I studied Islamic Studies in a place like Jamia Millia Islamia. I had professors who studied at Darul Uloom Deoband. Especially since I came from a secular background and not from any madarsa and since I often expressed views which were considered blasphemous and absolutely un-Islamic, I was categorically asked to stay away from people and writings which would further deviate me from the ‘right path’. Salman Rushdie obviously topped that list. In fact, I was categorically asked not to turn into a Taslima Nasreen. I reassured them that I was too sympathetic towards the community to let any such thing happen, in spite of my certain ‘unacceptable’ views on most issues.
I work for Outlook websites and no one finds my views unacceptable anymore, the way they did back in Jamia. It should have been very comforting. Many would have said that I have found my place at last but that is not how happy this story is. Being in Jamia and being very close to a lot of people there, I completely understand the views of that part of the world, even if I may not always agree with them. I know how important a certain issue becomes for them and why. And I counter their arguments with my own, sometimes inspired by the discussions I might have had with my boss back in office and then I take their reasons and sensibilities to office and try to fit them in a world that apparently does not understand them.
The recent controversy over Salman Rushdie visiting the Jaipur Literary festival was kind of a reminder of how my two worlds are pulling in two different directions and how torn I am between the two of them.
The day Darul Uloom Deoband demanded that Rushdie be stopped from coming to the country, I received a call from a professor. He seemed very agitated over the whole matter. He is usually a fairly reasonable man and I told him that there was no point getting so mad about what Rushdie wrote ages back. Everyone has the right to expression and so does Rushdie. His answer – then people have the right to kill him over it if they want to. I spent the next few days in debate with the same professor, trying to make him see sense. Every morning was the same. I heard what he had to say about the hurt sentiments of the community, the politics behind it all, their definition of the freedom of expression. I gave him counter arguments, things that my boss said, things I read around. I did not wish to convince him. I just wanted to know what his part of the world had to say. And in the evening, I gave his arguments to people on the other side of the world to see what they had to say about them. His arguments obviously did not stand a chance in front of the deft articulation of the meaning of freedom that the English media embarked upon.
To make matters worse, I was asked to take a look at what the Urdu media was saying about the whole issue. I found two columns, one of them written by my own head of the department at Jamia. My boss called their opinions ‘rabid’.
What I realised in the midst of all this ‘looking at both sides’ is that I had forgotten to take a stance. I still don’t know which side I am on. I don’t even have an opinion and I don’t like not having an opinion. I don’t know who is right and who is not. I think everyone has been stupid in their ways. I understand both sides and I feel like a mother watching two children fight and I cannot afford to take sides. I don’t know how the situation could have been averted without upsetting one of the two parties. The side not liking Satanic verses should realise that it is just a book and their faith cannot be so fragile that it should feel threatened by what someone decides to write or say. The other side could probably show a little more sensitivity since they claim to be intellectuals. Instead of protesting and talking about freedom of expression and deeming the other camp as dumb, fatwa issuing public, can they not just sit down and talk, at least try making sense of what the other side is trying to say?
As for me, I will form an opinion after I have finished reading the whole book.
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