Farooquee's book explains reality of growing up as a young Muslim in India

A well-timed book underscores the realities of growing up as part of a religious minority in an increasingly polarised country

This book could turn out to be the base material for the next Hollywood movie on India. But unlike Slumdog Millionaire, An Ordinary Man’s Guide to Radicalism does not have a euphoric ending. That’s because the questions it raises are not just tough but different — the ones that can’t be answered in a multiple-choice format. There are no easy binaries — no bad Muslims, no good Hindus, or vice versa. There’s just a lot of everyday Indian reality about the growing communal divide in the country that forces one to introspect about why we focus more on our differences and not on our similarities. That’s why this book should be read by everyone, especially those Hindus and Muslims who seem to have achieved a remarkable, albeit not-so benign, clarity about the “other” community.

Neyaz Farooquee, who is presumably in his early 30s, tells his own tale. He grew up in a nondescript village of Bihar’s Gopalganj district, known for being the birthplace of former Bihar chief minister, Lalu Prasad. His village did not have a Hindu temple but his grandfather, Dada, brought him up on a heavy dose of wisdom drilling in couplets, shlokas, dohas in Urdu, Sanskrit and Hindi. (The selection quoted in the book was eerily similar to what this reviewer grew up listening to in a Hindu Brahmin home in Lucknow.) Neeyaz’s father used to work in the Gulf, toiling in the desert for the well-being of his family. Dada, thus, became the most influential figure in his life. At the age of 10, Neyaz was packed off to Delhi to study in Jamia Middle School and, hopefully, later in the university, Jamia Milia Islamia. 

This was 1997 — five years after the Babri Masjid had been brazenly brought down by radical Hindus and India was never the same again. There was a clear divide in the country. They said Indians came to Delhi, Muslims came to Jamia Nagar. The locality had become a ghetto — partly forced and partly of its own volition. With each passing terror attack, the ghetto-isation became more intense. The rising mistrust about Muslims was being matched by a rising mistrust among them about the outer world. Young Neyaz also picked up the insecurities. For instance, there was no question that the United States was engaged in a civilisational war with the Muslim world. As such, Saddam Hussain and Osama bin Laden were, at the very least, recipients of much sympathy — after all, they had been tricked by the US to do its bidding before it ditched them — if not complete hero worship. 

An Ordinary Man’s Guide to Radicalism Author: Neyaz Farooquee Publisher: Westland Pages: 307 Price: Rs 499

There was a broad sense of the community being under siege. But the walls started closing in very quickly after that fateful day — September 19, 2008 — when the Delhi Police raided Batla House, right next to Neyaz’s room, and reportedly killed two terrorists. The fact that a police inspector also lost his life made sure there was no way people could question the veracity of the police’s claim. In no time, Neyaz’s world had changed. Regardless of the truth about the encounter — the sketchy post-mortem details raise several questions — or the Indian authorities’ ignoble record of fake encounters and trumped-up terror charges, every student living in Jamia Nagar was branded a potential terrorist. 

Having a different view on bin Laden is one thing, but killing your own people — the two “terrorists” killed in the encounter were accused of involvement in serial blasts in Delhi that killed 30 just a week ago — was unthinkable for a fellow student, Neyaz argued. The media, too, appeared complicit in advancing a skewed narrative. Surely there was something massively wrong. Neyaz did not know whom to trust. Neither did his friends. In the wake of the encounter, he rapidly moved away from his known world, deleting phone numbers, Orkut contacts, even blocking phone calls from his most trusted friends. 

It was in this atmosphere that a man for whom the whole student community had a visceral dislike because he had defended Salman Rushdie’s right to freedom of expression, Professor Mushirul Hasan, provided Neyaz with an epiphany. On the fifth day after the encounter, the vice-chancellor delivered a rousing message to the students of Jamia; he assured them of their innocence and asserted that they didn’t have to prove their patriotism to anyone. That reassurance made Neyaz reflect on what he had become and how unthinkingly he had assumed many things about his surroundings. And he decided to turn the tables, as it were, by becoming a journalist and finding (and reporting) the truth. His experience since then has shown him how Hindus in Pakistan have suffered just the way many Muslims in India have. It has also shown him how — far removed from the Israel-Palestine conflict — Muslims and Jews can co-exist quite happily in India. 

The author is no celebrity and one could ask why anyone should read about his life. But that is precisely the point. As the sub-heading of the book states “Growing up Muslim in India”, the book provides a slice of a young Muslim boy’s life in current-day India. The book is written without self-pity or a sense of victimhood. The wry tone enhances the power of the message.  Given the background of all that has happened, this is a monumental personal achievement. It also helps to get the point across to readers —about how a person belonging to a minority community could be made to feel inferior and insecure. And how this insecurity on the part of the minority and this dominance on the part of the majority can breed social unrest. 
 

The timing of this book could not have been better. There are many in India, both among Hindus and Muslims, who have settled the questions about the way the world is, the way the “other” community thinks and so on. This book will push readers to question that tendency, that clarity. A better India awaits those who make that journey of introspection. 

As Kabir said, 

Bura jo dekhan main chala, bura naa milya koye

Jo munn khoja apnaa, to mujhse bura naa koye    

[I searched around for the crooked but I could not find anyone

When I looked within, there was none more crooked than I].