The Women Who Raise Me: A Letter to the Superwomen of Pakistan and Beyond

By Zein Ahmed

With International Women's Day around the corner, I find myself reflecting not on grand stages or podiums, but on dusty village lanes, the hum of sewing machines in cramped rooms, and the quiet, fierce determination in the eyes of women who refuse to be defined by their circumstances.

I think about the women of Love Handmade. I think about the woman in a remote village outside Quetta, who learned to embroider from her grandmother. She tells me stories of the mountains while stitching, and I see in her the map of our ancient culture. I think about the home-based worker in the labyrinthine streets of Karachi, balancing a child on her hip while packing orders with one hand. She is not just earning a wage; she is buying her daughter’s right to go to school. From the stark beauty of Balochistan to the pulsating heart of the metropolis, I have witnessed women proceed against impossible odds. They face power outages, logistical nightmares, societal pressure, and the sheer exhaustion of carrying the weight of their families. Yet, every morning, they wake up and choose to create. They are the backbone of this nation, the silent superwomen threading the needle of progress...

This vision - of seeing their value, of believing in their power - did not come to me by accident. It was instilled in me by my parents.

My father has taught me to live for the glory of Pakistan. But his Pakistan wasn't just a territory on a map; it was its people. He taught me that true service to this nation is looking into the eyes of a woman in a village and seeing not a statistic, but a sister, a custodian of our heritage, a powerhouse of potential. He taught me that the soul of Pakistan lies in its culture, its warmth, and its resilience. He never spoke of power or politics; he spoke of duty. He made me understand that if we are to rise as a nation, we must rise together, lifting those who have been held down for far too long. His love for Pakistan is my compass.

And then, there are the women who raised me. My mother, a retired professor of English at Islamia College Cooper Road, whose strength is the quiet, enduring kind. The kind that keeps a home running, that nurtures dreams, that stands as an immovable pillar of support. My sisters, my first friends and first critics, who taught me about art, ambition, and the unbreakable bond of shared history. They are the standard against which I measure all things.

As I grew, my village expanded. It reached across the ocean to New York. There, I found mentors and friends who became my north star. They are the women who took my calls at midnight, who read my frantic emails, who told me to dream bigger when I felt small. They opened doors I didn't know existed and held them open for the women back home. They looked at my Pakistan, with its chaos and color, and instead of seeing a problem to be fixed, they saw a partner, an artist, a friend. They taught me that womanhood is a global sisterhood, and that our dreams for Pakistan are shared dreams.

And what are those dreams?

They are shared dreams of a Prosperous Pakistan. A Pakistan where the artisan in Quetta earns a fair wage for her art and is celebrated globally for it. A dream of an Educated Pakistan. A Pakistan where the daughter of that home-based worker in Karachi grows up to be a doctor, an engineer, or perhaps the CEO of the very brand her mother stitched for. A dream of a United Pakistan. A Pakistan where the distance between Quetta and Karachi feels smaller because we recognize the humanity in each other, where we see the woman in the village and the woman in the city as part of one, vibrant, unstoppable society.

To the artisans who let me into their homes: you inspire me. To my father, I promise to live for the glory of Pakistan. To my mother, my sisters: you are my roots. To my mentors in New York: you are my wings. And to the women of Pakistan: you are the reason I believe this nation’s best days are ahead.

For International Women's Day next month, let’s not just celebrate. Let’s commit. Let’s commit to the shared dream. Because when a woman in Pakistan rises, she does not rise alone...she pulls an entire nation up with her.

To the superwomen in my life, and to the superwomen I have yet to meet: Thank you. You are the glory of Pakistan.

Love,
Zein.