Sabeen: My Experience Junkie
by Mahenaz Mahmud
Editor’s Note: Innovations journal case narrative author Sabeen Mahmud was murdered on April 24th, 2015. This piece, written by Mahenaz Mahmud, Sabeen Mahmud’s mother, is part of a series that reflects on The Second Floor after Mahmud’s death.
On Friday, April 24, 2015 I lost my closest friend and daughter, Sabeen Mahmud.
Sabeen and I got on really well and often talked about how strange it was that we got on so well as a parent and daughter. Once every six months or so we’d get our wires crossed over something trivial and then she’d laugh and say “Thank goodness, we’re normal!”
Immediately after her death, friends and supporters took to the streets and the media — print, electronic, and social — to express grief, outrage, and love. The echo chamber reverberated: “Pakistan has lost a human rights activist, a social NGO worker, a Peace Activist, martyred sister and comrade, an arts patron, a social entrepreneur, a hero.”
And I asked myself, “Who is this person, this hero?” I hardly recognized my child, my friend.
In the more than fifteen months since she left us, I’ve been filled with awe and wonder at the continuous attention that Sabeen and PeaceNiche have received in the local and international press. I’ve often wondered what Sabeen would say about it all. I think she’d probably shake her head and wonder how everything has been blown out of proportion. In all probability, she would make a charming, self-deprecating joke.
Sabeen did not strive to be an activist, or a hero.
Sabeen did not strive to be an activist, or a hero. She lived her life as she wanted to live it, on her terms, doing what she loved best with honesty, integrity and straightforwardness.
So why has it been difficult for many of us to remember Sabeen as she was: an open, intelligent, energetic, fun-loving caring soul? Is it the horrifying circumstances of her death? Is it the fact of her memory being appropriated by different causes? Is it seeing and hearing about her endlessly on multiple media platforms?
Perhaps many who speak of her never knew her personally, and so she was glorified instead of remembered. There is certainly some truth in that: Most of us who knew her intimately didn’t quite know what to say or write in the aftermath of the tragedy and so remained silent.
So will the “real” Sabeen Mahmud please stand up?
The Sabeen I knew I first met, of course, as her mother.
Very early on she was aware of gender biases and social justice issues. At age six she was questioning the headmistress of her school about the unfairness of girls not being allowed to play the big drum. Why only the boys, she wanted to know. While visiting a friend, she asked me when she was about seven whether it was fair for one person to have such a big garden.
I expected Sabeen to be self-reliant, resourceful and responsible in age-appropriate ways from almost the time she had learnt how to walk. We lived a simple life. In a culture of ‘buying only imported products,’ I taught Sabeen by example that we were Pakistani and would get only what was available locally. We worked hard for any and everything we needed or wanted, and there was no such thing as entitlement in my book.
I said to her, if you feel like doing something and you can justify it to yourself go for it, as long as you don’t hurt anyone or anything in the process. She knew that I would never bail her out of any situation and so she always thought things through knowing that she would have to deal with the consequences.
Sabeen thanked me several times over the last five years for the tough love she had received growing up.
Sabeen was enchanted by simple everyday things: little saplings emerging from concrete; a colander full of colourful washed vegetables — the reds, greens and purples delighted her; the food I cooked. Ever since she was a little child, she gratified me with her “Thank you Amma” at mealtimes.
She was friendly with everyone in our neighbourhoods. She always knew all the chawkidaars (house guards) and drivers on our street, and they would wave as she drove by. Many of her childhood friends’ family drivers have recounted their memories of her to me this past year. She always asked after their families and listened intently, they told me, remarking also on how she loved to play cricket on the streets, inviting them to play too. She played with the ‘guys’ like one of the guys!
My friends used to be horrified that Sabeen played on the streets and that too with a ‘real’ cricket ball instead of a soft ball with any and every willing labourer and neighbour’s driver or guard. It was remarkable in Pakistan for girls to play cricket when Sabeen was growing up. Now we have a national girls’ cricket team, but even they play with other girls’ teams. “You’re raising a ruffian/thug,” I was told. Lately she had joined a group of guys to play night cricket, once in a while after work.
As a teenager Sabeen had a snobbish disdain for popular film songs from across the border (Editor’s note: India). She was a serious, precocious teen; she started working when she was around 15 and allowed a lot of the let’s-hang-out-and-have fun kind of time to slip past her.
Over the last three years, though, Sabeen loosened up quite a bit and began to hang out with friends, enjoying ‘street’ music. Her playlist had changed, now filled with Bollywood songs in addition to her favorite Western bands, revolutionary poets, and of course classical Pakistani qavvaalis. It was the 2006 Bollywood film Rang dey Basanti which first caught her attention and then there was no stopping her. I was surprised at the sounds emanating from behind her bedroom door!
Around the same time, she developed a keen anthropological interest in the biker boys who have taken over the streets of Karachi She was intrigued by this sub-culture and discovered their kind of power and humour with respect. Thus inspired, she took to the streets on a moped herself, often riding her bike to work.
She often said she’d love to do some research on who these motorbike riders were since they seemed to have their own rules and by-laws; they generally violated all traffic regulations and were pretty “rough ‘n reckless.” She felt a sense of camaraderie when she joined their fraternity — though not reckless herself — and after the initial shock of discovering this woman on her bike they would be almost accepting of her.
Sabeen gave very thoughtful, unique gifts on birthdays and when she returned from her frequent travels. In 2014, she was extraordinarily busy with seemingly a million things and just couldn’t figure out what to give me on my birthday. When she asked me what I’d like, I said, “I know what! I’d really like a set of headphones for you!” She laughed out loud at the joke; the volume of her music used to drive me crazy even through closed doors.
She loved babies and children. She wanted to adopt a baby girl, and for two years she tried, struggling to understand why Pakistani law didn’t allow a single woman to give a loving, caring home to an abandoned baby. Plans for how Maya — her baby had a name — would be home-schooled and how she would socialise with children during recess at a friend’s school — and of course how T2F would be her intellectual incubation space — were under constant discussion and review.
Sabeen spoke to a lawyer, visited the adoption centre in an old part of the city, sat through the interview process, filled out forms and was assured that she had been put on a waiting list. She made several calls to enquire whether a baby had arrived for her and the last time was told rather rudely, “Don’t call us we’ll call you.” Needless to say, she was deeply disappointed. Seeing now (no) legitimate way around this, she gave up.
She finally settled for a kitten. She played with her Tetris, then Jaadu — which means magic in Urdu — with her special brand of childlike, infectious wonder. I couldn’t help but get involved with the running, skidding, hiding and prancing around the house when Sabeen and her ‘baby’ played hide and seek. Tetris died in her arms and the inconsolable Sabeen became a vegetarian after that. It was a promise to Tetris! Little Tetris had genetic hemolytic anemia; she was named Tetris after the “world’s most addictive puzzle game” in Sabeen’s words.
Some years ago, Sabeen got hooked on the TV show “House.” She and I, along with her equally addicted friends, would dissect each episode until it was completely picked apart. Sabeen was fascinated by Dr. House’s personality and mind; she soon developed a passion for neuroscience. She enrolled in a University of Chicago Massive Online Open Course, “Understanding the Brain” taught by Professor Peggy Mason. In early 2015, Sabeen connected with her on Twitter, later going to meet Professor Mason to learn more about her research on empathy in rats.
I was intrigued by Sabeen’s capacity to learn. She just didn’t — perhaps couldn’t — function optimally in a structured traditional classroom. I’d never seen her study or focus on assignments or exams. But now, she took her online assignments and quizzes very seriously, alongside the never-ending demands of T2F.
Sabeen’s intelligence may have been restless, but it was ever evident. She was rarely speechless; we used to discuss and debate endlessly. I remember very clearly the one time I won an argument with her. Just once. I couldn’t believe it; I was smiling from ear to ear. It was such an accomplishment for me. And Sabeen was smiling back at me indulgently.
Sabeen was that rare combination of dreamer and doer. She was idealistic yet practical. She believed that dreams actually could be translated into reality, and that we had to at least try to fix what was broken.
So, what was her ‘cause’? I don’t think she had a single cause. She believed that everyone had a right to believe in whatever it was they believed and should have the freedom to express it. She was a seeker of civic, social and political justice in the widest sense of the terms. She lent her voice and support for all oppressed groups. Her restlessness for righteousness made her a creature of protest and dissent.
But above all, Sabeen was this absolutely wonderful, fun-loving, mindful, always-ready-to-help, compassionate human being. I miss her bright hello and her dancing and prancing around the house while she made me breakfast every morning.
I think Sabeen can’t be put into a box. She defies definition.
Read Sabeen Mahmud’s full case narrative, published in the Innovations journal in 2013: “Creative Karachi: Establishing an Arts & Culture Center for the World’s Most Rapidly Growing City”.
Mahenaz Mahmud has worked extensively with young children and adults, teaching, developing curricula and learning resources in urban and rural areas of Pakistan. She has initiated and led innovative ECE projects in the public and private sectors. She has also engaged in research and advocacy initiatives to make national and provincial policies receptive toward ECE. Her efforts resulted in Pakistan’s first National ECE Curriculum in collaboration with the Ministry of Education. She is a founding member and academic advisor of TRC’s Institute of ECE, where she also teaches on the Certificate Programme for pre and in-service teachers.
