“Your sick”
“No I’m Muslim”
“Bwahahahaha. Very funny . I’ll better it, get this – “Ya allah illallah kann illa palli illa”
“Ya ya shuddap – Ram naam sathya hai, murda saala mast hai”
This is what a couple of high- school kids consider as religious division. Sadly, I am too, a high-school kid. But since a while I’ve been noticing…the differences…
In my tennis coaching classes, U used to come everyday….a lot more regular than myself, I might add.He was so darn funny that I had to stifle a gulp when one morning , he was moaning on and on about how he had had to kill a sheep. U, who couldn’t harm a fly had had to massacre a whole, live animal with his own, bare hands.
It was the first time that I noticed that he was muslim apart from his name. It was the first time I’d ever realized the difference between us. Us and them.
Thankfully the feeling didn’t last very long. Sensing that he’d shocked poor brahmanical, but meat eating, hypocritical but confused me at some level, he reasoned with me later that day during lunch. “A! For crying out loud, your frigging butcher does it every single day. What’s the fucking difference??!”
Of course! What was the difference between a once a year religious sacrifice that was consumed by an entire family and a butcher who killed everyday for consumption? After he’d put it that way it had all made sense. In fact, he shouldn’t have even had to explain himself. I should’ve understood. I smiled, linked arms with him and life moved on smoothly enough. U even got grace time for coming late to class on Friday afternoons because he went to the Masjid across the road. We’d all chime in chorus “Sir, he’s gone for Namaaazzz” and the coach would nod approvingly and mark him present.
This week Z, a close friend of mine has been most dejected. His American visa has been rejected for the second time. “I’m just going there for a film shoot with a crew of 60 people for 3 months, with one of the largest production houses in India, with a resume of like 10 films till now! But they still ask me in that low critical voice they love to use ‘Mr Z, I’m going to ask you one more time, what is the purpose of your visit to the United States of America? Like I’m some fucking imbecile” he screamed out, close to tears. His frustration apparent that the rest of the crew had got their visa’s on the first attempt because none of them were Muslims.
It reminded me of a scene from the Pakistani film Khudakayliye, when the protagonist who is literally being tortured into saying he’s a terrorist changes his scribbles on the wall from ‘I LOVE USA’ by adding an MA to the end of USA to now read “I LOVE USAMA”.
Z, finally got his Visa on the 3rd attempt and is off tomorrow.
I, have just realized, I’m not entirely sure what I’ve been trying to say.
A*





















