A few days ago aneight-year-old girl was sexually assaulted, and then thrown off the roof of her home in Karachi, resulting in her immediate death. Prior to that the ugly case of sexual crimes against young boys in Swat, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, had made headlines. There was also a report of a rape that took place in an ICU ward in a hospital in Islamabad. The victim of that attack was a disabled patient; monsters are out on streets looking for opportunities to fulfill their cardinal needs. Behind the beard and the shalwars of Pakistan are sexually frustrated beings whose dark side has been in the pressure cooker for far too long, and has now erupted, unleashing its terror on innocent souls. News channels thrive on these stories as they provide shock value, and then they move on to the next story forgetting the previous one. I have an allergy to breaking news by the minute so I often ask people around me to change the channel to something ‘better’. Usually, I switch to 8xm or B4U Music, mindless songs, most often, item numbers, which provide a smooth escape from tragedies of life. “Do peg maar aur bhool jaa” (Have a couple of pegs and forget everything) is a current favourite in Karachi, and so is Sunny Leone. Some hep dhabas (roadside eateries) of the DHA play these extremely catchy songs loudly late into the night, and once ‘Munni’ had become more notorious at every nook and corner of our cities. Both Pakistan and India essentially feed from the same audio and visual stimuli: ‘filmi’ songs have always been part of our social fabric in Pakistan. Earlier, the local bus driver played Kumar Sanu songs for his passengers’ entertainment, but since melody is slowly dying, the Chikni Chamelis, Raspy Razias and Afghan Jalebis have befriended us in our leisure time. These songs along with the ones sung and made popular by the likes of Honey Singh or Badshah, where the female body is objectified through camera angles, gestures and lyrics that cheapen her existence to a thing to be devoured, contribute in their own way to increasing sexual assaults. They are certainly not the only reason for rapes, but they aid in belittling females to a being with a bosom and a bottom, made for man’s pleasure. Item songs are often the best part of a mediocre movie; filmmakers spend a fortune on sets and costumes of hot numbers, and top actresses give an arm and a leg to bag these songs to add to their résumé. They also rehearse day and night to perfect that pelvic thrust and other dance steps, where the idea is to spread legs right into the eye of the camera. Sometimes, these actresses even give interviews about how many kilogrammes they shed for the ‘special’ song, and the kind of workout their trainers put them through. Phew! The general public has become so desensitised to these songs that we often forget that females dancing in item numbers are play-acting the role of a ‘prostitute’, almost always. These are not sensitive portrayals of someone who sells her body for a living like the ones depicted in Pakeezah or Umrao Jaan, films that explored the human side of the trade. An item girl is all about come-hither-ness, when she talks about travelling ‘from Baghdad to Delhi via Agra’ (made to sound like Viagra). There are still many sections in our society where males have limited access to females, and the thought of interacting with a girl still gives them the jitters. Such crude lyrics and images when shown repeatedly are bound to propel the criminally minded ones to take matters in their own hands, and look for instant gratification. He would obviously not be able to woo a Malaika Arora, but he could try to take out his frustration on the next vulnerable female he chances upon. It could be you or me or a child walking home from the store with a bag of chips. He assumes every female to be sexually open and waiting, as to him that is the message being delivered subliminally through these songs. No man is justified in forcing himself on a woman without her consent, but filmmakers can no longer be irresponsible about what they put out in the market to be consumed by the masses. The increase in sexual crimes should make filmmakers stop and think hard before recording lyrics like “Kundi matt khadkao/Raja seedha andar aa jao” (Don’t knock the door/Just barge in, darling), which is a direct sexual invitation for anyone to just enter. We are still a society in its nascent stages, trying to figure out which bin to put sexual relations and activities in. Not everyone is on the same page, and that has to be taken into consideration by Pakistani filmmakers as well, as item songs have found their way into Urdu films too. In Pakistan we either have a very uptight, or as they call it the ‘mullah’ group of people for whom children have just landed from the sky; or we have the ‘desi’ liberals, for whom there is no limit at all. In the name of freedom, they will throw their ‘isms’ at you and stand up for anything the other group opposes. Item songs are not classy in any way, and similarly, young women like Qandeel Baloch or even someone like Zara Haider are not really championing the female cause. They keep the discourse centred around the female body; independence is great but if the focal point of your performance or identity is about being made available to many men then it is hardly progressive. It hurts us all in the process. So dear filmmakers, item girls and wannabe item girls, please keep in mind that every time you release a sizzling song with vulgar lyrics, you are pushing all females an inch more towards a hazardous zone jeopardising our security in the name of creativity. Try working on your storylines instead; maybe then there won’t be a need for such cheap thrills. The writer is a freelance columnist with a degree in Cultural Studies and a passion for social observation, especially all things South Asian. She tweets @chainacoffeemug