ExMIN

Sana and Bariyah

2020-07-11T00:00:00.000Z

Author: Hina

Sana and Bariyah had met in college. Back then they hadn't realized how their destinies were intertwined with each other. They both would attend the same economics classes everyday. Sana, the centre of attention and Bariyah, a wallflower. Their worlds were different yet they shared the same space.

Sana was from an influential family that had a big name in their town, Behrampur. Bariyah was an ordinary girl with ordinary ambitions, the daughter of tailor chacha.

There were many suitors for Sana that came and went while Sana kept rejecting them in hopes of marrying her one. She knew she was running out of time. She would have to eventually say yes and marry someone to keep her family's honor. She never really liked any man that came her way. They were all just too masculine for her.

When one day her father called her and told her she'd have to say yes to this man who was a perfect musalman. Who would make her deen should she follow him into his house, Sana knew this was the moment for her to jump out of her dream world and enter the society she lived in. She agreed to the marriage with this righteous man who had earned everyone's respect in town. This bearded Islamic scholar who had come back to reform their society. The news spread far and wide and reached the ears of Bariyah.

Bariyah was silent girl who always blended into walls. She never spoke up nor ever tried to make friends with the popular people of her class. She'd sit in her corner with her notebook open to the last page. Always doodling the letter S for Sana. She never saw a girl more beautiful than her. She'd steal glances at her through out the class but never dared to go up to her. She was afraid of getting rejected by the one girl who had stole her heart. She knew they could never be together and her secret was safe only with her. She knew Sana would get married soon. But when the news broke, Bariyah's dreams broke with it. But what could she have done? Sana never could be hers.

Everyone congratulated Sana over the following days. Bariyah took her chances to at least talk to Sana while she had the chance. To at least stand near her before she was gone forever. It took a lot of guts for Bariyah to walk up to her. Everyone had left the class and Sana was packing up when Bariyah in her meek voice said, 'Congratulations. The groom is very lucky to have a girl as beautiful as you. Erm..All the best for your life.' and walked away as fast as she could. Her heart raced and cheeks flushed. It was the closest she ever stood in front of Sana and had made a complete fool of herself. She knew destroyed her chances to even be Sana's friend. Walking away from Sana was the longest walk she ever made. She decided to never go back to the class again.

On the other side, Sana was very amused by this silent girl of her class and her curiosity peaked to get to know this woman whom she never really noticed up until now. So she invited Bariyah the next day to help her shop for her wedding and hangout with her until she got married. Sana didn't have many close friends but something told her, Bariyah would be a close friend.

It was a dream come true moment for Bariyah. She decided she wouldn't disappoint Sana and be her best. She'd do anything to spend the last of Sana's single life with her. Fulfill a dream anyway she could.

Their friendship blossomed over the weeks. Sana never knew she could have such a good time with anyone. Bariyah was something else and Sana was glad they she was able to find someone like Bariyah. Bariyah was obviously in love with her but did her very best to never let her emotions flow out. She'd pass off her flirting as casual jokes. Sana would play along and it was almost like time stopped for them.

Spending time with Bariyah would confuse her. The world as she had always known was changing and everything she had known about herself felt like a lie. She was confused, excited and scared yet she knew if anything made sense to her, it was Bariyah. She was the gravity that held her together in this world. She tried to brush off all her feelings as pre wedding jitters but her heart kept screaming something else. Sana was falling for a girl. She refused to admit it not only because it was wrong but also because she knew she could never have her.

They never spoke their hearts but their eyes would convey things they were afraid to talk about. It wasn't that hard in all the wedding shenanigans to keep their minds occupied. It was only in the nights when Bariyah stayed over with Sana in her bedroom that it was difficult to stay apart. They would sleep on the same bed in their corners. Slowly shifting until their bodies intertwined. They couldn't have ever asked for more. They knew that was the closest they could ever get. They never spoke of it the following mornings and would go about their business.

Though time had stopped for them, the world around them was changing rapidly. Sana's weddng was in a day and they had to snap out of their world. They had to part and they knew it. Bariyah never brought Sana a wedding gift because she knew she wouldn't have been able to go through with it. Sana never asked for one because that meant Bariyah accepted their fate of never being together.

They spent every moment together until Sana had to go to the alter where she'd accept Ali as her husband. No one spoke for the longest time until Sana, in her wedding dress broke the silence.

'Bari, would you have liked me if I were a boy or you were a boy?'

'what do you even mean by that? I like you as you are. Everybody does.'

'You know what I mean. Would you have married me?'

'I would marry you in a heartbeat' she said jokingly, trying to hide the truth.

'Then do it. Because I do' Sana said it in all her seriousness. She looked at Bariyah who had nothing to say.

Sana got married a few minutes after their conversation. Saba hadn't had a chance to reply. They never spoke to each other again for years.

Sana was a dutiful wife, arrested in her own desires for a person she knew she'd never have. She never contacted Bariyah again. She never spoke of their time together but every night she went to bed thinking of her. She performed all her wifely duties and did everything that was expected of her. Ali was a patriach who spent much time in local politics. He did everything islamically and followed all the duties required of him. Society respected him. Sana was told time and again how lucky she was to be with such a learned man. Only Sana knew behind closed doors, Ali wasn't what people thought him to be. He wasn't cruel. He was just very to the book.

Her life was a routine she submitted herself to until she died. But one fine day her husband broke the news that he was marrying another woman who had nobody else that could provide for her. Sana was a dutiful wife so she said nothing even if it hurt her sentiment a bit. Even if she didn't love Ali, she didn't know how to react to the thought of another woman in her house.

Next day, she prepared for the bride. She'd thought they would split the responsibilities and her coming would reduce the time she'd have to spend with Ali which was a good thing. She thought maybe this was a good thing even if society might feel bad for her. Even if her parents were more upset than her, maybe this was how she could manage a marriage she could barely be happy in. What she didn't think was to ask about this bride who was to enter her house.

Bariyah entered into her house dressed as a bride. It was as though life brought back colours and Sana couldn't have been happier. Yet this was the last thing she could've expected. She contained all her emotions waiting to explode. Ali escorted his new wife in and told Sana about her as though they were meeting for the first time. Ali never remembered Bariyah from his marriage to Sana. Nor did Sana's parents remember her name.

'She was in the same college as you. You probably never noticed her. She recently lost her parents and was working to earn a living. I couldn't let a woman work while I could help her so I married her. I hope you will be nice to her.' said the husband.

Never in her wildest dreams did Sana think this could ever happen. She didn't know how to react and just showed Bariyah to her room. Their husband spent the next few hours with her while Sana waited in anticipation. She didn't know what was happening. She didn't know what to think of it.

It was past midnight when Bariyah sneaked into Sana's room after their husband was fast asleep. She came in and said, 'I know what you're thinking. This is crazy but let me explain myself. It is true my parents died in an accident. I was earning my living in the tailor shop when your husband walked in. I knew instantly who he was and he offered to give me support if I agree to marry him. I knew he was marrying me for a political gain. It is completely greedy of me but I missed you, Sana. I had to see you. I had to be with you. You have no idea how difficult these last few years have been. . I know I should've spoken before but he said you were OK with the marriage and I hope you are and i just wanted-'

Sana stopped her midway and kissed her for the longest time like she had always imagined she would do in her dreams. So what she couldn't marry Bariyah. They both could share a husband and live together like she always wanted to she thought.

'Remember you asked me something right before you got married? My answer is I do. I marry you. Even if this is how we're to live. Even if I have to change everything in my world to be with you, I will. I have. I love you.' said Bariyah with a finality, tears falling off her face.

'Thank God for Islam and our Islamic husband. You and I are finally together.' Said Sana holding the love of her life in her arms.

-THE END-

P.S. - I'm so sorry this is so long. I was trying my hand in writing fiction stories that had a twist in Islamic societies. This is my first and I've written after the longest time. I hope you like it.

The views and opinions expressed in this blog are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Exmuslims of India or any other agency, organization, employer or company. Assumptions made in the blog are not reflective of the position of any entity other than the author(s) – and, since we are critically-thinking human beings, these views are always subject to change, revision, and rethinking at any time. Please do not hold us to them in perpetuity.

The Importance of Being Exmuslim (in India)

2020-07-11T00:00:00.000Z

Author: aQ

I am an atheist. But for the longest time I used to be a Muslim. When I left Islam, I wasn’t aware of the term exmuslim. There were atheists online but I didn’t come across an exmuslim atheist until years after my apostasy.

I prefer the label atheist over exmuslim but exmuslim is what I choose to identify as when religion is discussed. The reason is awareness. I want other exmuslims to know they aren’t alone and that leaving Islam is possible.

India is not a Sharia state- it’s a secular nation. So I didn’t have to worry about the government prosecuting me for my apostasy. My family no longer harasses me for not practising but it took years of patience and persistence to reach this point.

So Islam is no longer the burden it once was. The battle was hard fought and won.

So why am I still talking about it?

While my struggles with Islam ended, there are many whose struggles have just begun. There are more exmuslims online today but it will be a while before leaving Islam is normalised. I don’t expect that to change in my lifetime but we have to pave the way.

The other reason I use the label of exmuslim is the deteriorating situation in India. India is a secular nation but the way things are devolving, I don’t expect that to remain in my lifetime.

Every day, I gain a greater appreciation of the struggles of exmuslims living in a Sharia state - that sense of impending doom coupled with a fear to speak out openly.

The Muslim population of India is the second largest in the world but Muslims are a minority in India. India’s secularism has always had its ups and downs but the last decade has shown an alarming erosion of secularism with the Muslim community being one of those who suffer for it.

As an atheist, secularism is what keeps the madness of religion at bay. While India’s secularism is a compromise compared to France’s secularism, it is far better than the threat of living under a religious state. A Hindu rashtra is as desirable to me as an Islamic caliphate.

Socially speaking, atheists are often considered to ‘belong’ to the religion of their birth. If I tell someone I am an atheist, the next question would be “But what religion is your family?’’. Atheism isn’t officially recognised in India - for administrative purposes, you’re still considered as belonging to the religion of your birth.

So even if I didn’t give a hoot about my Muslim family or if I lacked a conscience, you can see why the recent troubles of the Muslim community affects me. Whether I like it or not, I am forever tied to their fortunes. It’s one thing to have to deal with the Muslims and Muslimophobes but another to deal with a threat from the current government and my fellow citizens emboldened by them.

It’s a unique dilemma and not easy to explain. I know this because I’ve been called a Muslim by Hindu nationalists, a Hindu nationalist by Islamists, a never-Muslim by Muslims and an Islamophobe by the rest. I am fairly sure one can’t be all four at the same time and I know I am not any one of those.

I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of my situation. I struggled for years to be rid of one religion only to have to deal with the threat of another.

~ A member of Exmin

Kahina, Female, 23

2020-07-07T00:00:00.000Z

My story isn't about how or why I left Islam. It's about what happened after I did.

I went from being a liberal feminist muslim to an exmuslim in an excruciatingly long process of over a year. One the one side I had my mother who kept going deeper into Islam and on the other end was me with wild ideas and thoughts that kept getting more radical. My only solution to reconcile the differences with my mum was to reconcile my ideas with my religion. So, naturally, I read the quran.

And I couldn't unread what I read. I couldn't be a woman, comfortable with my Muslim identity when Quran treated me as a second class citizen. When it was okay to beat wives who were men's properties. Who's only mission in life was to serve their husband - their only jihad. Who only got their husbands as reward in paradise. Who's intellect was less than that of men. Who were in larger numbers in hell than men. Who could be concubines or 2nd or 3rd wives. Or child brides. Islam wasn't for me. Mysogyny wasn't for me.

This conflict of what I firmly believed in (feminism) and my birth ascribed identity of a muslimah was a violent one. The language in Quran angered me. I could see the brainwashing. Repeating Allah is merciful and yet I needed to fear him. I could see how if I even questioned this, I'd be a disbeliever "and they are the worst of all creation." I could see so much of hatred in this religion of peace.

All this led me to an identity crisis. Am I a Muslim? Am I not? Am I a sinner? I am hell-bound. I'm terrible to even think wrong of Islam. I'll bring so much hurt to my parents. I'll break my family apart. I'm guilty. I am hate-worthy.

Over months I developed depressiom, anxiety self harming tendencies. The guilt was too much to bear. My parents loved me for who I was not. They were happy with the facade I put up. They cursed people like the real me. People who would blaspheme. I felt truly unwanted, alone and unworthy of the love I recieved from them, simply because I couldn't agree to what I was supposed to believe in.

I eventually took therapy to come to terms with my identity crisis. But what it really took for me to accept myself was a suicide note I came across on the internet. Someone who cited the same reasons as me, decided to end his life and it brought me out of my misery. I did not have to suffer. I am who I am and it's ok if it's not who my parents wanted me to be. I'm not guilty. I am not hate worthy.

All this took a year and in the process I learned to love myself, protect myself, parent myself and accept myself.

I am an exmuslim and someday you'll know to.

Kahina, Female, 23

Islam: The Performance

2021-03-27T00:00:00.000Z

Part 1: Juvenilia

Cue 2012-13. I was in 7th grade and a friend had brought the Quran to school. This was probably my most devout era as a religious individual. The dissonance between a Muslim home, a Christian school and Hindu television was taking a toll on my beliefs which made me dive head first into my religion as a coping mechanism. Any criticism of Islam was my criticism and any question on how much I was dedicated to the religion itself was a call to arms.

Thus, when a classmate had questioned my ability to actually read Arabic, owing to the fact that I primarily conversed in English, I was offended. We struck up a bet of sorts. He would bring one of the sections of the Quran to school, which ever he deemed fit, and I would read it to prove to him that I actually did know how to read. If I failed to do so in a public environment, I would be liable to pay for a treat in the canteen for him and his friends. Conversely, if I did prove his accusation was false and unjustified, he would do the same.

The bell had rung. It was 10:40 am and hordes of children sprung from their seats, sprinting to secure to the prefect tree for their cricket matches. Dust became aerosols and every breath invited the scents of the freshly cut grass and sweaty children latching onto those very dust particles. And in a few minutes when everything had settled once more, the classes emptied, class 7B stood in silence anticipating a glamorous presentation.

He pulled out a copy of Alif-laam-meem from his bag. A sly smile darted across my face, “today I will feast”.

12-year-olds are weird creatures. He, in his unrelenting and unwavering pride, really did believe that would not be able to read the text. His presumption seemingly derived from thin air. I wager it might have been due to the outward projection of myself. I wasn’t the type to speak in Urdu or even try to be somewhat preachy, both of which he was. Possibly, the thought that someone who didn’t seem as pious could rival his piety might have been a bit hurtful to him. Still, these are just retrospective assumptions.

He sat down on the desk in front of me and I began to read. I must have read one page; I can’t recall properly. What I can recall is the tinge of anger in the expression of my rival. He got up, picked up the copy off my desk, stuffed it in his bag and stormed off of the class with his companions. I did not follow him. My friends sat around my desk, popping open their tiffin boxes. The smell of fried potato and chapati, jam and bread, and all sorts of aromas of the typical mid-day meals filled the room as I beamed from ear to ear.

In a moment of curious wonder, a friend popped a simple question, “What did it mean?”

I, in my arrogance and with the widest grin on my face, replied, “I have no idea!”

But the question stuck with another birthed within my mind seemingly with my answer, “Then why read?”

Part 2: Sing at Home

The shuffling of feet alerted even the ones with the dullest of hearing as the children washed up and made their way to the veranda. Cramped on a small wooden cot, the eight of us waited for the Arabic tutor to arrive. Some of us practised the lesson we were assigned, to recite the verses with perfect pronunciation and fluency. Among children who were much younger than I was, I sat idle. The two questions ran in circles within my mind.

“What did it mean?”

“Then why read?”

The tutor came in and in turns each of us recited our piece in front of him and sat back down on the cot. Since I was the eldest, my turn came at last. I went up to him presented my piece, lilting at the proper syllables seeming singing the verses. After my turn was over and the tutor had assigned me another page for the next day, I popped the question to him. “What did it mean?”

“Why?” he asks, almost in disbelief as to why this question would pop-up.

“Just because. I want to know what I was reading is all.” I replied, trying to make the question seem innocent.

The eighteen-year-old practitioner of religion who had been studying the very subject he was teaching since he was a 5 was oblivious to the meaning of the text. The copy of the Quran I had in hand did not include an Urdu translation, which some do. I opened up the page which I had just completed and turned it towards the tutor. “What does this mean?” This time I might have been a bit more aggressive.

“I cannot tell you. Nobody can. No one can understand the Quran completely. Do not question just read.” His answer was peculiar to me. Maybe antithetical to the whole idea of reading. Particularly the comment about how nobody can understand it bugged me. There is an entire subcontinent that speaks this language, what are you talking about. The possibility that he might alluding to the fact that the Quran is poetry and nobody can truly understand its poetry did pop as an interpretation to his comment. But the delivery of the statement seemed off. I am certain he meant that nobody can understand the text on a linguistic basis.

That did not curb my quest for answer, but I did not prod further. Past had been a witness that questions that went a bit too far were not well-received by Arabic tutors and I was not interested in another bashing. I let it be.

My next stop would be someone more understanding and more willing to answer my question, my mother. I sat on the small stool by the counter top as she rolled out chapatis.

“What do verses in the Quran mean?” I asked.

“It’s written the Quran in Urdu right below it.” She answered. The radio sitting on the shelf played a Lata Mangeshkar song which my mother hummed along to.

“Do you understand what you’re reading while you’re reading it.” I had to tread lightly with my questions.

“No, but I can look it up, can’t I?”

“Do you look it up every time you read it?”

“No, but I have the option to.”

“Why don’t we always read it in Urdu?”

The song in the background ended as the radio-jockey came in hyping up the next song. My mother looked at me for a glance and then went back to the work at hand, “Because reading it in Arabic gets you sawab(reward). It has been said so by God.”

Any further question was shunned and I was asked to go complete my homework. Things didn’t seem to settle down. I often thought that if Mohammed had been roman instead of Arabic, we would be treating Latin in the same manner rather than shunning it as western nonsense. It seemed absolutely bizarre that just because he was born in Arab and spoke that language it somehow became a god given language.

That was one of the biggest driving forces towards me becoming an ex-Muslim. Reading for the sake of it without understanding it. Just mugging it up because we have to do it, thus has been said and thus shall be done. Even today when my relatives ask why I haven’t finished the Quran I point it out, “I do not understand what is written in it.” It puts them on edge. Within their mind the completion of mindless recitation of the text is more important than actually understanding what’s written within the text. When I am forced to read the Quran, I pop open the English version in my laptop which angers most of my relatives. “It is not the right way!” they say.

For them, and by the looks of it, for most – the performance of recitation holds a higher regard than the meaning of the text.

It’s all about the performance.

Part 3: The Price is on the Can, Though!

A few days ago, my father was lamenting the state of Islam, again. This time is stemmed from a situation currently developing in our neighbourhood.

Like most Muslim neighbourhoods, our area too is packed with houses too close for comfort. Each day a new construction would protrude the house further reducing the space in between. This expansion has caused some people some discomfort. Ironically the discomfort is to the people who expanded. Our backyard has a number of large trees. As a result of expansions now the branches of our trees are blocking their windows, and they demand that we chop down the trees in our backyard.

My father was using this as example on how Muslims are moving away from their faith. How it has been explicitly said to protect the flora but still Muslims these days don’t know or don’t care. Even though I didn’t say anything to him, we have that kind of an ignore each-other’s belief deal going, I thought it is probably because they don’t know it. Most Muslims are devout to the idea of Islam, whatever may it be. If a certain concept is explained to them in a secular manner, they might oppose it if it seems ridiculous and against their world view but if put in context of Islam, they consider it as a possibility.

Let me punctuate that with an example. A few weeks ago, Afghanistan passed a law saying that girls older than 12-years-old cannot appear on stage. I raised this topic when my parents and uncles were seated and having tea in the evening. The immediate reaction, as I had anticipated was of revulsion and disagreement with the ruling. I dropped a single comment and the room went silent, each now seeming agreeing with the ruling. All I said was, “But it’s about parda.”

The radicalization of Muslims is as easy as that. The radical ideas aren’t born out of misinterpretation but rather baked into the text. Then why aren’t more Muslims radical then?

The preference to performance.

One of the posts here talked about how different Muslims view apostasy differently. One aspect that could be seen as a link factor for both groups of Muslims is their native tongue. What language they speak and what language they practice their religion in. The fundamentalists are mostly concentrated in areas speaking Arabic or languages derived from Persian like Pashto. These are people who, to some extent, understand the text that they study. As opposed to liberal Muslims or Muslims from SE Asia or the Balkans who don’t necessarily understand Arabic but are willing to follow its culture.

Namaz is another touchy subject which feels and to an extent is performative. Many Muslims I have spoken to this about often say how people are saying that yoga is good and namaz makes you do that too hence it was intended to be practised like yoga. The subtext to such a statement underlines that if one isn’t interested in offering namaz he should consider it for the health benefits. A sentiment which reinforces doing it for the sake of it rather than genuine belief.

They offer Namaz in Arabic without understanding a word of it. They are detached from their prayers and detached from their beliefs. And that is a good thing. Wonder how the situation would be if they were truly attached to their beliefs.

The performance is a foam pad the blocks the path to true belief. A better alternative than understanding. Even though I am all for exposing the problems inherent to Islam, I fear that their belief in Islam is too unwavering to actually consider leaving it.

Let them perform in darkness. After all, it’s all a performance.

Why many of the Indian Ex Muslims want to leave their Home Country of India

2021-02-09T00:00:00.000Z

Source: https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianExmuslims/comments/lg5bzm/why_many_of_the_indian_ex_muslims_want_to_leave/

Yeah... You read that right. Many of us Indian Ex Muslims want to leave the country we have called home since our birth. What happened you ask? Well you should be knowing. If you don't then you have equally contributed to our worries, whether to stay here or leave permanently. What!!! you say. I say ignorance. Ignorance, Indifference, Entitlement. You can use any of these words, they are different but the effect of attitudes demonstrated by these words has lead to the same result, not giving a fuck about the country and the government which runs this country. Therefore conferring to the government on it's path to an undoubtedly Authoritarian Future.

Coming to leaving this country, we don't wanna leave this country not at least permanently apprehensive and bullied into oppression by the Radical Extremist Organisations. Since 2015 there have been 115 victims of Mob Lynchings, almost all of them pertaining to the Minorities of India. The perpertrators identifying themselves as the preservers of the Ancient Hindu Traditions of India. These Vigilantes have engraved fear and scarred the families of their victims. Bucked up by the support and safety they have from the ruling party they have become a religious mafia of this country. I call them mafia because they are as organised as the mafia in their actions differing only in their actions.

Like it or not we Atheists are not recognized by the Government of India as a legitimate non religious group. We are bound to the religion we are born in and our lives are bound to this dogma no matter how much we try to differentiate from that. Our lives are defined by the religion of the names we are given and the rules the society thinks we should follow as a member of that religion.

What makes the dilemma of Indian Ex Muslims unequalled by any other religious or non religious group is that we are hated unconditionally on both sides. On one hand we are hated by the community we are born in for our choices and our beliefs and on the other hand we are hated by the radical hindus because of the community we are born in. We lack the privilege unlike Atheists from Hinduism who can stay as quiet Atheists and no harm would come their way. We don't have that. Declaring ourselves as staunch Atheists would lead us to risk from the community we are born in and staying quiet atheists would mean being oppressed by the Radical Hindutvadis whose hate and bigotry knows no ends.

What do I have to do you ask? Yeah, you have to do what you just did. Ask, Ask questions. Question the Authority for their actions. They are accountable to us, the Citizens of this Beloved Nation of diversity. We are a democracy, we have obligations to perform.

Vote, Make Yourself Aware, Ask Questions. Participate in the Democratic Process just as the Founding Fathers of this nation have intended you to.