A BRIEF CONTEXT BEFORE THREE INCIDENTS
Very few are aware of this side of India unless they dare to listen to the minority, like the Indigenous people of Canada, and to Palestinians of the Middle East.
So, we know India is a land of diversity - colors, languages, faiths, and traditions blend to create a unique fabric of culture. Yet, being a Muslim and, on top of that, a woman often means standing at the crossroads of acceptance and resistance in my homeland. In a country where identity should be a personal choice, it sometimes becomes a battleground.
These are moments from my life where my identity was questioned, but I chose to shield it.
1. The School Uniform Dilemma
I attended a convent missionary school where the principal, referred to as "Father," warned me not to wear my hijab on campus. I was the only one defying the rule, and it felt like a betrayal when a man who called himself a priest prohibited me from covering myself. I refused to obey, and one day, my class teacher told me not to wear the hijab from the next day, citing equality and further disciplinary action would be taken against me to prevent me from entering the 10th-grade examination hall. As I walked back to my bench, I noticed a Sikh boy passing through the verandah with his turban intact, and I realized the hypocrisy of the situation.
I decided to leave the school. However, since it was the best school in the city, my parents would never allow me to leave unless I had a better option. So, I focused on preparing for the entrance exam of Jamia Millia Islamia, one of the top public universities and schools in India.
Three years later, the same institution that banned the hijab on campus presented a clip of me- now their alumna - wearing my hijab as an "honor" during their 50th-anniversary celebrations. It was strange to see the very people who had once threatened me now showcasing my journey as an inspiration to thousands of parents. I knew that the tables would turn eventually, and I believe that, sooner or later, a time will come when Muslim girls can wear their hijabs with dignity in that very institution.
Emotion at the time: Confusion, anger, and a sense of injustice. I felt torn between my identity and the expectations of those around me.
Emotion now: A firm resolve. I am prepared to challenge them legally if they continue their discriminatory policies. I am grateful for the person I have become through this cold exposure, and I thank the Almighty for the strength He granted me to stand up for my beliefs. Faith has been my guiding force, and I trust that justice will prevail, allowing others to express their beliefs freely.
2. The Last Spot on the List
I had poured my heart into preparing for the entrance exam for JMI. My teachers mocked my effort, calling it pointless, as many students who attempted such exams often returned disappointed. The first two selection lists were released, and my name was nowhere to be found - only the district topper had made it.
I begged Allah in the quiet hours of the night, asking for a miracle. And then, just when I had almost lost hope, my father received a call. I thought it was a mistake, but then I checked the final list. My name was there - Number 101 - when only 100 seats were supposed to be filled.
Emotion at the time: Shock, overwhelming relief, and a deep realization that Allah’s plans unfold in ways beyond human logic.
Emotion now: Unshakable faith. Whenever I doubt, I remember that moment and remind myself - when the Almighty Allah wills, even the impossible bends to His command.
3. The Night of Riots
I was in Delhi, studying for my 11th-grade final exams when the infamous North Delhi Riots against minorities erupted in 2019. That morning, I sat for my physics test while bullets and screams echoed in the streets. Then came the night when I ran to the terrace and saw them—angry mobs targeting my neighborhood. My home was at the very entrance of the street. I held my breath, waiting for the horror to reach my doorstep, as flashes of victims' testimonies filled my mind. But then, miraculously, the mob turned back.
Emotion at the time: Sheer terror, helplessness - the kind that freezes your body while your heart races with prayers.
Emotion now: Resilience. I walked away from that night changed forever, carrying lessons most people will never learn in a lifetime.
4. The Government Office Showdown
While completing my medical examination for my Canadian study visa at a Government office in Delhi, I encountered blatant discrimination. When my turn came for photo verification, the clerk sneered at my hijab. I had already seen him force the Muslim women before me to remove their hijabs, taunting them with threats that their visas would be rejected. Now, it was my turn.
"What is this thing? Remove it," he said, his voice laced with mockery.
"I won’t." My hands trembled, but my voice did not.
He repeated the threat, expecting me to surrender. Instead, I demanded to speak to the head of the office. He refused, but an assistant overheard and called the chief doctor—the one assigned to conduct my medical checkup. I showed the doctor my passport, where I was wearing my hijab.
"Child, if your passport has it, then there’s no need to remove it," he said. "I’ll make sure my colleague does not bother you about it."
At that moment, the entire atmosphere shifted. The same women who had been forced to uncover in front of hundreds of strangers stared at me. After that day, not a single Muslim woman was asked to remove her hijab in that office.
My hands were still shaking, but I remembered my father’s words from a few days earlier: "Either roar like a lion in moments like these or never blame anyone for your humiliation."
That day, I roared.
Emotion at the time: Nervous but resolute. Fear lingered in my bones, but so did determination.
Emotion now: Empowerment. I realized that one firm stance could change the course for others who came after me.