Salaam Waalequm (Namaste in Hindi or Hi in English)
My name is Tariq Anwar.
And, I will start my story from my name (they are as many as we are).
“
Tariq Anwar”, any one can tell that my name roots from Muslim religion, right.
Yes, it does. So, by just knowing my name, you also know that I am a muslim.
Yes, you do know it right again, because I don’t think there would be humans around who would like to have a Muslim name without even being one.
And I also know that there are many like me, who think that why am I born as a Muslim, why?
Religion does such things to us and specially religion like mine, that ever since I was a small boy aged six, I have hated it to the core. In my muhalla, that was predominantly a Hindu colony, boys used to call me, “
Kattu”. And it took a serious altercation with my Ammi to come to know that I have a sliced organ, or rather all of us Muslims have it.
I went to a Christian school, with 63 students in my first class of schooling. The school was supposed to be among the best in our town, boasting of the real Indian diversity- children of different religions, societal status, states, skin color (different shades of brown) and every other mix of variables and constants that lays the foundation of a democracy as diverse as India. I was good at basic mathematics, at least at counting. And somehow I counted unusual things- the number of Muslim children, the number of poor children, the number of other state children, etc. And, as I slowly progressed to my sixth year of schooling, I realized that I began with 6 Muslim children in my class and since then there have been two additions and four deletions to that
Minority List. So, I had four Muslim students in my class on that page of history. And out of them, two left the class in the next four months, for very religion specific issues- One has a monetary problem, as he hailed from a family driven by a mechanic father, with 4 other children to be raised. And, the second one had a nation-escaping-scenario, as his family shifted to UAE for better compensation and “
no-more-minority-status-any-more” relief.
When I finally completed my schooling and was on the path of becoming an engineer from a reputed engineering college, I just counted “my-religion” people in my last schooling class. And I had to look no where to do that. I was the ONE and the only ONE.
Why this happens with us, the Muslims?
In first year of my college, I was again reminded of the sliced top of my male organ in the ragging sessions. Though the remarks were never direct and were never said in a hurting manner, still I was reminded of that. But then, people are also called kaalu, motu, chikne, sardar, etc. And I never took that to my heart. I was and have always been that much logical.
It was one of those beautiful, festive nights of the nine day long
Navaratre, when I along with three of my friends, went to a “
Devi Mahotsav” near the local market. It was supposed to be a good place to hang around and get lucky with other sex. And, to our pleasure we were not informed wrongly. One of my friends struck the luck early and got lost in the dancing crowd.
Somehow I never liked this idea of trying to “sex up” the things during a religious function or such places supposed to be holy. I got my way out of the “
Gujju DJ echoing” ground and went to a tapri for a nice kick of sutta, The Gudang Garam. Sutta seems to me as one of the best creations by man kind- creative and courageous and individualistic- taming the fire, between two fingers and lips. Damn the world. Smoke the hell out!!!
This face of religion is so charming, so intoxicating- every one was enjoying the tunes of life, softly dancing away the complexities of daily life. It was all heaven like aura all around. I did not feel any God but the mere presence of the Durga statue, the burning incense sticks, the soothing and coherent chants and the dim lights were giving a feel of heaven.
It was around three in the morning, when I found myself messed up at a much messier place, which looked like hell. And what was about to come was beyond the twist I ever read in any novel till now. I was in a cell of the local police station, smelling like shit with my clothes finding it hard to cover up my secular flesh. And within a matter of 2-3 minutes I also spotted some blood stains on my shirt. And then physical pain came to strike me. Allah, where I am? And what am I doing here? Very soon, it was mental pain and agony’s turn to hit me and leave me hurt, forever.
Two policemen rushed inside the cell noticing my movements. And they started praising my mother for giving birth to a fucker, the praise came in big doses and had I not faced ragging, it would have been impossible to take in such abuses. They pulled me up wrestling with my collar and giving no concern to my pain.
“Kyoon, tera naam kya hai saale?”
“Sir…”.
“Abe sir-sir kya laga rakha hai…naam bhi yaad nahi kya???”
“Sir..Ta..Ta..ariq… Tariq Anwar ”.
“hmmm….yeh id tera hai??”
“Haan sir….mein issi college mein 2nd year ka student hoon sir…mein…mere Abba government engineer hain…maine kuch bhi nahi kiya sir…mujhe to pata bhi nahi hai…hua kya sir…sir..sir….” (He slapped a severe blow on the right side of my face, and I started crying, crying for the first time for an unknown reason and for an unknown crime. Till now they have been child like mistakes. But this time, without doing anything I was in a police locker)
“Devi Pooja mein kya kar raha tha tu? Naam kya hai tera, Tariq na? Fir saale musalmaan hoke yeh Devi Pooja mein kya kar raha tha haan…tere Abba ne tujhe yeh sab karne bheja hai? Blast hua hai yaha pe saale…yahi aata hai tum sabko haan…bc…pata hai…12 log maare gaye…mc…haraami ho sabke sab…”
“Sir…sir…mein apne doston ke saath aaya tha sir.. Dheeraj, Chetan aur Kapil..hum sab dance karne aaye they sir…aur mein peeche ki dukaan pe baitha tha…firr aage pata hi nahi sir..sir maine kuch nahi kiya sir…sir….pls sir….”
It has been twenty days when I came back from that cell. Rather, I died in that cell.
And, now, I don’t know who I am; to which religion I belong; which is my country; who are my people; what does it mean to be a citizen of a country, of a country like India;
I was interrogated and kept in the locker for 5 hours because of a simple reason, that my name was
Tariq Anwar.
Simple enough to put me along with all the terrorists spreading their Jehad and killing people like cutting bakra, right.
Simple enough to put all Muslims like me to the category of wretched killers causing blood baths across the globe.
Simple enough to make me believe that I was born with a curse.
But, even I have noticed something unique with us, like the school counting that I did. That
Minority List has been getting shorter and shorter as I am moving ahead. I see more and more of my religion people getting caught in connection to terror and sometimes I am even seeing only Muslims carrying out such terror tasks and boasting them like heroics in their hate mails and their Orkut accounts. And I am not blind to women suppression, poor economic condition, low literacy levels, etc and their dominance in our religion.
Whatever it is, whatever it may lead to and whoever is responsible, Tariq Anwar will have to keep on paying for his name, for his religion and for the bad deeds of some. Tariq Anwar will have to keep on proving his allegiance to his country. Tariq Anwar will have to keep on facing those
so-you-are-a-muslim glances and scans from people who are supposed to be his fellow countrymen.
Tariq Anwar is dead.
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