Four years back I used to go to the city's hoity toity French institute to learn the French language back home. It was thrice a week from 6.30pm to 8.00pm. During Ramadhan, it was maghrib time at 7.00 which fell during class time. Mom used to make me something to break my fast with, and neatly pack it up in a tiffin box and give it to me, even though I was an adult then. Mommies do not recognize age when it comes to feeding their hungry children.
So at seven, between class time, I used to gingerly excuse myself out of the class for ten minutes to break my fast and eat what mom had packed for me. There was just this one another person who was Muslim from the other class. She happened to be the class teacher of another class there. So it was me and her in the lobby outside the classes snacking at iftar time. I didn't know her and since she was a teacher, didn't feel too comfy talking to her while I was eating. She offered me a date and i'd accept, smiling. Those days were weird. I remember sighing thinking why it was so hard being a Muslim. So much attention we would catch.
There was this one nice hindu guy sitting behind a desk in the lobby. He used to work there. He would ask me if he wanted me to open up an empty class for him so I could eat there. I would smile and say no it was alright. Its always amazed me how so many Hindus were so respectful of us Muslims and our beliefs. It made me like humanity. Such an odd feeling. I generally hate the human race. That's what I've always liked about India- the respect for religion. Even though you might not agree one bit with what the other person believes in, you'd still respect their beliefs and not let your differences in opinion make them feel uncomfortable around you. Of course there are the psychos too, brainwashed for political reasons.
My brother would come to pick me up at eight for home. Mom would send me fruits with him to eat in the car on the way back. It would usually be watermelon, my favorite. I would pierce the neatly pieced, chat masala garnished watermelon with my fork and put it in my mouth one piece at a time. Bro and I would talk about fun things while he drove. I would indulge in playful laughter and pick on him. He would have his iftaari real quick so he'd get to my class on time to pick me up. Ah, how spoiled and loved I was. The only precious girl child.
Then, I remember bending my head down in french class controlling myself from crying listening to the french song we were supposed to listen to. The song about Muslim women. About how the hijab is imposed upon them by the men and they are denied their rights of expressing themselves. Me, in my pale red headscarf. Completely silenced. Didn't utter a word. How I hated myself for not being able to speak then. That was the day I quit french class and my two extra years of working on it apart from going to uni. I couldn't take the Islamophobia inside the class. It surprises me how naive of a girl I was then and how changed I am now. I would not let a soul live if a song like that was played again in my presence and if people were meant to pay attention to what was being said in it. I would rattle away and make every human feel like low life! Yea, i'd show them how I "express" myself in my hijab! Ah well, i'm still quite naive now, too. My interactions with the head of dept of the hawza clearly show that. Oh, who am I kidding.
So that was life, as it used to be.
So at seven, between class time, I used to gingerly excuse myself out of the class for ten minutes to break my fast and eat what mom had packed for me. There was just this one another person who was Muslim from the other class. She happened to be the class teacher of another class there. So it was me and her in the lobby outside the classes snacking at iftar time. I didn't know her and since she was a teacher, didn't feel too comfy talking to her while I was eating. She offered me a date and i'd accept, smiling. Those days were weird. I remember sighing thinking why it was so hard being a Muslim. So much attention we would catch.
There was this one nice hindu guy sitting behind a desk in the lobby. He used to work there. He would ask me if he wanted me to open up an empty class for him so I could eat there. I would smile and say no it was alright. Its always amazed me how so many Hindus were so respectful of us Muslims and our beliefs. It made me like humanity. Such an odd feeling. I generally hate the human race. That's what I've always liked about India- the respect for religion. Even though you might not agree one bit with what the other person believes in, you'd still respect their beliefs and not let your differences in opinion make them feel uncomfortable around you. Of course there are the psychos too, brainwashed for political reasons.
My brother would come to pick me up at eight for home. Mom would send me fruits with him to eat in the car on the way back. It would usually be watermelon, my favorite. I would pierce the neatly pieced, chat masala garnished watermelon with my fork and put it in my mouth one piece at a time. Bro and I would talk about fun things while he drove. I would indulge in playful laughter and pick on him. He would have his iftaari real quick so he'd get to my class on time to pick me up. Ah, how spoiled and loved I was. The only precious girl child.
Then, I remember bending my head down in french class controlling myself from crying listening to the french song we were supposed to listen to. The song about Muslim women. About how the hijab is imposed upon them by the men and they are denied their rights of expressing themselves. Me, in my pale red headscarf. Completely silenced. Didn't utter a word. How I hated myself for not being able to speak then. That was the day I quit french class and my two extra years of working on it apart from going to uni. I couldn't take the Islamophobia inside the class. It surprises me how naive of a girl I was then and how changed I am now. I would not let a soul live if a song like that was played again in my presence and if people were meant to pay attention to what was being said in it. I would rattle away and make every human feel like low life! Yea, i'd show them how I "express" myself in my hijab! Ah well, i'm still quite naive now, too. My interactions with the head of dept of the hawza clearly show that. Oh, who am I kidding.
So that was life, as it used to be.
Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteHow I wish to one day have the courage to defend what and who I am in front of a class when the situation calls.