All that glitters…
The consensus remains that media ‘types’ are okay to invite over for a cup of tea but never acceptable as a bahu.
The writer is an actor, an anchor and a model. She is currently the host of “Morning with Juggun” on PTV Home and can be reached via twitter @JuggunKazim
When I was a four-year-old, one of my father’s friends asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. According to my family, my instant response was ‘main bara ho kar actor banu ga’. This remained my mantra until the day I did, in fact, become a part of the media, not only as an actor but a model and anchor.
One could say I have been extremely lucky because my childhood dreams have come true; almost a Cinderella story.
Not quite. All that glitters is not gold.
As an actor, I worked hard, kept away from the hardcore party scene and focused on raising my son who came along just after I started working in Pakistan. Around this time, my mother’s very dear friend was looking for a bride for her son. I recommended a gorgeous, then single, model/actor.
My mother’s friend almost had an aneurysm. She ranted on about how she would never marry her son to a media floozy and how all girls in the media were prostitutes.
Public perception in Pakistan of women in the media is still that they are floozies. No matter what the facts, the assumption is that such women have zero brains and a general attitude problem. The consensus remains that media ‘types’ are okay to invite over for a cup of tea but never acceptable as a bahu or daughter-in-law.
The most frustrating situations are the ones involving obnoxious propositions. I still remember a phone call five years ago asking what I would charge for a ‘meal’ with the ambassador of a Western country. I was shocked. I wanted to scream and shout. Instead, I politely declined and told the caller that the next time he contacted me regarding any more ‘meals’, I would inform the police.
After that call, I just felt dirty and humiliated. I kept on analysing over and over what I had done to give the impression that I was ‘that type’ of a girl. In the end, I gave up. I had chosen my career and now I had to lump the consequences.
Three weeks ago, I met a girl in her early teens at a family function. She came up to me and told me she was a huge fan. I asked her to sit with me and we started chatting. As soon as she sat down, she told me she wanted to be a model. My heart sank. I looked at her innocent face and I didn’t know how to respond.
When I eventually started speaking, I found myself repeating my mother’s words. I told her she must complete her education first, that modelling was not as glamorous as it seems and that people are very judgmental.
My mother was vehemently against my working in the media, something that I resented. Today, I have finally understood that her concerns, like those of so many other parents, stemmed not from fear as to what her child would do once in the media. In fact, the fear was how people would respond to her child and the uncomfortable situations I would have to face.
If I ever have a daughter, I will be honoured if she follows in my footsteps and joins the media. But I would also be petrified of what she would have to face day to day in this plastic world. It’s a catch 22: damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
Published in The Express Tribune, October 28th, 2013.
One could say I have been extremely lucky because my childhood dreams have come true; almost a Cinderella story.
Not quite. All that glitters is not gold.
As an actor, I worked hard, kept away from the hardcore party scene and focused on raising my son who came along just after I started working in Pakistan. Around this time, my mother’s very dear friend was looking for a bride for her son. I recommended a gorgeous, then single, model/actor.
My mother’s friend almost had an aneurysm. She ranted on about how she would never marry her son to a media floozy and how all girls in the media were prostitutes.
Public perception in Pakistan of women in the media is still that they are floozies. No matter what the facts, the assumption is that such women have zero brains and a general attitude problem. The consensus remains that media ‘types’ are okay to invite over for a cup of tea but never acceptable as a bahu or daughter-in-law.
The most frustrating situations are the ones involving obnoxious propositions. I still remember a phone call five years ago asking what I would charge for a ‘meal’ with the ambassador of a Western country. I was shocked. I wanted to scream and shout. Instead, I politely declined and told the caller that the next time he contacted me regarding any more ‘meals’, I would inform the police.
After that call, I just felt dirty and humiliated. I kept on analysing over and over what I had done to give the impression that I was ‘that type’ of a girl. In the end, I gave up. I had chosen my career and now I had to lump the consequences.
Three weeks ago, I met a girl in her early teens at a family function. She came up to me and told me she was a huge fan. I asked her to sit with me and we started chatting. As soon as she sat down, she told me she wanted to be a model. My heart sank. I looked at her innocent face and I didn’t know how to respond.
When I eventually started speaking, I found myself repeating my mother’s words. I told her she must complete her education first, that modelling was not as glamorous as it seems and that people are very judgmental.
My mother was vehemently against my working in the media, something that I resented. Today, I have finally understood that her concerns, like those of so many other parents, stemmed not from fear as to what her child would do once in the media. In fact, the fear was how people would respond to her child and the uncomfortable situations I would have to face.
If I ever have a daughter, I will be honoured if she follows in my footsteps and joins the media. But I would also be petrified of what she would have to face day to day in this plastic world. It’s a catch 22: damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
Published in The Express Tribune, October 28th, 2013.