How do I survive Islamophobia

 [A couple of days back, someone on Twitter posed the question- “With so many negative messages being bombarded at them, how do some Hindus not fall victim to Islamophobia? How do they manage to insulate themselves against hate? I thought the question was slightly misplaced, because not giving in to hatred should be the norm, and not something that is celebrated. However, it did lead to a fair bit of introspection, and this is the slightly self-indulgent reply I came up with.]

How do I survive Islamophobia? Why do I not give in to hate? How do I find the strength (like many others) to stand up for what is right?

With so many people, especially in India, giving in to Islamophobia, or at least normalising it, the questions seem like important ones. But for me, the answer is simple. I consistently speak up against Islamophobia because that is who I was brought up to be.

The Hinduism I inherited was an all inclusive one. Both my grandmothers were ritualistic Hindus, but their religion had space for other faiths. In her Kanjeevaram madisar and vaira mookuti, one grandmother would visit Nagore Darga and Velankanni Church with the same faith as she would any temple. In all the years that she lived in Bombay, the other grandmother never once missed the Wednesday Novena at Mahim Church. She went to Mahalakshi Temple every Friday, and always stopped at Haji Ali on the way back. To both my grandmothers, every system of faith and worship could find place in their lives. Once I asked my grandmother why she had a picture of Jesus and Mary in her shrine. Her answer was simple. Mariamman is a Mother Goddess who looks after her children. A role had been assigned to her. That is the Hinduism I inherited. A religion of co-existence. When you grow up with a faith that encompasses all humanity, it is hard to relate to assertions that Hinduism “khatre me hai”. My Krishna is sneaking Amul butter out of my fridge; my Saraswati is borrowing my books and making notes on the margins. Neither of them care about a temple; they are everywhere. Nobody can take them away from me. My faith will be mine always.

When I am fed Islamophobic bigotry by family or friends, I just feel sorry for them. Why did they trade their all-encompassing religion for the narrow one of bigotry and hate? Love fills you with joy, why choose hate? Earlier, it used to hurt when openly bigoted statements were uttered. But I have trained myself to ignore them. The statements merely expose how little love the people uttering them have in their hearts.

For me, not giving in to Islamophobia is easy. Speaking up against it is harder. Islamophobes do not differentiate between handles; a Hindu speaking up against Islamophobia is attacked and trolled as much as a Muslim. I have been called anti-national, unpatriotic, and jehadi. I have been asked go to Pakistan (why nobody sends me to New Zealand, is beyond me), and to join the ISIS; both of which I have declined to do.

Sometimes, people throw random facts at you, and ask you to defend them. You are asked to explain quotes that are taken out of context. Worst of all, sometimes Muslims themselves turn against you, and insinuate that your concern is superficial. Most of these issues are not unique to Hindus; anyone taking a stand against Islamophobia is subject to them. It is particularly bad when you are attacked by a pack of trolls, and some encounters leave you physically drained.

When standing up against hate can be so difficult, why do I continue? Because I was commanded to do so. In his last letter to me my grandfather wrote, “if you are lucky, in your lifetime you will be asked to choose between what is right and what is easy. That will define who you are.” It was his benediction, and I am living it now. I cannot back out from the responsibility entrusted on me by him. Once I was targeted viciously by someone I cared about. “You are a traitor to your caste. Your forefathers must be so ashamed of your treachery.” It was meant to hurt, but it only strengthened me. The person targeting me does not know who my grandparents were. By drawing attention to them, she only reminded me that my grandparents would be proud of me for standing up for what is right.

There is so much hate and bigotry in the world, and so much of it is so well organized to stamp out individual voices of dissent. There are days when you are emotionally drained. There are days when you question if you are making any difference. There are days when you are tempted to withdraw. But those days do not come only to Hindus- they come to everyone who stands up against bigotry. And because you know you are not alone, you soldier on.

When you feel like giving up, you remember how you saw fear in the eyes of your Uber driver on May 23 when he had to pick you up from a street where celebratory firecrackers were being burst. You remember how silent he was during the entire journey, and how his face lit up when you looked him in the eye and said “Ramzan Mubarak”. You know the power of love. And you know you will keep fighting until hate is defeated and coexistence is normalized.

Most of it is not your fight alone. It is the fight of everyone standing up against bigotry and hate. Each of us have our own reasons why continue to speak up. This is mine- I cannot do otherwise.