Skip to main content

'In Barishoon Sei Dosti Achi Nahi' Series of Blogs - 1

'Hindu, Hindu, Hindu', one of my class fellows was yelling at the top of her voice and I was cringing for my friend who was being screamed at in this manner. It meant that she was a caste-ist, she had a 'baghal mein churi and moon mein raam raam', in short, she was a liar, a kafir and it was better to be called for a duel than to be called a Hindu. And this was only primary school.

Fast forward almost a decade and a half: We were invited by some of my husband's Indian colleagues to a dinner at their place after returning from Pakistan after getting married. I was getting ready and was terribly anxious. The slur that was associated with being called a 'Hindu' still ringing in my ears. And this is someone who has lived in the West, by that time, for almost 4 years but though I had come across many Muslim and Christian Indians, I had never come across a Hindu Indian. My husband was a student of South Asian studies and had very good knowledge of Hinduism and even I knew much about Hinduism but surely there was another, less loaded term to call Hindus. I was so afraid that by calling them Hindus I would be offending them. Atlast I could not contain it any longer and blurted to my husband if it was alright during the course of our conversation if I referred to them as Hindus? At first he didn't quite understand what the problem was and shrugged. I could see I was getting nowhere so I gave him the whole context. As expected he was shocked by the prejudice I had been exposed to but assured me that it was perfectly alright, though the friends we were meeting would have other historical and epistemological issues with being called Hindus, the word itself was perfectly innocent and would not offend them! Phew!

So here is what happened: when I got an opportunity to visit India, all of these memories and impressions accompanied me. In my subsequent blogs in this series, I will be talking about these. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fantasy or reality: Where do we want to live?

An eagle is told that it once lived in huge nests on high mountains and tall trees at high altitudes and the big bird scoffs at such a preposterous idea. How can such a big bird living in caves and hunting on rodents soar in the skies over mountain tops and oceans. Not a bad idea but quite unlikely. Seems like these humans are crazy and think of anything about other animals to hide their own embarrassment over their monkey ancestry. Pick up any great novel, Hundred Years of Solitude, Blindness, Beloved, Alchemist or any others that you have read where imagination is stretched but you flow with the narrative. You easily believe what the writer is asking of you. It seems plausible and hence possible and you like a bird open your wings and fly where the winds of possibilities take you. Marquez creates a parallel world of freedom and we camp in this world with him; Morrison brings a spirit from the dead and we unblinkingly accept her character; Saramago presents a sightless world to us ...

Least Favourite things.

Grey Hair and wrinkles, Love handles in thirties twenty buck Roses with down turned expressions These are some of my least favourite things Empty mail boxes Cats out patrolling Classes on Fridays early at 0930 These are some of my least favourite things Winter in mid April Inbox not opening Washing bathtub with bleach and scrubbing These are some of my least favourite things Chicken at lunch and chicken at dinner On Monday and Tuesday going into Wednesday Same 'ol chicken day in and day out These are some of my least favourite things

Snapshots

Naseem, is a six year old girl. When I met her she was sitting on the charpoi with her mother and constantly clapping but without any mirth. Her hair was cut almost to her scalp. I was told that she was a miracle child, she had been suffering from severe acute malnutrition and her family and relatives had almost given up hope that she would survive but she had proven all stats wrong and was sitting right in front of us. Physically, she was on the mend but her mental growth had been irreversibly stunted. She did not respond to any movement, any gesture or sound, her mind was somewhere else... A little boy, hardly seven, sitting on the curbside on an otherwise busy junction but at 0100AM he seemed so out of place on that dark, deserted road. As we stopped at the traffic signal, on the road perpendicular to where he was sitting, my attention was drawn to his posture. His slumped back was towards me and as I watched, two cars stopped on the lanes furthest from him. He made an ...