They are voices drowned in the din of bombs and bullets. Caught between the culture of the gun and an oppressive jehadi code, women in the Kashmir Valley have been suffering silently. While any analysis of the conflict in the Valley has largely concentrated on the political and military aspects, it completely excludes the social dimensions. "Women's experiences and perceptions, for example, have been ignored - especially when they have been victims in the cycle of violence and abuse," says Ruksana Khan, a lecturer in Kashmir University.
In the face of adversity, especially the so-called fatwas of pro-Pakistan militant groups banning women from wearing jeans, watching music channels, wearing their hair short and even running beauty parlours, fear runs high. In early September, unidentified gunmen shot at two employees working at the Shahnaz Beauty Parlour, Srinagar. Prior to this, on May 22, 14-year-old Posha was shot in her legs outside her house in Bal Garden as she was cycling clad in jeans. "She had come for a holiday from Delhi and now I doubt if she will come again," says a family member. There have been other such incidents. In February last year, Nowsheen Thanzoor, 14, and Mehvish Nazir, 16, were targeted for wearing trousers. "They had gone shopping and were shot at by motorcycle-borne militants," says a police official.
There has been no public condemnation of these incidents because of the fear of retribution. And yet some have shown true grit to beaver away. Says Maleeha, a gutsy 35-year-old who runs a beauty parlour in a houseboat, "I face no problems. This is my third year and business is flourishing." On an average, 60 women visit her parlour daily and she has four women on her rolls. "There is nothing in Islam which bars women from running parlours," adds Maleeha. Sabreena, another parlour in fashionable Rajbagh, is also doing well, attracting the college crowd.
But this is only one side of the story. Discrimination against women exists in education, employment, inheritance rights and even at home. A mix of conservatism, male chauvinism and fear of the jehadi groups is the reason. But despite the odds, some have carved their own space in the public arena. A space earned through persistence and perseverance in trying circumstances. And which they are not willing to relinquish.
Tanveer Jehan, managing director of the government-run J&K Tourism Development Corporation, is one example. Having joined the state government in 1977, she says it's been a bitter struggle to reach where she has. "When I joined, there were only three women. We faced many prejudices and had to constantly prove our worth," she says. Her acceptance in a popularly-perceived male domain is now complete. "Now, I am on par with them." Tanveer's story is commendable considering much of her career overlapped with the emergence of terrorism. As district collector of Srinagar in 1997, a high point in her career, she faced many anxious moments. "Basically, I had to handle law and order and it was a testing period. It was tough but I acquitted myself creditably," she maintains.
It's also been a tough grind for 40-year-old Shaizada Praveen, one of the three deputy superintendents of police in Srinagar. After 17 years in the police force, weathering male dominance and violence, she confidently proclaims that she has made her mark. "Girls now call me up at home asking me if they can take me out for lunch. I am their role model," she exclaims. She denies having received any threats from militants. "Even if I do, I won't be cowed down."
While Jehan and Shaizada had the privilege of education and family support to help them realise their ambition, this isn't true for Aleema from Anantnag. Coming from an agricultural family, her two brothers were killed in militant-related violence some years back. "My father did not have the money to send me to college and moreover I had to help out at home," she says. In the last four years, she has managed to learn tailoring and make handicrafts which are sold in downtown Srinagar. "Some day, I would like to run my own shop but all that depends on my fate," she says.
That jobs, particularly in the government, are scarce in the Valley is well known. Most girls who aspire for a career in medicine or engineering find no opportunities exist. "There is a freeze on government jobs and that's why more and more girls are taking to computers and fashion technology," says .K. Verma, a state official.
In fact, there are no official figures available on the number of government jobs women hold. Neither are there statistics on those employed in the unorganised sector or even the level of unemployment among women in Kashmir. "The last census was in 1981. We are in the process of collecting data," says Girija Dar, chairperson of the newly set up Women's Commission. The picture of rural womenfolk is even worse. Caught in the vortex of both militant- and security-related violence, there seems to be no succour for them.
And a move out of the village is no guarantee of a better life either. It is an ordeal for women who want a career. Ruhi Hashmi, a successful boutique owner, has laboured hard to build up her business. "Breaking the ceiling in a male-dominated society is difficult but I persevered. Girls from the Valley get very little exposure. Those who have the wherewithal send their wards outside," she maintains. But Ruhi has been lucky. Her salwar-kameez suits and wedding apparel are the talk of the town and she gets bulk orders from Sopore and Baramulla during the marriage season.
Even in sunrise sectors like computers, women seem to be lagging behind. Says Andleeb Bashir, 23, a counsellor for the computer training firm Aptech, "Women here are lagging behind when compared to their counterparts in other parts of the country. So though talent is not in short supply, most remain unemployed because the job market has remained stagnant."
The only three sectors to have witnessed some growth are paging services, fashion and computer training institutes. But the expansion has not been enough to provide sufficient jobs. However, there are other avenues of employment, even if limited.
Shaheen and Shazia are among the six customer service agents working for Jet Airways in the city. Though they have a good job they wouldn't mind seeking greener pastures outside the Valley. Says Shazia: "Some attitudes will not change here. If we get the right break, we might think of taking it up."
Similarly, Seema Qadri, 22, among a few women working in a hotel in Srinagar, also believes avenues for individual enhancement are limited. "I wanted to be different from the rest and that is why I took up a career in hoteliering," she says. Working as a receptionist, she doubles up on the front desk when the occasion demands.
Confronting and coping with insurgency, many women have not realised their potential. "It is an unreal situation where individualism is not given free play," says Zuhara, a college lecturer. But in an environment that offers little hope, these intrepid women of the Valley have shown that individualism works in different ways.
(Some names have been changed to protect their identity)
