At the end of yet another outstation tour last week, I plonked myself in the back seat of the taxi I had hired for the day. A whole 200 kms of soliloquy or silence, in absence of a functional car radio or any other traveling companion, stretched before me.
As the car started and I relaxed, I learnt that the mild-mannered young taxi-wallah was named Abbas and his family was back home in Bihar. In a manner of small–talk, I asked him about his education. “Madarse mein islam ki taleem liye hain, sir, nau jamaat tak”, he replied. (I have studied Islam till 9th standard in a seminary).
Fed on the media induced prejudice for long and, let me admit, my being conscious of the class-divide that supposedly stretched between us, no further conversation seemed possible.
“But me, Sir”, he continued, “I believe that up there, there is but only one God. It’s just that our ways of calling out to him are different.”
Now, this was interesting, coming from a so-called “madarsa product”! I peered in to the rear-view mirror and saw his truthful eyes. And that was the start of a 4 hour-long dialogue between us.
He told me about his father – a dutiful government teacher, a loving mother and one sister. He told me about the vagaries of his job and how, in face of adversities, he was trying to keep his imaan intact.
But what we mainly discussed was the difference and, more importantly, the sameness of two religions – his and mine, Muslim and Hindu.
As he was eager to explain to me the story of Baba Adam, so was he curious to know about the Hindu concept of atman; as he patiently heard the basis of tri-murti, so he explained to me the one-ness of Allah; on the one hand he explained to me why Muslims do not keep idols or pictures in their place of worship, on the other hand he theorized why, for a Hindu who has not yet attained the highest religious state, an idol is a necessary aid for concentration.
More than his knowledge & awareness, it was his willingness to accommodate the other point of view, which I found to be a rarity and gave him, so to say, an exalted status in my eyes. Let’s face it - so many of us, so-called educated people lack this willingness, having turned our minds in to ghettos, which nurture hatred for “the other”.
As we entered Delhi, passing beneath huge hoardings carrying advertisements of TV serials, Abbas looked at me in his rear-view mirror and said– “Jab duty par nahin hota, toh TV par aap logon ka Ramayan bahut dekhta hoon main, Sir. Ram kitne dayalu hain na?”
As the car started and I relaxed, I learnt that the mild-mannered young taxi-wallah was named Abbas and his family was back home in Bihar. In a manner of small–talk, I asked him about his education. “Madarse mein islam ki taleem liye hain, sir, nau jamaat tak”, he replied. (I have studied Islam till 9th standard in a seminary).
Fed on the media induced prejudice for long and, let me admit, my being conscious of the class-divide that supposedly stretched between us, no further conversation seemed possible.
“But me, Sir”, he continued, “I believe that up there, there is but only one God. It’s just that our ways of calling out to him are different.”
Now, this was interesting, coming from a so-called “madarsa product”! I peered in to the rear-view mirror and saw his truthful eyes. And that was the start of a 4 hour-long dialogue between us.
He told me about his father – a dutiful government teacher, a loving mother and one sister. He told me about the vagaries of his job and how, in face of adversities, he was trying to keep his imaan intact.
But what we mainly discussed was the difference and, more importantly, the sameness of two religions – his and mine, Muslim and Hindu.
As he was eager to explain to me the story of Baba Adam, so was he curious to know about the Hindu concept of atman; as he patiently heard the basis of tri-murti, so he explained to me the one-ness of Allah; on the one hand he explained to me why Muslims do not keep idols or pictures in their place of worship, on the other hand he theorized why, for a Hindu who has not yet attained the highest religious state, an idol is a necessary aid for concentration.
More than his knowledge & awareness, it was his willingness to accommodate the other point of view, which I found to be a rarity and gave him, so to say, an exalted status in my eyes. Let’s face it - so many of us, so-called educated people lack this willingness, having turned our minds in to ghettos, which nurture hatred for “the other”.
As we entered Delhi, passing beneath huge hoardings carrying advertisements of TV serials, Abbas looked at me in his rear-view mirror and said– “Jab duty par nahin hota, toh TV par aap logon ka Ramayan bahut dekhta hoon main, Sir. Ram kitne dayalu hain na?”
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