Armanied Homophobe

Its 11.50am and MH135 from Brisbane to Kuala Lumpur is the flight I’m on. I settle in for a good calm night, all meticulously planned beforehand, right down to the perfect in-flight read.

Then this gentleman resembling Raj Kapoor in his later Bobby-days sits next to me. He says a friendly hello, I reciprocate, I go back to my book. He makes small talk. He learns my name, and wonders if I’m Indian. He’s Pakistani – Kashmiri, to be exact. He asks if I know of the historical conflict of Kashmir. I reply in the affirmative ( naively trying to come across as knowledgble to this distinguished, Armani suit-clad benign-smiled elderly man ) and elaborate that I did a paper on the Kashmir issue with regards to self-determination for my Public International Law subject. It puts him over the moon.

He asks what I think caused the first rift, I start a couple of sentences, he cuts me off.

And there is no looking back for us.

The man is an incessant talker. He does not care if I agree with his views, not even if I was listening. He seemed to be one of those who literally likes the sound of his own voice.

He speaks of Kashmir from the time of Alexander’s invasion to the reciprocation to the Indian Army’s invasion of Junagadh. The plane has taken off by then.

I start to fidget, darting glances here and there. A window seat is something I’m never going to take again, I decide. I thought it would be a nice private haven – I realise it can also be a cavernous, claustrophobic trap with no exit.

When he comes to recent conflicts in Kashmir, I decide to vociferously agree and thereby finish the argument. Little do I know I'm no match for his deep seated need to have rigorous tongue exercise, whether I'm interested or not.

And so the night passes. He speaks of religions, compares Hinduism and Islam, and though claiming he sees all religions as equal, he proceeds to ‘logically prove’ that Islam is somehow superior – albeit never using that particular word.

He asks why Islam and Chrisitianity are such prevalent religions followed globally, while Hinduism is restricted to India. I venture ( for this was my area ) that it was due to an edict in Manusmriti, that those who crossed the oceans lost their caste, which to a Hindu in ancient times meant a total loss of identity, and thereby, livelihood.

The man, obviously caught a little off-guard, agilely side-steps, saying “Oh, these are all political manouvres. Religion is good, but man misinterprets it, the people in power use various ways to keep the people under them in control, and don’t want them to travel and gain further knowledge.”

Though a part of me wants to laugh out loud at this blatantly sweeping statement, I decide to play the docile second citizen Indian woman, purely out of curiosity. I even ( mistakenly ) give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he might be an open-minded free thinker, trying to justify a lot of the religious nonsense we see in all religions today ( and IMO, Hinduism is not excluded in that ).

It soon becomes clear I'm still way too naïve, though, since he proceeds to very righteously ( and IMO very stupidly ) defend the reason the Prophet Muhammad utilised violence in his lifetime, as did his subsequent Caliphs. So during our late night in-flight meal, I'm treated to a monotonous soliloquy on extremely detailed narrations of events, complete with verses and dialogues, all justifying the use of violence to conquer and bring people under the rule of ‘The True God’.

I listen to the entire story of Moses as our trays are cleared and announcements of in flight entertainment, turbulence etc are made. From the time his mother set him as a newborn babe on the river, to the time the Red Sea parted. By now I have no idea what the point is, even. And obviously I can’t ask, for I can’t get a word in edgewise. The man obviously isn’t interested in the opinion of his listener, and after some time, I notice, not even in the body language acknowledging the listening. I open my mouth many times only to close it again, for there never is the right time, the right pause in between where I could interject and just basically go “Okay, old man, you can’t dismiss one faith and expect your listener to be completely in agreement with you on another”. This is obviously a one-man show.

And then, believe it or sleep, it gets worse. My eyelids get heavy and my head is ready to drop, and a part of me hopes this is the broadest hint one can register. Then Mr Raj Kapoor-gone-mad says something that jolts me awake:

Him :Did you know gays originated in Pakistan?

Me : (suddenly wide-eyed) Excuse me?

Him : (nodding solemnly ) Yes, yes, gays originated in Pakistan. That's why God punished Pakistan.

Me : Pu-Punished...?

Him : Yes, yes, that is why God made earthquake there, as punishment for making earth dirty. It is written in Quran.

Me : Really.

Him : Oh, yes yes. And did you know, Sydney is 30% gays?

Me : Uhm, no, I didn't.

Him : Yes, when I found out, I was so scared, I thought, oh, God is punishing Sydney soon. That is why I move to Brisbane.

Me : (spluttering) You - you moved to Brisbane because-

Him : Oh, yes, yes, you wait, you see, God is punishing Sydney soon. That is why I escape now.

I remember my college days, I remember my close Muslim friends whom I am going to visit once I land in Malaysia - friends who know me inside out, with whom I've had mature religious debates, whom I'd fast with during Ramadhan for the heck of it, buy food for when they couldn't fast, who respected my faith so much they accompanied me once to the temple and patiently waited outside, watching over me. I wonder what they'd think of this respected Pakistani CEO, swiftly destroying the image of Islam that they'd belabored for years to create.

I vehemently disagree, I point out homosexuality isn't an epidemic that needs wiping out. He argues, I argue, the details don't matter. I ask him for proof of whether people have committed any crimes like murder/rape/robbery due to the fact they were gay. He hmms and haaws, shakes his head this way and that, and says he doesn't know all that, and when I look like I'm subsiding, changes the subject :-

Him : Did you know all the problems in the world started from Jews? Did you think why is it Hitler was so against them?

Honestly!!!

When the stars don't look upon you

There are certain times in life when you feel saying that things aren't going your way is a perfect understatement. Times when you know life has it's ebbs and flows, but sometimes the ebb is unending, and just keeps pulling you down, no matter what.

My mother says this particular phase I'm going through right now, has many positives inside the negatives, just tiny little pieces, that when pieced together, comes as protection at the most essential point, despite the seemingly everlasting streak of bad luck that seems to be coming my way.

I've yet to make sense of it, I've yet to figure out the answers as to why these things happen.

I'm lucky to be alive today, and so is my mum. We were both involved in a major car crash about two weeks ago, where a 17-year-old came the wrong way up my lane, heading straight for me on a motorway. I swerved to avoid a head-on collission, my car skidded, lost control, went off the road, over the grass, into the parking lot of a McDs, hit a parked vehicle. The impact swung my car around, and we continued moving and hit another parked vehicle, before coming to a stop.

The car's a write-off. It can't be anything but. The whole front is gone. Two more inches, and we'd have gone too.

I can't say much more on this, for legal reasons.

We're alive, and we're thankful. In those immediate post-accident trauma filled minutes, you don't remember much, even as you're recounting things to the police in a voice clear as summer, eyes straight ahead on the ceiling lights of the rural hospital. You say it like you write an exam - you know it's importance, but you're not really digesting the facts. You vomit them out and hope that's the end of it, that it'll all go away.

And then watching your nearest loved one suffer so much next to you in the hospital, and you tied to your stretcher with belts, you wonder what you'd done wrong.

On the road.

In your life.

How you make another suffer because of you.

"But it's not your fault!" they say. So many of them.

"You're just having survivor's remorse". I had no idea what the label meant, but what a lovely thing to actually have that label. How nicely I'd be able to spout that in conversations, and look like a martyr.

But in the emergency room, when you don't know if your mother's ever going to walk again, you doubt if you ever saw that car, whether you'd dreamt it up.

When your mother sees you on your feet for the first time since the accident and breaks down in relief, you can't be bothered with whose fault it was, you just assume it was yours.

And then people come, and you wake up to the world.

First it was Ram and his mum, driving all the way in the night from Brisbane, to be with us. Proving egos can be set aside at times of life and death. You hope for a renewal of bonds, and even initiate spending the weekend at his place sometime later.

The family calls from Malaysia - you're strong and clear when you speak to your father, addressing the doctor in him. You collapse when you talk to your uncle, a messy heap recounting the first ten minutes post-accident when you thought your mother'd become paraplegic.

You speak to your friends who'd received your messages - some reassuring you about work, some wanting all the details, some just downright scared of losing you. And you're grateful they're all there, in some form or another.

And yet, you know it's a time when the ultimate powers that be in the biggest corporation of them all, are not very pleased with your latest memo, and have sent you one in return. All coded up in a language only they know. You have only the one keyword, supplied into your brain from the moment the sight outside your car windscreen seemed like Monet had made a movie. The keyword that pops up at every subsequent disappointment, trying to fit itself into it's current context, yet uncomfortably dissatisfied. The keyword "WHY".

I'm still trying to decode it. I've acted on previous rough drafts of what I feel are the answers, and come away with great disappointment. Perhaps I won't get the proper search results till months from now, once the legal case is settled, and misery is a memory. But till then, I continue my decoding unconsciously, in my dreams, in my blogs, in my most private moments when I look out the window at the world and try to find my spot in it.