I remember driving back and forth through a colony in Lahore, trying to find the block number she had shared, feeling rushed and anxious because I didn’t want to be late for our meeting — only to stop the car in front of an unfamiliar house that I somehow knew was hers.
The well-kept patio, with bamboo chik blinds neatly folded on a cloudy late afternoon of an otherwise hot and humid monsoon day in August, the well-tended plants whose flower colours whispered the tenderness of human care, and the simple veranda with four cane chairs arranged welcomingly at the entrance, all signalled unique qualities of purity and simplicity, attributes she seemed to breathe. Confidently, I called her to say I had arrived, and she came out wearing one of her brightest smiles.
I was meeting Dr Arfa Sayeda Zehra for the first time. Or actually the second, if I’m being honest with myself. The first one was almost ten years ago at an exhibition where I was working as the photography consultant and curator, and she was one of the speakers. I still remember walking up to the stage during a break to say hello. She was sitting on a low sofa, looking a bit tired, and the moment she noticed me coming, she struggled to get up — purely out of the kind of courtesy she’s known for — and she stood before even answering my greeting.
But the meeting I really count as my first was in August 2021, when I reached out to her through a mutual friend and went to take her portrait, and honestly, more to sit with her for a while and learn something from her wisdom.
Dr Arfa brought me inside her modest yet beautiful home and took me to her drawing room. When taking portraits in unfamiliar places, my mind rushes to study the space for details as soon as I enter, observing light sources, interesting objects, or corners that I could use as a prop or a backdrop — as I feel personal spaces reveal layers about a person much deeper than a studio space can ever capture.
Therefore, while my eyes were scouting for that, I noticed the famous round tin of biscuits of a famous brand neatly placed on her trolley just outside the drawing room, and I still remember thinking, "Even the objects in her house reflected Dr Arfa’s values – her civility, politeness, and fine demeanour — her tehzeeb."
When I mentioned how I had found her home, she told me that when she first moved to this house, it was completely barren with no plants at all. She was proud of the fact that she had planted all of them herself, not only in her own front yard but also by creating a green space for the neighbourhood. Then she said something so beautiful: "What is a house where one doesn’t hear the birds chirping, butterflies fluttering around colourful flowers; what is a house without nurturing life?"
She politely told me to wait while she made thanda sharbat for me. After a couple of minutes, she came back with the most refreshing nimbo-paani that she had prepared herself. Then she sat down with the body language that quietly said, "I am present. I am here to listen. I introduced myself, shared my work, and the purpose of this specific project that I had come to take her portrait for—to document and to learn from the likes of her." I spoke about my vulnerabilities, the inner battles, the constant desire to learn and explore the existential questions that I ask of my every portrait sitter; she listened, understood, and responded with much care and genuineness.
Being a true feminist that she was, she discussed the issue of women’s testament and the concept of Ijtihaad— the struggle to reflect and debate on important Islamic concepts — and how we as a nation were losing tolerance for that. She stressed the importance of mukalma — dialogue, debate, and conversation — even if it involved conflicting viewpoints, for understanding and empathy, and felt sad at the near demise of the healthy exchange essential for a nation’s progress.
Referring to General Ziaul Haq’s regime, she mentioned that she had gone to study abroad in 1978 and came back to a different Pakistan. She was against policing anyone and highly valued agreeing to disagree, to co-exist, as she felt we were more similar than different. Her famous saying, "hum logon say wo sawal kartay hein jo Allah hum say karay ga (we question people about the things only Allah has the right to ask)", is a testament to her motto 'live and let live'. She believed in and emphasised bettering oneself to lead change.
She immensely appreciated my Urdu podcast for children, Bachpan Ki Kahaniyan, stressing the importance of holding on to our mother tongue. Arfa spoke about the concept of Imkaan, and the importance of keeping one’s purpose and hope alive. When I asked her about her life choices and how she felt about them, she responded gently, saying it was not easy. She cited her chance encounter with lawyer and activist Jibran Nasir.
In the green room before the panel talk, she walked up to Jibran, greeted the activist and told him, "You don’t know me, but I know you," and appreciated him for his good work. Later, she received a clip of Jibran telling a host that what he had learned from her was how comfortable she was in her own skin. "Although the journey was not easy, today, I feel content that I am perceived the way I wanted to be perceived," she said to me, and that’s what she defined as "success".
I did not have the privilege of being her student, formally, but reflecting on my meetings with her, every interaction I had with her was filled with a potent lesson of humility, love, encouragement, and wisdom.
Be it her response to my first message, where she wrote that she was embarrassed that she could not respond promptly and that she would like to meet me "if I could still afford time", or her message after our meeting: "Mahwash, thank you so much. It was a great pleasure meeting you — such an accomplished young lady. If only our state and society could appreciate you and the likes of you. Please accept my sincere thanks for coming to visit me. May you stay blessed. If it does not disrupt any of your plans and is possible for you, we can meet on Monday. May you continue discovering yourself."
Each of her words carried the light of her soul and bore the weight of her humility; her tone treated you as her equal. So much so that it left you with a unique kind of awe, even a gentle embarrassment, marvelling that a person of such calibre could be so grounded, so honest, and so generous with her time.
This was Dr Arfa Zehra for me — a woman whose legacy was not only in cultivating her own mind and soul but also in nurturing both the young and old for a better tomorrow. She may have left this world, but the garden she planted in the hearts of her nation’s people will continue to grow, where birds will chirp and butterflies flutter among colourful flowers.
Mahwash Rehman is the photographer and author of Women in Green and Beyond, and the creator of the Urdu podcast Bachpan Ki Kahaniyan. Her work explores the intersections of gender, culture, and storytelling in Pakistan. She posts on X and Instagram mahwashr
— Header and thumbnail image by Geo.tv