The day I finally learned to ride, I felt strong and full of strength
As I cycled along the seaside path, I felt a warm breeze blowing through my hair.
After moving from Pakistan to work in the Pacific Northwest in 2021, seeing women riding bicycles made me feel happy and fulfilled.
But the joy of riding side by side with them is bittersweet. It's hard to imagine that women in my home country would be able to enjoy such a basic pleasure without being harassed or harassed.
I grew up in Pakistan surrounded by many misogynistic stereotypes that were ingrained in the culture and I didn't recognize them until I was in my 20s. Unfortunately, the stigma surrounding women's participation in male-dominated activities still prevails.
The proportion of women in sports in Pakistan is significantly lower than that of men, as are opportunities for physical activity. According to a report by the Pakistan Bureau of Statistics, of the 48.7 percent of Pakistani women, only 25 percent are part of the country's workforce.
Among the many unpopular things, cycling is one of them.
In Pakistan, whether for commuting, exercising, or entertainment, it is not common for women to ride a two-wheeler.
This behavior is not culturally common, so much so that female passengers on a motorcycle don't ride with their legs apart. Instead, they put their legs on the side of the bike, increasing the risk of falling.
I grew up in a free and educated family, and my parents never encouraged the misogyny that plagued our society. But they also never challenged it.
From learning simple things like swimming or cycling, to strictly not talking to any male member of the family about my monthly menstrual cycle, I faced a lot of limitations even when I was a kid.
At the time, I never questioned it. I've never had any role models to look up to and haven't seen a lot of women riding bicycles.
On International Women's Day 2018, I was 26 years old and confronted the harsh reality of the culture I grew up with. It was then that Karachi held its first ever Oulat March – a peaceful gathering of women against patriarchal society.
Out of curiosity, I joined the march because it was the first public rally of women in the country, and they took to the road to demand equal rights in society.
People from all walks of life gathered to hold placards and banners in support of our rights in Pakistan.
In the midst of the crowds, a banner in particular caught my attention: "Normalize women's cycling," which reads.
It was like turning on a light bulb, and my mind was full of questions.
Confronting deep-seated stigma is not easy
Why don't women cycle in Pakistan? Why didn't I ever teach horseback riding when I was a kid? What prevented me from learning such basic skills?
That day, reality hit me like a stone. I was shocked and looked for answers to questions I had never thought to ask before.
Angry and confused, I started looking for motivation on the internet. In my research, I met Zenith Irfan on Instagram – she is believed to be the first woman in Pakistan to ride a motorcycle across the country alone.
A video of her riding alone in the wilderness in a remote corner of the country inspired me to take a cycling trip one day – with female high-altitude cyclist Samar Khan making headlines for completing the amazing feat of riding to K2 base camp, the second highest in the world.
These women motivated me to learn to overcome difficulties. "How hard is this?" I thought optimistically. My goal was to meet my own needs to challenge stereotypes and not continue to be part of ridiculous cultural norms.
But it's not easy to combat deep-seated stigma.
Early in the morning, I was practicing riding a bike borrowed from my cousin on an empty street with a few friends, so I didn't get much attention, but I did get some attention from passers-by.
On good days, I received supportive smiles, thumbs ups, and confused glances; On bad days, when I struggled to balance or fell in the face, I was often scolded and sometimes even ridiculed.
Initially, my family and friends were very surprised by my decision, however, they were very supportive and encouraging throughout my studies.
I spent about a week doing regular practice and eventually kept my balance and rode effortlessly. But the day I finally learned to ride without turning or tripping, I felt strong and empowered.
I want to inspire more women
To level up the challenge, I continued to learn to ride a motorcycle. A male friend lent me his bike and taught me how to ride it. In less than a month, I was able to drive smoothly and safely in traffic. I applied for a driver's license after training and rode it in public after I got my license.
Before moving to Canada last year, I used to commute to work and have fun on a motorcycle. I also inspired my sisters to start riding bikes and train them to ride them.
The journey from courage to cycling, to learning to ride, to finally being able to ride freely, was a nerve-wracking and exhilarating experience.
I met a lot of curious eyes on the road. Sometimes I was stalked or harassed, deliberately riding around me recklessly to scare me away.
But it didn't stop me, but encouraged me to keep going. I want to inspire more women.
Cycling for women in Canada is the complete opposite. No one will blink, brag or harass the female riders here. Instead, they are seen as any other rider or driver on the road.
After seeing how normal it is for Canadian women to ride bicycles or motorcycles, I am more determined than ever to bring about this change in Pakistan when I go back.
I'm not going to give up breaking these misogynistic gender stereotypes with one pedal at a time.
Expecting women to ride bikes and motorcycles on a day of normalization in Pakistan feels like a tough climb. However, I still hope that if more women bravely challenge this cultural norm, we can force them to reverse forever.