The Hadiya divide: which side are you on?

For close to a year we have been debating if Shafin Jahan would be a good husband for Hadiya. How nice and caring of us! Especially when most of us in our personal lives find comfort in others’ miseries. It’s a bitter truth, but admit it. For instance, whenever the electricity goes, the first thing I do is ring the neighbour’s bell and see if it’s working. If it doesn’t, well and good. But if it does, then I end up abusing everyone from the power minister to the lineman. The point is we are that kind of people.

Now the trouble is Hadiya is a 25-year-old woman. In India, every woman above the age of 18 can marry whoever she wants. We didn’t question Manju Warrier when she married Dileep, did we? Somewhere deep in our hearts, ഹൃദയത്തിന്റെ വടക്കു കിഴക്കേ അറ്റത്ത്, we all felt she deserved better, but we lived with it.

So what’s different? Hadiya was once upon a time Akhila, a Hindu. And she  married a Muslim. Many conspiracy theorists see love jihad in it. But then what is love jihad? A sinister plot hatched somewhere in the alleys of Syria or Iraq by Abū Bakr al-Baghdadi or possibly the last terror strike by Osama bin Laden before he was taken down by American special forces?

Now there is a problem with that theory. We are then saying women are brainless creatures incapable of anything, not even making their own personal choices like what food to eat, what dress to wear, who to make their partner, which is not a nice thing to say even if you believe it to be true. Every love affair in that case is a terror plot.

Hadiya may be the victim of a conversion racket, but she is certainly not a victim of love jihad. And even if she is a victim of a conversion racket, she is a willing victim. It’s her choice, she is free to follow any religion she wants to.

But let us not deny the existence of a conversion racket. Hadiya did not fall in love with Shafin Jahan. The marriage was arranged by her guardian and Popular Front worker Zainaba. It’s an old trick employed across every sector. It’s called establishing ownership. At a time when Akhila’s conversion to Hadiya was under challenge in the high court, Zainaba and her friends in PFI sought to arrange a wedding. Once the marriage takes place, the conversion is sealed and can’t be undone, so to say.

And long before that, when Akhila approached her friends’ father for advice on knowing Islam better, she was sent to the Sathya Sarani, run by the PFI. Let us be honest. If my daughter’s Muslim friend comes to me wanting to know more about Hinduism, would I send her to the nearest Bajrang Dal office? Never. At the most, I would ask her to read Amar Chitra Katha.  

PS: 1) The article reflects the mood of Kerala, albeit in a mild manner 2) Hadiya’s father by constantly calling Shafin Jahan a terrorist is labelling Muslims as terrorists. Totally uncalled for

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Tipu Sultan, the love jihad king?

These days the regulars at Mallan’s bar in Junglistan have a new ritual. They toss a coin to decide what to drink. If it’s ‘heads’, they drink vodka or white rum or arrack or tequila and discuss international affairs. If it’s ‘tails’, they drink whisky or bourbon or rum or beer and discuss Indian history. They adopted this ritual after coming to know this is how English TV channels decide their primetime.

Today the coin said Indian history. The next step is what topic to fight over. They watch TV to decide that. For example tonight they fought over Tipu Sultan. And they are truly democratic in these sparring sessions. These are equal-opportunity drinking fests. They don’t hold your ignorance against you. What it means is the bar always has very lively charayam pe charchas.

“What I don’t like about Tipu Sultan is he converted thousands and thousands of Hindus,” said Kittunni Vakeel, arguing his case with the same vigour he defends his clients in the court.    

“Yes, just think of it,” said Swami Bhojanananda, the spiritual voice of the Jungle republic, “This Ibrahimkutty sitting right next to us was a Hindu once upon a time.”

“His ancestors were, you mean,” corrected Mayilamma, the peahen. You know her as the world’s only species that conceives by drinking tears.

“Yes, of course. If Tipu hadn’t lost his way and come here, Ibrahimkutty could have been a swami like myself.”

“You guys are missing the point,” Murali, Junglistan Times Editor, interrupted. “He is dead and gone, we should talk about something else.”

“This history ritual must end. We should be talking about things that affect us,” said Georgekutty, “Like GST, the ban on firecrackers, vegetable prices, petrol prices.”

“Yes, like the economy, current account deficit, recapitalisation of banks, trade deficit, China’s trade surplus, balance of payments, etc,” offered Mayilappan, whose knowledge of economics could fill more than just the back of a postage stamp, he often claims.

Pachu, the jester in the pack, went into deep thought, weighing the pros and cons of what Mayilappan said. After wracking his brain about what recapitalisation of banks could mean, he confidently offered his view, “I think we are better off debating Jungle Mata Ki Jai.”

“Two rums here please and two BDF,” Bhojanananda continued, “and the kind of atrocities Tipu committed. He would just cut off you know what if Hindus didn’t convert.”

“Then you are wrong Swami. A short while ago you said Ibrahimkutty could have been a swami if his great grandad didn’t convert. The poor guy wouldn’t even be born if his great great granddad didn’t convert,”

“Again you are missing the point,” said Murali, “Tipu might have been a villain for us, but he was a hero for the people of Mysore.”

“He even used rockets in wars,” Ibrahimkutty broke his silence, “The father of Indian missile programme was not A P J Abdul Kalam but Tipu Sultan.”

“Nonsense, what do you think was all the weapons we used in Mahabharata? It is true, we fell on bad times and forgot those stuff.”  

“I think Akbar was a great ruler unlike Tipu, who was tyrant,” Kuyilamma couldn’t stop herself, “That is why he was called Akbar the Great. Nobody ever called the Mysore king Tipu the Great.”

“And do you know who was the father of Love Jihad,” Bhojanananda asked.

“Don’t tell me it was Tipu!”

“Who else?” Bhojanananda said with the authority of Dinanath Batra, “You all have heard about Unniyarcha, the martial arts exponent of Kerala. She was abducted by Tipu and was forced to live as his wife.”

“That is some shady history you are selling Swami.”

“I read it in the Junglistan Times,” Bhojanananda had his defence ready.

“Bhai, if you ask me the point of discussion should be Tipu’s moustache,” said Murali, “What a work of art! Just like the Taj Mahal. We know about his moustache but nothing about its architect.”

“No way, nobody has a moustache like Mohanlal.”

Murali was shouted down by the rest of the crowd.

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