Skip to main content

Shahina lets her hair down

Fiction

Shahina experienced a strange sense of oppression whenever she put on the hijab.  No other girl in her class had to cover her head and look like a blinkered horse.  Moreover, she was not a little girl anymore.  She was sixteen and was mature enough to make some personal choices at least. 

“It is our religious duty, my girl,” Bapa told her in his usual affectionate way.

“But there are other Muslim girls in the school who don’t wear such a thing.  There’s even a Muslim lady teacher who never wears it.”

“Well, we live in a particular community and we have to follow the rules of that community.”

How absurd, thought Shahina.  We call ourselves Muslims and then we divide ourselves into a hundred factions.  Shias, Sunnis, Salafis, and what not.  And then each faction makes rules for itself.  Then fight for the sake of those rules.  Absurd.  Absurd.

Standing in front of the mirror, she looked at herself.  “Blinkered horse,” she smiled to herself in spite of the oppression that weighed her heart down.

She couldn’t blame Bapa.  He chose to send her to a secular public school instead of a Muslim school because he wanted her to grow up like a normal human being as much as possible.  Even Bapa cannot ignore the community.  Even he wears a hijab.  It is invisible, that’s all.  We are all blinkered horses trotting along the line drawn by the community.  Minor aberrations were tolerated.  Like her going to a secular school.

Looking at the beautiful hairs of her companions in the class, Shahina felt the oppression return to her heart. She longed to get away from the classroom. 

“To let your hair down means to behave without inhibitions, to be yourself, to be free from unnecessary restrictions,” the English teacher was explaining.

Shahina left the school building during the lunch break.  She went to the far end of the playground and crossed over to the private estate.  She walked on until she reached a rock.  She climbed the rock and standing at the topmost point she pulled out her hijab, untied her hair and let it float in the breeze.

She screamed to the trees and the breeze and the butterflies, “I am not a horse.  I don’t need blinkers.”

She screamed again.  And again.  And she felt her heart becoming lighter. 

The lightness sifted through the leaves that murmured secrets to the breeze.  The breeze filtered into Shahina’s heart.  She sat down on the rock and smiled at herself. 

And then she sighed.  The warning bell rang in the school.  The lunch break would soon be over.  She picked up the hijab from the ground and started putting it back on her head. 


Indian Bloggers

Comments

  1. I loved reading this. My wife is a teacher at school teaching class 10 - 11- 12 and many girls like Shahina do not want to wear Hijab. Some dont wear it at school but the moment they step out of the school they put it on...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I too am a witness to certain real life longings. The story is an outcome of such witnessing.

      Delete
  2. He wore a hijab that was invisible....minor aberrations......Wow.....so subtle and right on target...the warning bell and her going back to the fold reflect beautifully the inability to free oneself from the tyranny of the community.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Sunaina for making occasional visits here. You enrich me in certain ways.

      Delete
    2. My occasional visits hurt me more than you can imagine...Wish I could become a regular here...And how could I in the whole world enrich you? I seek light here....:)

      Delete
  3. This is so beautifully written. Loved reading it.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Touching as well as thought-provoking story. An invaluable piece of writing from you Sir.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. One simple incident triggered this story. I'm glad you found it touching.

      Delete
  5. Well done! My first time reading your fiction. However, you allowed the teacher to touch a raw nerve. There is certainly truth in it, though. But, it brings into mind a question, should the teacher have shoot the girl down with such a statement in a 'multiracial class', knowing well it would offend one in her class. When you showed her standing atop the rock, I thought she was planning to jump down. For a fifteen year old, you cannot rule out the possibility of a suicide. Anyway, you had other plans. But the wound remains deep inside, haunting her.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pranita a perverted genius

Bulldozer begins its work at Sawan Pranita was a perverted genius. She had Machiavelli’s brain, Octavian’s relentlessness, and Levin’s intellectual calibre. She could have worked wonders if she wanted. She could have created a beautiful world around her. She had the potential. Yet she chose to be a ruthless exterminator. She came to Sawan Public School just to kill it. A religious cult called Radha Soami Satsang Beas [RSSB] had taken over the school from its owner who had never visited the school for over 20 years. This owner, a prominent entrepreneur with a gargantuan ego, had come to the conclusion that the morality of the school’s staff was deviating from the wavelengths determined by him. Moreover, his one foot was inching towards the grave. I was also told that there were some domestic noises which were grating against his patriarchal sensibilities. One holy solution for all these was to hand over the school and its enormous campus (nearly 20 acres of land on the outskirts

Randeep the melody

Many people in this pic have made their presence in this A2Z series A phone call came from an unknown number the other day. “Is it okay to talk to you now, Sir?” The caller asked. The typical start of a conversation by an influencer. “What’s it about?” My usual response looking forward to something like: “I am so-and-so from such-and-such business firm…” And I would cut the call. But there was a surprise this time. “I am Randeep…” I recognised him instantly. His voice rang like a gentle music in my heart. Randeep was a student from the last class 12 batch of Sawan. One of my favourites. He is unforgettable. Both Maggie and I taught him at Sawan where he was a student from class 4 to 12. Nine years in a residential school create deep bonds between people, even between staff and students. Randeep was an ideal student. Good at everything yet very humble and spontaneous. He was a top sportsman and a prefect with eminent leadership. He had certain peculiar problems with academics. Ans

Queen of Religion

She looked like Queen Victoria in the latter’s youth but with a snow-white head. She was slim, fair and graceful. She always smiled but the smile had no life. Someone on the campus described it as a “plastic smile.” She was charming by physical appearance. Soon all of us on the Sawan school campus would realise how deceptive appearances were. Queen took over the administration of Sawan school on behalf of her religious cult RSSB [Radha Soami Satsang Beas]. A lot was said about RSSB in the previous post. Its godman Gurinder Singh Dhillon is now 70 years old. I don’t know whether age has mellowed his lust for land and wealth. Even at the age of 64, he was embroiled in a financial scam that led to the fall of two colossal business enterprises, Fortis Healthcare and Religare finance. That was just a couple of years after he had succeeded in making Sawan school vanish without a trace from Delhi which he did for the sake of adding the school’s twenty-odd acres of land to his existing hun

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Sanjay and other loyalists

AI-generated illustration Some people, especially those in politics, behave as if they are too great to have any contact with the ordinary folk. And they can get on with whoever comes to power on top irrespective of their ideologies and principles. Sanjay was one such person. He occupied some high places in Sawan school [see previous posts, especially P and Q ] merely because he knew how to play his cards more dexterously than ordinary politicians. Whoever came as principal, Sanjay would be there in the elite circle. He seemed to hold most people in contempt. His respect was reserved for the gentry. I belonged to the margins of Sawan society, in Sanjay’s assessment. So we hardly talked to each other. Looking back, I find it quite ludicrous to realise that Sanjay and I lived on the same campus 24x7 for a decade and a half without ever talking to each other except for official purposes.      Towards the end of our coexistence, Sawan had become a veritable hell. Power supply to the