Taare Zameen Par And Stereotyping Muslims

I had just finished writing my father’s name and address on the envelope. I was couriering a C.D. of the Amir Khan starrer Taare Zameen Par to my little sister back home. I also wrote my name and address on the envelope. (I hardly write my full name on the cover of envelopes). Out came the query from one of the DTDC persons,

“Madam, aap mahammedan ho?” (Madam, you are a Muslim?)
“Haan”, I said, “Aapko kaise pata chala?” (Yes, how do you know?)

I was more scared than surprised.

“Aapke naam ki chitthi aati he 2047 par.” (You get letters at the address 2047)

So they have already registered my identity in their private memories. In case there is a riot…………

I checked myself from portending further doom.

But it was how they killed the Muslims in Gujrat. By marking the Muslim names from telephone directories. How can we be so sure that such a thing will not happen in Delhi. I know I am getting paranoid. But I also know that a lot of others are also paranoid. They are scared to their deaths of their impending murders. Anything can happen anytime. All of them are in their guards, all of them have nightmares of riots like I very often do. Since I came to Delhi five years back it has become regular phenomenon for me to have nightmares of riots every few months. I don’t give my full name if someone inquires my identity. In case I do, it very often leads to a frown or a look of suspended disbelief. “How come you are a Muslim and you don’t wear a burqa or a hijab? How can you teach English in a college like SRCC?”

Sometimes it really gets on my nerves.

It was my first class in SRCC and I introduced myself, “This is Syeda Semim Zahan.” A female student almost stood up and exclaimed, “Oh you are a Muslim.” I saved myself from drowning into a well of despair by a prompt reply, “Yes, what do you think I would wear a burqa and then come to the class?”

There is no end to such incidents. Once there was a girl named Gazala. I thought that was a Muslim name and asked her, “Are you a Muslim.” She replied with immediate denial, “No, no. I am not a Muslim.” I literally had to say sorry for I dared to assume she was a Muslim. As if to be a Muslim is to be an ‘untouchable’, a ‘chamar’, a ‘bhangi’, a Dalit. Before leaving the courier people asked if I was from Pakistan. (Because it is only Pakistan that hordes Muslims!) I said I am from Assam and added, “Assam me bhi Muslaman he.” (There are Muslims in Assam too).

I left the place with a sense of relief. Not because I could finish an unpleasant conversation but because ultimately I sent the C.D. of Taare Zameen Par to my little sister who also nurtures a passion for painting like little Ishan in the movie. But I am again scared of my little sister who is also a ‘Muslim’ above all things; she too is growing up and will very soon face a big and bad world where she too will face people’s inquisitiveness filled with disbelief at her being a Muslim woman, an educated, burqaless Muslim woman. And as in the movie I too want to sing, kho na jayye ye tare zameen par.