My employer organization decided that a well-known nonprofit, founded by a renowned Begum in the NGO industry, would serve as the training venue on contraceptive technology for women medical doctors. It was the year 1995, the year of my transition from clinical medicine to public health. I was hired for my first public health job by my first boss, Ms Carol Squire, an extraordinary woman of substance. This was a bittersweet moment for me personally. I was truly elated about securing a job that offered a substantially higher salary compared to what doctors were paid in the public sector, along with a mobile phone-a rarity in those days-and a brand-new chauffeur-driven car. However, I also experienced profound heartaches and learned to cry without shedding tears, as parting from clinical practice proved to be a difficult undertaking. The decision I executed, guided by my destiny, was prompted by a combination of personal circumstances and professional blockades. Our not-so-transparent systems favour certain domiciles, quotas, and political postings and limited opportunities on open merit for medical doctors in general. Difficulties of myriad origins are greater for self-made women doctors. The challenges reach a newer height for women with their own backs only, who aim to specialize in male-dominated fields like Surgery or Medicine, rather than Gynecology, Obstetrics, Dermatology, or Pediatrics. This situation is compounded by the ‘deplorable and stigmatized’ personal circumstances that young women doctors and ‘single mothers,’ who are not widowed, often face. Begum Akhtar was highly regarded by donor groups for her expertise in implementing projects for women’s crafts Two decades ago, this scenario, which is not yet extinct, was much more ferocious. But this account in spite of carrying some side comments is not about the reasons behind my decision to forgo my dream of becoming a clinical cardiologist. Instead, it centres around my encounter with the remarkable Begum Akhtar Riazuddin. She is the first Pakistani woman to pen a formal travelogue titled “Dhanak per Qadam” (Climbing the Rainbow) which received prestigious literary awards in 1970. During that time, Begum Akhtar was also recognized as the first woman Federal Secretary of the then-Federal Ministry of Women Development. She was also highly regarded by donor groups for her expertise in implementing projects for women’s crafts. To cut the story short, from 1995 to around 2006 or 2007, I maintained professional contact with Begum Akhtar in various capacities. However, I never found the right opportunity to share my literary inclination and my profound adoration for her literary work. On one occasion, she suggested that I should refer to her as “apa” (a term of respect for an elder sister ) rather than “Begum Saheba” when she graced ‘my office’ during a still hard-to-decipher phase of my life. In response, I conveyed that once a “Begum,” always a begum, and expressed my deep respect for her impactful contributions to women’s causes in Pakistan. My sentiment was sincere, yet I remain uncertain whether she encouraged me to address her as “apa” due to a frank connection or if she was guided by the perceived aura associated with the title of “begum” that had been then ascribed to my own identity. Prior to her departure, she advised me to include the practice of performing two Rakats (prayer units) of namaaz to find solace. She disclosed that this is her personal strategy for coping with testing times. Shifting focus from past reminiscences to present-day particulars, it seems that the older upper and upper-middle-class denizens of Islamabad still retain a sense of nostalgia for the annual fundraising, Meena Bazaar of the charity founded by Begum Saheba. In a parallel universe, a newly emerged privileged class in Islamabad finds it chic to shop at an exotic boutique and to gather, dine, participate in discussions, and even hold substantial meetings within a cosy café affiliated with Begum Saheba’s non-governmental organization. A majority, as I have observed over the years, who frequent these outlets, remain uninformed about Begum Akhtar Riazuddin – the beautiful woman dressed in a saree, equally eloquent in English and Urdu languages, the visionary founder, captivating writer, environmentalist, music enthusiast, and above all, a soulful feminist activist who pioneered many trends now proudly adopted as individualistic expressions by many young feminist women. Despite being a member of the club of Pakistani power elites and maintaining a strict persona in her leadership roles, she sacrificed her own personal happiness. After the passing away of her sister, she transformed into a dutiful wife to a prominent civil servant and raised his three daughters who were her three nieces as her own. She never became a mother herself. One of them was the towering Late Nigar Ahmed, who chaired and co-founded a prominent non-profit platform for women’s rights, along with one of my most personally favourite and revered lawyer-activists, the late Shehla Zia. Much like many other exceptional Pakistani women, the real Begum, the Akhtar, the Star remains obscure, despite having earned a name and entitlement to a Wikipedia. This obscurity can be attributed either to the unconscious compulsions of heavy social titles in a pretentious and hypocritical society, or to deliberate amnesia. In the sands of time, numerous footprints gradually fade away. However, this share is not meant to convey sighs and sadness; rather, it represents my humble tribute to a 94-year-old living legend the brilliantly versatile Begum of our Urdu literature from the post-1947 era in her entirety. The writer is a serial social entrepreneur ,activist ,gender expert and former TV anchor & producer. She can be reached at founderkafekaam@gmail.com