Sanam Sultan- The Warrior with Scars

Part-1

I  came across an interview of Miss World Priyanka Chopra, where she said, “It’s always about the hard choices you make. At some point or another, you have to make hard choices in life to reach the goal where you want to be.”

Those words hit me harder than I expected.

My life was never a bed of roses. A girl usually dreams of rainbows in the sky, unicorns, a pink room strung with fairy lights, or that teenage fantasy of a shining knight arriving on a white horse.

But my reality?

It was full of challenges, lemons thrown at me from every direction, and I had to keep squeezing them into a cocktail just to survive. One problem after another, solved in silence… sometimes breaking down, sometimes wanting to give in, but mostly choosing never to give up.

Because deep down, I always knew I was shaping my own fate  building an identity that would one day stand on its own, written in bold capital letters:

SANAM SULTAN , THE WARRIOR WITH SCARS.

I was born and brought up in the heart of Pakistan, Peshawar  a city known for its warmth and timeless hospitality. I grew up in a renowned feudal family, deeply rooted in political culture, education, and ambition. My mother, a sweet and sour almond eyed beauty with a feudal mindset yet stunning fashion sense, passed those traits on to me, strength, elegance, and fire. My father, a brilliant minded, motivated, and positive businessman of his time, refined the other half of me intelligence, courage, and an unshakable drive.

Together, their traits created this strong, stubborn, fierce woman walking the rocky path of life today moving forward, always, no matter how sharp the stones get.

My schooling began in Peshawar, in a strong English medium system my father insisted on, because I was their first child born after four years of prayers on my father’s side. I was the only girl, pampered, loved, and spoiled.

But on my mother’s side stood a long line of feudalist, ready to compare not intelligence, not determination, not resilience…

but beauty, skin color, and status, of course.

Initially, I didn’t see where this culture was leading me. As kids growing up with my maternal cousins, we didn’t understand the meaning of competition  all we saw were toys, games, schoolwork, and laughter. They showed off their fancy things and lifestyles, but we were too young to notice or care. What mattered back then was playing, studying, and just being children.

I still remember coming home from school to my grandfather’s house. He was an MBBS cardiologist from King Edward Medical College, Lahore  a topper of his time, a man of affection, principles, and brilliance. My grandmother, a strict feudal lady with a heart of gold, ruled the household with discipline and dignity.

In that huge ancestral mansion, we lived in a single small room tucked at the corner of the balcony four of us, including my chubby little brother. A family of four in one small room, yet part of a large, wealthy maternal family. But as kids, we never saw the politics of it, the class lines, the silent hierarchies.

We were raised differently taught by our parents to be empathetic, obedient, well mannered, and grounded in high moral values.

Sounds cute, right?

Yeah… that’s how great stories begin. Sweet, innocent, unaware.

Not realizing where life will take you…

Or how these walls, these people, these moments will shape your soul…

Until something big happens

But this ...

this was just the beginning.

More is coming on the way.

What we can conclude from this introduction is simple:

not every great background is colorful, and not every privileged family is bonded with warmth. Every background hides shadows… and every story carries a dark side.

Wait for the next part. 🙂