Shafey Danish
In troubled times people tend to turn to God. The sheer pace at which people have been turning towards God, in the world as a whole, across continents and communities, race and religion, should signify we live in very troubled times indeed. I must admit I am no different.
I have been told in numerous books and by numerous sniggering friends, that this is a form of weakness, a remnant of primeval fears. Over the years, I have given them many types of replies, I have told them that they can’t give me any proof that Allah really does not exist, and without proof to the contrary I think it wiser to believe in him than not, seeing how beneficial it has turned out to be for me. I have told them that ironical coincidences, called cosmic irony in literary jargon, could not exist without there being an intelligence behind them. I have told them that believing in a man of unimpeachable veracity is as logical or more logical that believing in science that constantly keeps renewing itself; I have told them these and many other things.
And yet this is a question to which I keep returning. I look uneasily at the chaos without, and sometimes to the chaos within, and repeat to myself all the arguments and the reasons that I give them. The world has turned such that it is a time to ask questions and grope for answers.
For a Muslim this is especially a time for introspection. A time to look within and ask, why is it that I am a Muslim at all? For Islam is an exacting religion; five times of prayers, no booze, keep away from women, fast for a full month – a full list of what to be and what not to be. Add to all that, Bush’s war on terrorism, Sunny’s (Deol) war on the Pakistanis, inability to find houses for rent, and difficulties of hiring a Mini Van (not an easy task at all if you happen to sport a beard) and you would start getting the picture. Is it worth it all, is it worth it at all?
One needs to ask whether it was not better, as one particular person had suggested to me, to shave out the beard, and go for a name change? If a rose by another name could smell as sweet, I certainly would not be much harmed if Shafey became Satish, or Danish became Dinesh.
Life would suddenly turn into a park. No more embarrassment when bearded guys in films who look and speak exactly as Muslims do, turn out to be duplicitous terrorists out to destroy the country. No more sweaty palms when news channels run stories on how beards have become the symbols of radical Islam. No more angst and anger when I hear and read of Muslims being bombed, tortured, arrested etc around the world. They’d be the other people. Not of us. No connection with me. None at all; and I could tell this to the police wallahs if they ever happen to pick me up.
So why is it that I am a Muslim still? The long answer is too long to incorporate here, the short answer is – I believe. I believe in Allah, and believe in the truth of Hazrat Muhammad’s prophethood. I believe that a day would come when I would have to stand before Allah and give an account of my life in which I would not be able to lie, subvert or say I do not know. I believe in angles and in the next life and in Paradise and in Hell and in a thousand other things that I have been told about in Islam.
As one grows older one grows wise, (a few do not, but that’s another matter). And as one grows wise one sees the wisdom of His ways. Rules that had seemed – even if one had not admitted it even to oneself – inane, start seeming profound. And the more one sees this the more one’s faith grows. And so grows the hope that there would be a final coming to terms, a reaching of a final and complete understanding, and thus achieving a final peace, with the world and with oneself.
But since that understanding would take sometime to come, and life really cannot wait; in the meantime, one needs to find ways – improvise and compromise – to do the tightrope of balancing the modern and the Islamic.
So I debate sometimes if I really should wear the bottoms of my trouser rolled, as Islam (not Eliot) wants, so that my ankles are visible? And should I cover my head with a skullcap? After all if the women can raise such a hue and cry about donning the headscarf, Turkey is in political crisis over it, why can’t we the men do the same?
And how do I stare beyond the ear of a woman while talking to her- so that I can keep within the laws of Purdah, without giving offence? Issues such as these have become the staple of the obstacle course I run everyday.
There is another part of this obstacles course, one that comes from without and not within. Shabana Azmi recently gave an interview about the difficulty of being a Muslim today. She said that she could not buy a house because she was a Muslim.
Her case is an extreme one, the lady is not so unknown that a landlord or neighbour should fear of her having links with terrorists. Neither is she a fundamentalist if films like ‘Fire’ are taken as a guide. And yet she could not buy a house.
This gave me the idea that at least in the kind of experiences I have had, I am not alone. Even the rich and the famous experience them, if they but have a Muslim name.
Sometimes the tag of Mulla or Mian is flung at me like a bad name because I happen to sport a beard. The word is an honorific, I have so very often told myself, debating whether I should or should not create a scene over the issue; after all the word is something like calling a person doctor.
But I know in my heart of hearts that it was not meant that way, it is thrown at you with a mix of condescension and contempt. There is no respect there.
But I also know I would never really make an issue out of it. How many people would I quarrel with? Every other bus conductor, grocery seller or your neighbor? No, it is not happening.
But there is another aspect to this. I was told by my uncle when my beard was just threatening to grow, that it would be best not to keep it. Because, said he, I would face end number of discriminations.
Of course I promptly resolved to keep my beard. And in the years since, have never found cause to regret the decision. True, one faces discrimination from the lumpen dunderheads of the world, but I have never till date encountered a serious case of discrimination on account of my religion. I have not been denied jobs or treated differently at the workplace.
I have gone to places that other students go to, to the embassies and the libraries and to universities. To business houses and publishing firms, and met and interacted with a wide variety of people. And never have I felt even by a look or a glance, that I was treated differently. So much so that I sometimes wonder that I had ever thought it could be otherwise.
Perhaps this may change in times to come as I interact with a wider group of people, most of them not belonging to the gentle discipline of education and writing. Or perhaps I would finally find that there really is no discrimination beyond those that exist in one’s own mind.
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