Two days ago, I was all set to write a ranty blog post about all the "Islam is the problem" rhetoric that I've seen since the Paris attacks. And then I went to jamatkhana, and the piece of guidance that was read out was about how to respond to misconceptions of Islam. It was clear and uncompromising: explain, explain again, and then leave people to their judgements, but do not get angry.
I realised then that I wasn't so much angry as hurt and bewildered. How can this religion that I love, this tradition with so much richness and beauty and wisdom, be turned to such hate and destruction? I feel as though something I love has been violated. But loving it does not mean that I am blind to the faults of parts of the tradition - parts of the Qur'an and the way that it has been lived out, and I also want to be uncompromisingly honest with myself, and you, about that.
I want to share with you the parts of the Islamic tradition that I love, that have spoken to me over the years, that have helped me to love others better, to become kinder and wiser and more thoughtful, to have insights into how things are. And I want to share with you the parts of the Islamic tradition that I have struggled with over the years, that I still find it hard to understand. All this, in the hope that it might be a way of shedding some light on Islam, and of illustrating how much our Islam is shaped by our history, our geography, our temperament, our family, the books we read, our place in the world.
Finally, a note on the title: my dad once told me a story about my Bapaji - my maternal grandfather. Bapaji never learned the ritual prayer, the Du'a, and went to jamatkhana at my Nanima's request. He must have been talking to Dad about it at some point, and my dad remembers him saying, in Kacchi, our mother tongue, "This is my religion. Do not harm anyone, do not cheat anyone out of money, do not lie to anyone." A simple creed, perhaps, but one that resonates with my childhood memories of a man doing his utmost to live up to these uncompromising principles. I often do not.
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