વહાલી  દીકરી, હું દિલગીર છું તારી ખતના થઇ

– એક બોહરા પિતા ની દિલ ની વ્યથા

વહાલી દીકરી,

ઘણા વર્ષો પહેલા મેં એક ભૂલ કરી. તારી મમ્મીએ આવીને મને કહ્યુ કે હું અપની દીકરી ની ખતના કરાવ છું. મને આ પ્રક્રિયા વિષે કાંઈજ ખબર ન હતી. મેં એમ માની લીધું કે તારી મમ્મીનેજ આ બાબતે વધારે સમજ છે. તારા ઉપર જે ગુઝર્યું એમાં મારું અજ્ઞાન કોઈ બહાનું નાજ હોવું જોઈએ. આ ઘટના પછી મેં ઘણી વાર તારી મમ્મી ને પૂછ્યું કે એક ભણેલી સ્ત્રી, જે એવા દેશમાં રહે છે જ્યાં આ પ્રક્રિયા ગેરકાયદેસર ગણાય છે, તે પોતાની દીકરી ને એના આધીન કેમ કરી શકે? મને ક્યારેય સંતોષ જનક જવાબ મળ્યો નહી. ફક્ત એમજ કહેવામાં આવ્યું કે ‘તે આપનો ધર્મ છે’. આ જવાબ હું ક્યારેય સ્વીકાર નથી કરી શકતો. 

જ્યારે તારી સાથે શું થયું એ વિસ્તૃત રીતે વાંચ્યું તો મારી આંખો ભરાઈ આવી. આટલા વર્ષો થી હું અંજાન હતો કે તારી ઉપર શું તકલીફ ગુઝરી છે. તું તો માસૂમ હતી. જાને કેટલા પિતાઓ મારા જેવીજ સ્થિતિ માં હશે, છેવટે આ અમાનુષી કૃત્ય ને જાની ને અંજાન કે પોતાની પુત્રીએ એટલા વર્ષો થી શું વેદના મન માં દબાવી રાખી છે.

મને યાદ છે જ્યારે પહેલી વાર તને મેં હાથ માં લીધી હતી ત્યારે મનોમન હર્કાયો હતો કે તું પરિપૂર્ણ છે. મને વર્ષો થી દીકરી જોઈતી હતી. તારી અંદર કાંઈજ કમી ન હતી, છતાય તારી વાઠકાપ કરવામાં આવી. હું દિલગીર છું. હું જાણું છું કે તને આપયેલા સંસ્કારોજ તને પાપ કરવા થી રોકે છે, બીજું કાંઈજ નહી.

વિચારું છું કે તું ફક્ત પાંચ વર્ષ નીજ હતી. તારા સાથે શું થઇ રહ્યું છે તેનાથી તદ્દન અંજાન અને ઘબ્રાએલી. હું દિલગીર છું કે તારી રક્ષા કરી ન શક્યો. અજ્ઞાન એ કોઈ બહાનું નથી ના કે અંજાન થવું સામાન્ય.

હું વચન આપું છું કે આ અમાનુષી પ્રક્રિયા નો અંત લાવવા મારાથી બનતું બધૂજ કરીશ. હું કોશિશ કરીશ કે બંધ બારણા ની પાછળ શું થાય છે તે બીજા બધા પિતાઓને ખબર પડે. છોકરીયો પ્રત્યે નો આ ગુનોહ છે જે ખોટી માન્યતાઓ થી પ્રેરાયને એના પોતાનાજ માણસો એની ઉપર ગુજારે છે.

એક દિવસ જ્યારે તું માં બનશે, હું તારી પાછળ ઉભો રહીશ. મારે આ વસ્તુની કાળજી વર્ષો પહેલાજ લેવાની જરૂર હતી કે જેથી હવે આવનારી પેઢી ને આ તકલીફ વેઠવી નજ પડે જે તુએ ઉઠાવી છે.

This is a translation of the original English post that was published on May 24, 2016. Read the original post here.

by Insia Jaliwala 

Age: 18

Country: India

The experience of khatna, not only the actual act but the implications of the practice, was a gradual revelation for me. In the vague haze of childhood memories, that particular day stands out. I must have been around 6 or 7 years old. My parents told me I could miss school that day and were taking me out, I was obviously very ecstatic.

I was taken to a ‘lady doctor’; a gynecologist who applied a red serum on my hand with a cotton bud and asked if it burned. It did. She then proceeded to do the same to my genitalia. I remember the moment when she told me to remove my pants and lie down on the bed. “It’ll be over in a minute,” she said while holding a scalpel in her hand.

There wasn’t much bleeding and I don’t even remember the pain. What I do remember is an inhibiting confusion and fear. That day isn’t registered in my memory as a traumatic event, but a day I associate with a sense of loss. That day an important part of my womanhood was snatched away from me. That day my body was mutilated without my consent. 

The reality of the twisted practice struck me only a few years ago when I got into a conversation with my elder sister who told me about her experience, which was much worse and painful. After, I started to explore the subject more. I read about female circumcision and came across horrifying stories from Africa. I stumbled into many stories of khatna told by the women around me.

I had started to understand the terrifying implications of the practice which differed from person to person and the physical and mental trauma some of my own sisters and close friends had to go through, and are still going through. I also came across many justifications for the practice, some from my family elders which went along the lines of, “This is done to curb a girl’s sexual desire so that she can put her mind to other things”, among many others.

All of this left me with an overwhelming sense of betrayal. My family, my community, had failed me. As I dwelled into it more, I realized that this act of oppression had (as with any other social issue or phenomenon) multiple dimensions and was woven in a convoluted fabric of culture, custom, and tradition.

Earlier this year, as a film project for college, I decided to make a documentary on Khatna. During my research for the film, I came across Sahiyo and was amazed by the fact that so many women were willing to share their stories on this platform.

My initial thought when I decided to make the film was that no woman would want to talk about this on camera. To my surprise and glee, many women around me agreed to be a part of it. There are hundreds of women (and men) out there who want this barbaric practice to stop. There needs to be a discussion about this on a communal level and people of the community need to realise that they have an alternative, they can choose not to impose this upon their young ones.

by Anonymous

Age: 28

Country: United States

Hello All,

Firstly, I would like to start by telling you how ashamed I feel of being so ignorant about the issue of female khatna and how honored I am to be a part of a family whose women are spearheading the fight against FGM.

I am from an Islamic Dawoodi Bohra family that comprises mainly of women. I have six beautiful sisters. They have all undergone khafd (khatna). Back then, there was no awareness and there was tons of social pressure. Everything was done quietly and no one spoke about it. At least in my community, it was a given that a girl child had to have her khatna done. Not doing it would be condemned.

Women who have gone through FGM have started talking about their experiences. Openly speaking about this issue has done great good for the community as it has helped build awareness and made folks like me, who were ignorant about it, read and learn more about it. I salute the women who have been bold to talk about this. Thank you! 

Listening to these experiences makes me really sad. Sad because this has been going on for so long and this practice has absolutely no foundation. It makes me sad that educated people never questioned it and were so socially engrossed that they just did what they were told to do. It makes me sad because it just proves how sexist the world is (which I do not want to believe).

It saddens me because parents are still putting their daughter through this.

For my religious friends: the Quran does not even mention khatna. So please do not put a religious aspect to this practice. This practice only has side effects. For those who are not aware – please please read here.

More importantly – it is her body, please respect it.

This issue is important and it must be dealt with. It needs support from each and every member of the community including the men.

Female Genital Cutting is practiced in many different ways, some less severe than others. But is a woman’s experience of such a ritual any less significant if the cutting was “mild”?

Love Matters India and Sahiyo would love to discuss this question – and many others – with all of you in a Twitter Chat on Wednesday, December 7, 2016.

Timings: The Twitter Chat begins at

• 7.30 pm IST (India and Sri Lanka)
• 9 am EST (US east coast)
• 4 pm in Egypt
• 10 pm in Singapore and Malaysia

Here is how you can participate:

• Log into your Twitter account (or make one, if you are not on Twitter yet!)
• Follow the handles @lovemattersinfo and @sahiyovoices
• Respond to our questions and tweets about Type I FGC
• Remember to use the hashtag #NoMoreKhatna in all your tweets!

Why this discussion is important: According to United Nations statistics, at least 200 million girls from 30 countries around the world have been subjected to Female Genital Cutting / Mutilation (FGC/M), a practice that involves cutting away varying degrees of the female genitalia.

The World Health Organisation classifies FGC into four types, depending on how severe the cut is. For decades, activists, researchers, funders, and the media have focused mainly on Types II and III, the most severe forms of genital cutting. 

Type I, however, has often been overlooked. This form involves cutting the clitoral hood, and/or part or all of the clitoris, and it is prevalent in a number of Asian communities, including the Dawoodi Bohras and Malay Muslims. All too often, concerns about this “mild” form of genital cutting are dismissed as overreactions. “It is just a small nick, a small slice of skin,” we are told. “It is not the same as the mutilation done in Africa,” they say. 

We believe it is time to re-examine these notions about Type I FGC, to give voice to those who have been affected, and to recognise that even the least severe genital cuts are still a form of gender violence.

And as a prequel to the Twitter Chat, do watch this video by Love Matters India and director Priya Goswami, featuring Bohra voices of resistance to Type I FGC:

(First published on January 23, 2016) 

by Mariya Ali

Age: 32

Country: United Kingdom

I have very few memories of my childhood, but one memory in particular stands out and haunts me to this day. Unfortunately, it’s a vivid, painful memory and fills me with anger when I recall it.

I was five years old when my mother and aunt took my cousin and I on an “excursion”. I remember sitting in a car and approaching an unfamiliar block of apartments. I was confused; I didn’t know where I was and what I was doing there. Despite my seemingly endless young imagination, I could never have anticipated what happened to me next.

I walked into a small apartment with a cramped living room at the end of a very short corridor. There was a dampness in the air and a slight smell from the poor ventilation. I approached the living room and sat on the floor. It was a warm day and I watched the net curtains of the large window slowly move with the breeze. I had been greeted by an old lady, whose face I can’t remember. I didn’t recognise her and was confused as to why I was currently in her apartment. I watched as she walked out of the room. I peered inquisitively into the kitchen and caught a glimpse of her heating a knife on the stove. I was always told to stay away from sharp knives at that age. Knives were dangerous. I could hurt myself. I remember the open flame on the stove and seeing the silver of the metal and the black handle of the knife while I watched her quickly hold it over the naked flame. She approached the living room with the knife in her hand, trying to conceal it behind her. She approached me.

My mother asked me to remove my underwear. I remember saying no; I didn’t want a strange woman to see me without my underwear on. My mother assured me it would be okay; I trusted her and did as she asked. The old lady told me that she wanted to check something in my private area and asked me to open my legs. I was so young that I wasn’t scared at that time. I was confused, but not scared. I was innocently oblivious to how invasive and inappropriate this situation was and so I obediently did as I was told.

I remember a sharp pain. An agonising pain. A pain that I can still vividly remember today. So intense that I still have a lump in my throat when I recall that moment. I instantly started sobbing, from pain, shock, confusion and fear. My next memory is that of blood. More blood than I had ever seen, suddenly gushing out from my most intimate area. I still didn’t comprehend what had just happened to me. I had believed that aunty when she had told me that she was checking something. I was young and naive enough to believe that people don’t lie and this was my first encounter when I realised that, unfortunately, the world doesn’t work like that. In so many ways I was stripped of many things on that day. My rosy outlook on life, my childhood innocence, my right to dictate what happens to my body and my faith in my mother not harming me. I continued to cry, the pain was excruciating and the sight of the blood traumatised me. I was given a sweet and comforted by my mother.  The events after that are still hazy and my next clear memory is that of being back in the car and staring through teary eyes at the apartment building disappear as we drove away.

Over the years I repressed this memory. There was no need to recall it. It was never spoken about and I still remained unaware of what transpired that day. A decade later, I was amongst some of my female friends. The topic of Female Genital Mutilation came up, or as I was to discover that day, “khatna”, a Bohra ritual performed on young girls. Hearing their recollections of what had happened to them, I finally realised that this is what had happened to me that day.

I was mutilated.

Thankfully for me, I had a lucky escape. The unskilled, uneducated woman who barbarically cut me did not cause me too much physical damage. Emotionally and mentally, there are many repercussions. I have a deep phobia of blood and a simmering resentment that my mother chose for this to happen to me. Although my mother believed that she was acting in my best interest, I struggle to come to terms with the fact that I was so barbarically violated.

It may have been just a pinch of skin, but it was a part of me, a part of my femininity and a part of my womanhood.