
The liberal ambience of Lucknow where I grew up ensured I was unconscious of my Muslim identity. The Babri masjid demolition made me aware I was a Muslim. The Gujarat riots underlined my difference with others because of being a Muslim. And yet, being Muslim is hardly an emotive issue for me.
There are some moments in a community8217;s life that can impose an artificial sense of connectedness. The September 11 tragedy and the Afghan and Iraq wars are such defining moments for Muslims. These events and the global campaign against them they unleashed has made Muslims all over the world feel connected as never before. This was evident as I holidayed in Europe immediately after the Iraq war.
A Syrian couple walked up to us and said in broken English: 8216;8216;First defeat for us here in Granada, second defeat in Palestine, and third in Iraq.8217;8217; We nodded in silent approval. On the long flight back to Delhi I wondered who was this 8216;us8217; I identified with in Spain. I had hardly anything in common with anyone there. I was convinced that the war against the Muslims has created an artificial pan Islamic community. Connected, yet fissured.
The immigration officer at the IG airport was soon to prove me right. My Muslim name woke him up from his midnight lethargy. He immediately tested my nationalism: 8216;8216;We are winning this match with Pakistan8217;8217;, he said staring to read my reactions. 8216;8216;Will you distribute sweets8217;8217;? Even if in my European holiday I had been forced to identify as a Muslim 8212; with the sorrow of Granada and tears of Baghdad in my heart 8212; at the IG airport I was certainly a Muslim but an Indian one. My battles were different, my story unique.