Long before a woman is punished in Pakistan, she is parsed.
She is dissected by syntax, diminished by sentence, and ultimately destroyed by a lexicon that never considered her fully human to begin with.
Welcome to the grammar of misogyny—a deeply embedded linguistic regime where every proverb, every taunt, every offhand remark becomes a clause in the social contract that declares men powerful and women conditional.
From the cradle, boys are trained not just to dominate—but to deny all that is “feminine” in themselves. A little boy cries, and someone snaps: “Larki ho kya?” A father scolds his son for showing fear: “Choorian pehen li hain?” Every phrase enforces hierarchy. Every word polices identity.
But language doesn't just reflect culture—it sustains it. It systematizes bias. It domesticates violence. By cloaking misogyny in idiomatic familiarity, we make the intolerable seem inevitable.
What begins as linguistic discipline ends as physical danger. It is no coincidence that in a country where women are likened to izzat (honor), their disobedience is met with death. Last year, Pakistan saw hundreds of women slaughtered in the name of honor. How many metaphors did they die from before the knife came?
The tragedy is not just that these deaths happen—but that they are expected.
Where is our national conversation about how everyday language radicalizes gender roles? Why do our textbooks still teach gendered proverbs as cultural heritage? Why does our media glorify the “strong man” who controls the “wayward woman”? Why is there no outrage when our politicians use feminine metaphors as insults?
This isn’t just about words. It’s about what those words do.
Grammar, at its heart, is a system of permission: what may go where, and what must stay in its place. And in Pakistan, the grammar of patriarchy has kept women out of place for generations.
It’s time to rewrite the rules.
If this country is ever to confront its epidemic of violence against women, we must begin by dismantling the silent system that makes it seem reasonable. That system has a name, and it begins with the words we teach, the jokes we let pass, and the slogans we cheer.
Language, like power, must be held accountable.
