Finally Free

Noor was sitting in class with Fathima, her best friend of 7 years. Fathima whispered something in her ears, and they both burst into laughter only to be met with harsh glances of people who were actually trying to study. Math was never all that interesting to Fathima and even though Noor really liked to solve Math problems, she could not really focus with Fathima's snarky remarks here and there. She was always really funny. The light of the setting sun filtered in through the windows, colouring Fathima's face with vibrant hues of yellow, orange and red, making her look like an angel. Noor was happy. She wanted to freeze these little moments in time. She was harshly taken out of the moment by the sound of the bell. Class was finally over. Everyone, including them, were hurriedly packing up their bags to go home for the weekend. People spilled into the hallways and soon, it echoed with eager chatter with people discussing each other's weekend plans and a cheerful vibe, in general. They stood in front of the school, waiting for the evening bus. Fathima whispered to her," Amir is looking at you like a lovesick puppy, this is the hundredth time I'm catching him staring at you. Just make a move already because he sure as hell isn't going to, he's just too shy for that ". Noor turned to catch him staring at her, but he immediately turned away, his cheeks turning a deep red. She blushed and told, "I so want to, but I don't know how to make a move, and what if he doesn't like me back? It's just better to not do anything about it at all so that we can atleast remain good friends", she said while looking at him wistfully. Fathima rolled her eyes at that. She was always outspoken, practical and so stunningly bold. She wished she was as bold as Fathima. The bus arrived. They sat in their usual seat, the middle seat, fifth from the back and fourth from the front. This, along with listening to music on their bus rides was a constant in their many years of friendship. There was never a dull moment with Fathima around. The soft, gentle melody of their favourite song flooded their ears as they drifted into a comfortable silence.

Noor and Fathima met when they were 10 years old on the first day of 5th grade. Fathima pulled Noor's braids and told her she looked like a plum, because of her slightly reddish brown hair and round face, the very first time they met. Noor had laughed out loud at that. And then, when some kids started bullying her for the quiet and meek girl she was, Fathima stood up for her and punched a guy in the face only to get suspended for a week. They had become inseparable friends since then, playing with each other every spare moment they got, sneaking out to watch any old movie playing in the theatre, having sleepovers filled with fun and mischief and became very important parts of each other's lives. Theirs was an unbreakable bond, the one that comes from knowing a person for so many years and the comfort and familiarity accompanying it.

Life in Iran was indeed very tough. Women's voices and opinions were systematically oppressed by the government and some of the people. The mandatory Hijab law was one such means of opression by controlling what we wear. Fathima was always vocal about issues like this. She was advised to keep quiet for the sake of her own safety by many people. But, she believed that if things like this are not talked about, they will never be known, and that for change to come about, even a small one, someone has to raise the issue. I admired her.

The bus screeched to a stop and she was pulled out of these thoughts. They made plans to watch the latest movie the next day. She had waited so long to watch this one. She was excited.

The next day

On the way home from her violin lessons. Fathima was taken into custody by the police for not wearing her hijab tightly enough to completely conceal her hair. They had picked her up from the bus stop, and then taken into the detention centre. Noor had heard horrible stories about the detention centres, how most of the people there were beaten and tortured and don't make it out alive. She prayed that Fathima should come back healthy. Noor and her and Fathima's parents tried and tried, in vain, to reach the police, to get them to release her. She was detained in a far away detention centre.

After three days, the family was notified of Fathima's death under custody. Noor violently broke down, screaming and yelling when she heard the news from Fathima's parents. Her knees buckled and she slumped to the floor, wracked by ragged sobs. About a 100 more of such killings took place over the next few weeks.

Two weeks later

Noor was shaking with sobs, sitting huddled in a corner of her room, with her head on her lap. Her entire family was consumed by an unshakable feeling of sadness over the events of the last few days. Fathima had been like a member of the family. One of the bravest women they knew, detained for days together, and during this period, beaten and tortured to death, all for exposing a sliver of hair. Her mother went over and sat next to Noor, held her tightly, in an attempt to console her while not being able to control her own tears, fearing the same fate for them. It had become extremely dangerous to even go out of the house. They could be tortured, and harassed, for just about anything. The void in their hearts from Fathima's brutal killing, knowing that she's not around anymore and that many women such as themselves had gone through this was weighing down on them.

Noor got up and went to the her room and as she sat on her bed, she buried her face in her hands as long agonizing sobs wracked her body to the core and she could not help but think about the faces of Fathima's grief-stricken parents, how helpless they looked about the situation, but what stuck out the most was the fresh rage and anger on their faces. She thought about the mothers of all those girls, the heartache of having lost their beautiful daughters that they carried in their wombs for long months and brought into this world with pain, love and care and the entire families' grief.

She could not sleep at all that night, she tossed and turned around, thinking over and over to that fateful day it happened, the day her life changed, forever. Pure, raw rage took over her and she decided to fight for Fathima. She couldn't do it to save her life, but she would do it to save other girls' lives, poor innocent girls who don't need to be told what to wear, who should most definitely not be detained and KILLED for letting a few strands of hair show. It was now her turn to stand up for Fathima.

A week later

Thousands of women had gathered here, on this Iranian soil, on that day that they all decided to not be mute spectators and to fight back. They were the image of burning rage and fury. The women had all taken off the veils and the loose robes they were required to wear according to the law. Their beautiful locks of hair were exposed, the cool breeze blowing through the strands in the embrace of the soft sunlight. They grabbed thick locks of hair, cut it off and let it fall on the ground. They burned their hijabs to the ground. They were consumed by a sense of impending doom as they could be detained or even killed at any given moment, but not an ounce of fear they felt, only pure, unfettered rage coursed through their veins, and a need to give justice for all those girls who were beaten and tortured to death, by the supposed 'protectors of modesty'. They felt the freedom, felt the creation of history with their actions, felt the entire grounds reverberate with an indescribable energy. Fathima and Noor's families and her classmates had all gathered here to show solidarity to all the women were wronged, not only here in Iran, but also all over the world.

Noor thought to herself, "This is for you, Fathima. For you, I would do absolutely anything in the world." And then, she removed and burnt her hijab and her robe, grabbed locks of her reddish brown hair and cut it off. She felt the wind in her hair and the breeze blowing over her face and it was an absolutely beautiful experience, untainted by the knowledge that they could eventually be captured or even killed,

and she finally felt free.