and marriage hallowed as sacred. Women are deprived of their freedom and those who rebel or go against the norms faces threat the people of the community so overmuch so that they are even killed for honour. perhaps this comes out as it makes it like a newspaper article, not a narrative. As we arrived home I hugged my daughter tightly and said with tears running down my cheeks, I love you. The time frame here doesnt work, youve already taken the story on years but now go back to the present