Story of A Bangladeshi Agnostic
OP - July 21, 2011, 07:22 AM
I already posted the link to my blog in my profile. Still wanted to share my story here like everyone else.
It is a bit long, so I'm apologizing beforehand.
My Story
I was born into a Bangladeshi Sunni family and grew up in the capital city of Dhaka. My mother was a non-practicing Allah-fearing, well educated school teacher. My father, on the other hand, was a rabid anti-religion atheist who worked in the publishing industry. He loved reading and always encouraged us to read about philosophy, poetry, world religions or any decent piece of literature we could get our hands on. My siblings and I grew up in an environment where blind faith and mindless rituals were not as big parts of our childhood as they were in any regular Muslim household. However, we always knew that we were only a tiny drop in a bucket full of God-fearing majority. My parents were smart enough to alert us not to discuss religious skepticism to people outside our trusted circle. From an early age, we learned the rules of self-censorship when it came to questioning Islam.
I should mention that Bangladesh is not exactly what you would call a typical Muslim country. We had a secular public education system, governing laws excluded many brutal practices of Shariah and culturally we were proud Bengalis borrowing many customs from the Hindus. In fact, Bangladesh was founded on the principles of secularism and social justice after she broke away from the Islamic Republic of Pakistan through a bloody war in 1971. Unfortunately, this dream of an idealistic secular state was never fully realized. Post-war chaos, Sheikh Mujib’s pathetic lack of administrative skills and widespread corruption of the ruling party set the stage for a series of military coups and counter-coups in 1975 creating panic and confusion. A very sly and opportunist army-man Ziaur Rahman emerged from the scene as a result. He took over power and turned the clock back toward Islamization.
I can’t remember exactly when I started to feel uncomfortable with certain Islamic ethos. It might have started around the time when I turned ten. That’s when my parents, in spite of being nominally Muslims, felt obligated to do what every Muslim parents consider a ‘farz’ (mandatory holy duty) – have their children get formal lessons in Qur’an by a credible religious teacher. After all, they had to make sure we were well-adjusted to the rest of the society. A bearded teenager from the local madrasa was appointed to be our tutor who would introduce us to first Qaeda and then Al Qur’an. Every Friday morning for the next three months, my brother and I would get up early, wash ourselves, wear appropriate attire and wait for the ‘huzur’ to show up. Realizing something new was getting added to my mundane routine, I became very excited and decided to commit myself into this weekly religious endeavor with due devotion. My brother, on the other hand, showed little enthusiasm. He was rather annoyed at the thought of losing his Friday morning sleep. He was just being an eight year old whose interests revolved around comic books and cartoon shows. The man, who showed up at our doorstep as our ‘huzur’, was actually a 17 year old thin young man with a goatee on his chin and a round laced cap on his head. He was wearing a shabby and oversized tan shalwar kamiz – a very typical attire of a poor madrasa student. His demeanor was very cold and serious, quite opposite of the ‘warm and smiling mentor’ image I was conjuring up in my mind. Throughout the whole time, he never once made an eye contact with me. That struck me as rather rude and awkward. Later on I learned that, according to Sunnah, men should keep their gaze low in presence of women. I found the reasoning to be extreme. Woman? I was just ten!
The study sessions involved primarily ‘tilawat’ or recitation. At first it was quite mesmerizing to hear his melodious ‘tilawat’ of Qur’an. Since we didn’t speak Arabic, it quickly started to become an obscure, meaningless and eventually a boring episode for the two of us. The huzur, once in while, would explain a little bit here and there, but for the most part, he was uninterested in translating every surah and did not welcome any question from us either. “Just read the words of Allah in pure Arabic and you will get tons of sawab” was his usual response. That is something I heard many times before and would keep hearing in the future. This over-emphasis on reading Quran in original text rather than in your own language and not encouraging people to understand it ayat by ayat was, in my opinion, a cleverly thought-out ploy. It has become clear to me now that the global body of Ulema (Muslim scholars) deliberately wanted to keep the non-Arab Muslim mass in the dark on the meaning of Quran. That way they not only could keep the absolute authority of providing ‘tafseer’ in their own hands but also could use that catch-all ‘Quran cannot be translated accurately’ excuse to dismiss all legitimate criticism that come their way.
This obscurantism might work for those who fancy ideas like ‘faith is mysterious’ and ‘all you need to do is to just have Iman and everything will fall into places’. For me it was a huge turn off. So my ‘Khatam-e -Qur’an’ episode ended with feeling uninspired to say the least.
I finally got to read the Qu’ran in Bangla translation, at my brother’s insistence, when I was fourteen. He was growing up as a nerd with a formidable knowledge in religions literature. He made a great use of our dad’s library and finished reading Qur’an, Bible, Ramayan, Mahabharat and other religious literature at an early age. In his usual confident voice, he declared one day “you know Apu (sis), Islam is a huge hoax!” He pointed out the inconsistencies and fallacies of Qur’an, the cruel account of wars waged by Mohammad, the rigid and mediaeval edicts of Shariah, the outdated practices and rituals and so on. First I thought he was exaggerating and wanted to deny his charges saying a world religion cannot possibly be so devious. But he seemed adamant in his conviction. That influenced me and I made up my mind to take a second peek at Quran and this time read it in a new light.
As I opened the Bangla translation and started reading, I was first taken aback by the fact that the ‘qitab’ began rather abruptly and continued incoherently. The tone was imperative rather than inspiring. The message sought to command rather than to persuade. It was all about praising Allah and his messenger and yet surprisingly lacked spiritually uplifting messages that I was looking for. There were just too many references to too many specific events set in a particular time which makes them difficult to take seriously as divine injunctions universally applicable at all time. Of course some passages spoke of love and apathy but they were reserved only for the ‘Mumin’, while all kinds of scorn and curses were directed toward the ‘Kafiroon’. How Allah could be so vengeful towards some of His own creation was beyond me. Surah Bakara and Surah Al-Imran are filled with verses so vicious that they almost seem like somebody’s spiteful ranting against people whose only fault was they did not want to be converted! This is beneath God! This is, in fact, beneath any decent mere mortal.
Surprisingly, I did not completely lose my faith at that point. I was not ready to deal with the vacuum that comes with losing one’s faith. I wanted more proof beyond Qur’an before I dismissed the entire dogma. It would take couple of more years for that to happen. In our public school system, we were required to take a course on Islamic history (‘Islamiyat’) every year from eighth to tenth grade. Those Islamiyat classes further proved my suspicion that I will always be a misfit in any Islamic circle, here or abroad. Majority of my classmates had no problem in putting their blind faith in Islam without questioning and were ready to consume any amount of unscientific proof or even superstition that will validate their faith. I remember one day one of my classmates brought a newspaper clip and she excitedly showed us a photograph which is supposed to be a ‘Miracle of Allah’ – somewhere in Germany, a group of tree branches lined on a path and shaped in a way that it looked like they formed the Arabic letters reading Kalimah Shahadat! Nobody showed even the slightest inkling of doubt at this ridiculous piece. That was, of course, one of the most infamous Islamic-miracle-hoaxes debunked on the internet many times later on. But back in those days many similarly laughable miracle stories were spread as word of mouth and became popular not only among the illiterate villagers but also among some educated urban mass. My dad had choice-words for the latter group – ‘semi-literate idiots’! I had many friends who excelled in physics and biology classes and yet had no problem in believing in ‘Jinn’ and ‘Shaitan’. I also noticed many well educated individuals, who are otherwise rational and compassionate, act like a complete unreasonable fool when confronted with scrutiny of Islam.
When I was about to turn eighteen and was heading for college, I had an epiphany one day. Why do I need Allah? I had finally come to that point where I can regard myself as a matured adult who no longer needed a deity for guidance and direction. That was quite liberating and a very proud moment for me. Many years have passed by and I now live in an open society in the western hemisphere. Over the years my convictions have only got stronger and I have become more confident in the decisions that I made as a teenager. However, I would be remiss if I ended my story without telling you about my experiences with Muslim community in the West and how my convictions have affected my relationship with Deshi friends.
Having lived in a cosmopolitan city for many years, I have come across many people from different parts of the world including a large number of Muslims from Pakistan, India and the Middle East. Most of them are amazing individuals with much to offer to the world. But there is a noticeable pattern in their attitudes when they are faced with challenging views towards Islam. They consider any criticism of their faith as an affront. This has surprised me a great deal since I thought, having been exposed to the elements of a free society, they would be more open and receptive to reasonable criticism. Their responses range from silence to denial to anger. Same reactions and similar mindset also prevail in my beloved Bangladeshi Diaspora.
Most Deshis I mingle with are well-assimilated working professionals in the fields like medicine, high tech, business and so on. Regardless of their levels of religiosity, they all endorse political Islam to some extent. In social gatherings, whenever the topics of ‘terrorism’ come up, I see their personalities quickly change and they jump to the defense of the terrorists, given the terrorists have names like Abdul or Hussein or Hamza! Every injustice in Muslim world, according to my friends, is directly or indirectly caused by Mossad or CIA or RAW. Right after September 11th, I had expected some introspection and self-criticism on their part. On the contrary, I saw some people gloated over the ‘dedication’ of those hijackers in one occasion, then turned around and claimed 9/11 was an inside job on a different occasion. Hate, indeed, impairs reasoning power and the hatemonger doesn’t even realize this. I also see they would feel entitled to get the non-Muslim support for the issues of Palestine, Bosnia or Iraq, yet would never consider reciprocating the favor. Many of them fervently cite their First Amendment Rights on building that Mosque in Manhattan. Same people choose to look the other way when Ahmadiya mosques get vandalized in Dhaka. I have personally tried to challenge wild conspiracy theories and anti-Semitic comments on many occasions. I met with silence as a general response and lost few friends in the process. Swimming against the tide is not supposed to be easy. However, I have to admit I have got a number of positive reactions as well. There is always that twenty (or twenty five) percent decent people whose support, no matter how passive it is, gave me the moral courage to stand up more and more for ‘humanism’ that I have taken up as my ‘religion’ since I left Islam.
I'm that happy medium....yeah
Topic: Story of A Bangladeshi Agnostic