Warning: If you are easily offended by any comments on religious beliefs, please do not read.
One of the first memories I have of being misunderstood was in Primary school. I think I must have been 6 or 7, when we were asked in our Religion class to share our favorite Religious Stories. Most kids shared something about our Prophet's (pbuh) life, and when it was my turn, I shared my most favorite story of Joseph. After the class was over, I was escorted out to the teacher's meeting room, where the concerned teacher asked who my favorite Prophet was - It is Prophet Joseph of course. And who is the next favorite? Prophet Moses. The teacher gently shook me and asked if my mother prayed the Namaaz at home? Did we read the Quran? I got scared because I thought I had said something very wrong, and I remember holding back tears and nodding to say yes, my Ammi prays the Namaaz and my grandma reads the Quran. Almost all teachers looked at me strangely after that. I learned that having Joseph and Moses as your favorite Prophets was not to be expressed in public. Even if the stories are from the Quran and even if they are all beloved by God.
Another day, a male Religion teacher (a Mullah hired from a local masjid) decided to thrash and hit one of my favorite classmates, a shy little boy who stammered. I think he was being hit because he couldn't pronounce a difficult Arabic phrase. I told my crying, stammering friend that the Mullah was going to hell and God was on our (his) side after class. Other kids who heard me gave shocked stares as the Mullah was still inside our classroom. I didn't care.
Once, our family hosted a 'Milaad' celebration for ladies. I really love Milaad celebrations, ladies gather and sing or recite beautiful verses (Naat) in honor of the Prophet's (pbuh) birth. I was and still am very good at reciting the Naat, and I remember participating with such joy. There was a lady who took the stage and started delivering a sermon. I was sitting close to her and was really impressed by her impassioned speech - I remember being scared as she vividly described money, jewelry and material wealth, excess food etc as snakes that will drag us to hellfire. My mind went to my Ammi's jewelry, my dad's wallet, our car and in my imagination they turned into hissing snakes dragging all three of us in the depths of a raging fire. I shuddered and decided to reason with my parents as an 8 year old about getting rid of the jewelry and excess money as soon as possible. So impressed was my little self by the lady, that I decided to follow her around for the rest of the evening.
As the event was ending, the lady went to one of my aunts behind the stage, and I followed her like a shadow. She asked for payment, my aunt took out the amount from an envelope, and it was then the lady started haggling for an extra Rs 5000 to be added to her previously decided payment. Not only that, the lady demanded at least half the leftover food to be packed and given to her. My aunt finally agreed so that she could get rid of the woman. I saw her greedily snatching the extra money, and the bags of leftover food and hurrying out the back door. Why was she scaring the rest of us with snakes and hellfire, and then shamelessly asking for more snakes and hellfire to satisfy herself in this world? Was she lying to us? I decided the lady was pretty much lying to us since she didn't follow her own advice.
In Grade 4, our English teacher told us if a non-Muslim ever says Salaam, we don't have to respond to them. We can nod to acknowledge them, or just wave and say 'walekum' because they don't deserve to be responded to by the full greeting. She also told us - from her immense wisdom - that we should never eat any meals with a Hindu person as they can poison our food, and never sleep near a Jewish person as they can choke us to death in our sleep. This lady was greatly respected in school as she had just returned from USA and spoke with a fake American accent. She was also the one who made all the kids sit on the floor during Friday morning assembly, as she went on and on with her sermons about memorizing Arabic phrases to please God. I hated sitting for an hour on the cold concrete floor, my legs and feet almost numb, listening to this rude, bad-mannered witch with a fake accent and fake eyebrows telling us what was good or bad. I hope to this day that she suffered as much as she deserved in life and may she rot in hell.
In the same school, we had a girl in our class - let's call her A, who started getting a reputation for being very well-versed in Religious stuff. I don't exactly know how it started, but whenever we had a free period, A was somehow called to the front of the class to give us a lecture about religion, usually the Day of Judgement and various horrific things that will happen to sinners. Sinners were women who didn't cover their hair, liars, cheaters, thieves, murderers and zina-kaars (at that point I didn't know what that was, but it was adultery). All girls would cover our heads with our tiny sashes, bow our heads and wear a serious expression as A went on about how sinner's would roast in hell, have their burnt skin peeled back and then regrown, only to be roasted again for eternity.
Once, A told us that on Judgement Day, the virtuous ones will be fed the meat of the giant fish on whose back the World is set up. I looked in surprise at our Science teacher, who was sitting by as a substitute for the free period - her head bowed with reverence. Surely, she must object! she was the one teaching us about the Solar System at the time. She said nothing. I wondered where exactly this giant fish was in the Solar System, and how does it survive in space? Also, if they don’t like seafood, would there be another option? Interesting questions for a little girl, but I knew I was expected to stay quiet and pretend to be so impressed.
In Grade 5, during a difficult History test, I saw A was cheating by hiding her textbook on her lap. That was so unfair, and I raised my hand to let the teacher know. A was caught red-handed, and then she cried and lied about the book being some other book, even though the teacher already had the textbook in her hand. Afterwards, nearly all the girls in my class who should have been just as angry as I was, came to me and yelled at me for reporting A for cheating. I was so shocked at the response. I turned to the crying A - and asked her if she was ashamed of what she had done and wasn't she scared of Judgement Day? And God punishing her for being a cheater as well as a liar? Wasn't she scared of hellfire and her skin being roasted? She wiped her tears and told me scornfully that God doesn't punish if you cheat in exams or school. Also, God will never punish her as she wore a headscarf/hijab. But God will punish me, because I was 'scientific' and didn't fast every day in Ramzan, nor did I wear a headscarf. 'Scientific' was a choice insult that I was given in school by my 'righteous' classmates, I wore it as a badge of honor.
Later on, A at the age of 11 years, decided to wear a full chador (an almost burka) to school, and began peddling her small business of selling chadors to other girls in our class. Each day, these girls would come to school wrapped in a gray shroud, looking down on us regular girls in uniform, and each day after school was over, these girls wrapped themselves back in those gray chadors with a superior air. A got a nose-ring by the time she was 12 and was suspended from school for trying to run away with a guy who was picking her up from school by pretending to be her brother. I left that school around the time and moved to a different one - so glad I did.
At home, my Dad had decided to beautify our new neighborhood by asking a landscaping company to add some grass near our parking area, and having our driveways redone. He asked our entire neighborhood, all the apartments and houses to help and contribute, but very few did. The area near our parking lot was full of broken tiles and looked almost like a garbage dump. My parents paid for the cleaning and my dad used to water the grass each day. Despite people's indifference, our neighborhood began to look nice.
Then it was Ramzan, the Holy month, when one evening after Iftar time (breaking our fast), there was a commotion downstairs in the parking area. Someone rang our bell and demanded my Dad come downstairs immediately. Ammi and I rushed to the window to look down and see what was happening.
The local Mullah, a heavy guy with his tummy hanging out, and a terribly-shaped beard was staring up at us with such anger in his eyes. My Dad reached the crowd that was gathered around the Mullah, it was some of our neighbors and they looked really enraged. They yelled at my Dad for a while, and then the Mullah said in a loud voice that my Dad was attempting to 'control' the neighborhood by forcing people to pay for greenery and the driveway cleaning and improvement. Apparently, the lady who owned the house right next to the greenery was complaining that she could no longer dump her garbage on the lot as it was now a manicured lawn. People were complaining about the new driveway and wanted it to be dug up again. My Dad tried to reason with the people, about living in a clean environment and making things better for the neighbors, when the Mullah shoved my Dad roughly away from the crowd. I remember crying as we watched in shock from our window. I was scared that the people and the Mullah would hurt my father.
My Dad agreed to no longer 'be involved’ in the neighborhood - the green grass was soon pulled out and replaced with broken furniture and people's garbage, and the brand new driveway was also damaged to make it look like a rough, dirt path. My Dad came upstairs that night, defeated and disappointed, and said this country will always be a dirty garbage dump because that’s what the people want. He swore that if any Mullah ever came to our house asking for charity, we will slam the door in their faces and we'd rather give our charity to a Church (even though we are not Christian) and the Edhi Center. To this day, I honor my Dad's wishes.
When I grew up and went to college in Canada, I needed to have my passport renewed. At the Embassy, while filling out all the necessary forms, I was given a document to sign stating that I believe Ahmadis/Qadiyanis were non-Muslim and I condemned them. I stared at the document for a long time, looking up at the clerk in disbelief. The clerk reminded me if I needed my passport I'd have to sign that statement. Now we're not Ahmadi ourselves, but I felt such anger and humiliation when presented with that document. It was the government forcing us to condemn minorities in our country by withholding a passport renewal application. I signed the document because I needed the passport, but to this day I am ashamed of putting my signature beneath those statements. Shame on me. Shame on the country.
There are a lot more stories to add - but I think I will end here. My heart hurts and these memories hurt. I am just thankful that I no longer live among those people and no longer call that country my home.
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