What’s in a name?

I have lived with this in my country. I have been asked time and again whether I am a Muslim.

Teachers, friends, auto/ taxi drivers, librarians, beauticians, grocers, bakers and absolute strangers – have all thrown this at me. Not that I am bothered, nor am I offended. My answer has always been an emotionless “No”. A “No” with a full stop at its end implying it’s not an open –ended answer and no further questions are invited in this regard. After the “No”, I generally flash a smile (from the heart of course) at the person to spare any embarrassment they would have felt for bringing it up. I mean we are all pretentious aren’t we? We all have been taught not to probe at one’s religion, caste, monitory status, private life. Yet, basic instincts do override the acquired refinement. And curiosity is a basic instinct – a hard one to tame. 

That was my Indian experience.  Indians are generally tolerant. We claim ourselves to be a sovereign, socialist, secular, democratic republic. As for me, it’s not a claim. It is a belief, so deeply ingrained within, that every time I take an international flight, my mind undergoes panic attacks. It is my comfort zone and I would never leave it behind!  And in this vast conundrum called India, belonging to any religion is not a crime. People are just overly interested in other’s lives and a lot of peeking and probing takes place into your private space. But they generally stop at that. A question asked, a question answered, we smile at each other and go our separate ways. Well, I am not talking about the fanatics. This observation is only about the urban, educated India.

Now, a change of scene. I get asked the same question here too, in Melbourne. That’s where I am currently. The question is the same, but the emotion behind it is different.  It is not curiosity, something much more intense.  Pain, suffering, need for consolation? The question sort of equates to “Whose side are you on?” [Back at home, it equates to “It is an unusual name for a Hindu”].  Again, this may not be true at all. May be it is the perception of my overactive, emotional mind.

Yet, the feeling has been strong enough to make me jot it down.  Let me elucidate. I regularly take a cab to work and have come across cabbies from all over the world.  Some people just walk into your life for a few minutes and leave a mark for a life time. The cabbie that drove me to work on this particular day was black, a person of African descent. After the usual pleasantries, he says “You Selma?” [I have booked a regular pick up - drop off schedule with the cab company, so the drivers generally know the passenger’s name]. I reply “Yes”.  He did not ask me the usual question, just went on to infer that I would be a Muslim as I carry the name.  And he says “Hard days!”.  I tally along “Yes, it’s hard when the family is not around and it’s not your native country.”  To this he replies “I know Sister, it is hard for us Muslims to get ourselves accepted, and make a life when everything and everyone are suspicious about us. But in a way, I am happy to live with that as I have moved here from my country raged by unrest and poverty.” I was stunned. I have heard this on TV before, but on my face. I did not react, no, I could not react. I am a young woman with a little family (husband and young child). Most of my thoughts revolve around my son, my home and my little interests  ;). A conversation of this sort was alien, totally. I had in front of me a man who was looking at me for consolation of some form. I had to say something. And I said “There is a God above!!”.

Let’s move on.  Yet another day, another interesting character – an Arab, possibly of Turkish descent.

Again “You Selma?”. I said “Yes”.

Arab: Muslim?

I: No.

Arab: which country are you from?

I: India

Arab: Oh , I thought you were from Italy. Selma is not an Indian name. Its Arabic.

I: Ok.

Arab: I wonder why you have such a name. It’s not Indian.

I: [In my mind] We have lot of Muslims in India, it’s just a name. [Silent outward]

Arab: But you are not a Muslim.

I: Please take the next left into Essex St and right to Sussex. We have to go to Coburg North.

And then again, a Pakistani.

Cabbie: Good morning Madam.

I: Good morning, how are you today.

Cabbie: very well, thanks and yourself?

I:  Not bad thank you.

Cabbie: Your name Selma?

I: Yes

Cabbie: Muslim?

I: No.

Cabbie:  oh OK! It’s a Muslim name. Where are you from?

I: India

Silence, pregnant silence.

We walk away in our daily lives with so many such experiences.  Thankfully most of them are forgotten after a span of time. But again - Are Muslims around the world looking for a mate , a shoulder to cry on? Are we being fair? It is hard to look beyond prejudices, but can you make an attempt?