Demonstration

Farhan always grew tense at the mere mention of religion.

It would make his palms sweat, his breaths laborious, his laughs nervous. He would excuse himself from conversations where people would mention religion and he would lean against walls for a moment to catch his breath.

Panic attacks. That’s the only thing religion had ever given him.

It started with his mother constantly reprimanding him for his faults and slip-ups. And it went as far back to his childhood, where his Qur’an teacher would persistently yell at him, telling him he was not like the other kids. Then the uncles at the mosque, who would peer down their noses at him and point out minor things. Microaggressions that snowballed into avalanches for someone like Farhan. Someone who tiptoed around at home as if entering a battlefield and found no comfort outside, either. The constant degradation he faced was something he had grown used to, but only after growing up had he realized how wrong it all was.

All of it. The way that religion was handled in his home — like shoving hot iron rods down his throat by force — had made him accustomed to expecting only harshness and brutality from fellow Muslims. They were all the same — preachy, hypocritical, and judgmental.

So he stopped praying. And he only read Qur’an when his mother forced him to. And the only tie to his faith he had was that he mechanically said “Eid Mubarak” with everybody else and was dragged along to Jumu’ah prayer with his father.

And then he met Haroun. Kind, open-hearted Haroun. Who picked up dropped items for passersby and lowered his eyes in front of every woman he spoke to.

Of course, Farhan didn’t believe his whole act.

He didn’t pay Haroun any mind at first. Farhan met him in one of his classes at college and was partnered up with him and two others for a project. As soon as Farhan heard his Muslim name, he became wary. He didn’t want his psychology class to turn into a preach session from this guy.

But Haroun surprised him by simply smiling with a cheerful “Salaam!” in his direction before settling down and beginning to discuss the project with the team.

At the end of class, Haroun had walked up to Farhan and struck up a conversation with him. One in which Farhan was stuffing his books into his bags angrily, irked by the other guy’s presence. But Haroun didn’t seem at all cowed by Farhan’s attitude. He had continued to cheerfully try to hold the conversation and when it began to fizzle out, he had said, “Well, it was really nice officially meeting you, Farhan. Salaam!”

“Likewise,” Farhan had murmured absentmindedly.

He continued to observe the strange guy. And Farhan found it comical at first — how Haroun seldom raised his eyes to a woman’s eyes. “But it’s all in the eyes.” He had argued. “You can tell how a person is feeling from their eyes.”

“You don’t need to look into someone’s eyes to know how they’re feeling.” Haroun had replied, smiling. “If you pay enough attention, you’ll understand more from their actions and words than anything else.” And then he gave Farhan a calculating look that made him feel as if Haroun could see through his skin.

Haroun continued to surprise him, waving to him on campus roads, trying to strike up a conversation every time he saw him even if it was just a “how are you?” or an “everything okay in your classes?” Farhan was baffled by this guy’s attitude, immediately sure that there was some ulterior motive. In a couple of days, this Haroun guy would probably come and shove a flyer for an event at the mosque under Farhan’s nose, and once Farhan would refuse, Haroun would lecture him on the importance of attending the mosque regularly. Then he would angrily stomp away.

But none of that happened. Not the flyer, or the lecture, or Haroun becoming angry. Haroun simply continued with his niceties, and Farhan became more baffled day by day, week by week.

He thought: What is this guy’s deal? Why was Haroun pretending to be such a nice person when they both knew his intention was probably to lecture and preach Farhan when he saw an opening?

Then one day, the two were grabbing food together (upon Haroun’s insistence) when he checked his watch and said, “Oh, wait. We probably need to stop at the mosque for a couple of minutes. It’s time to pray.”

Farhan immediately became reserved, withdrawn.

When they parked in front of the mosque, Haroun exited the car. Farhan thought that this was the moment Haroun would turn around and ask him, “Aren’t you coming?” and Farhan would have to go through the uncomfortable task of shaking his head “No.”

But Haroun did no such thing. Instead, he turned around, grinned, and said, “I’ll just be back in about ten minutes. You’ll be okay?”

Farhan was shocked into silence, to say the least. He stared open-mouthed at Haroun, who continued to stand there waiting for a reply. He hadn’t asked him to come inside. He hadn’t even mentioned Farhan praying.

For some reason, this made Farhan feel a tad bit . . . ashamed? Was he really so far gone that his friend wouldn’t even acknowledge the fact that he didn’t pray? Usually, people who found this out picked apart at this fact until it became moth-eaten and raw. Until Farhan felt more exposed and naked than ever.

“Hello?” Haroun had then waved a hand in front of a blinking Farhan’s face. “Earth to Farhan?”

Farhan clasped the door handle shakily and stepped out. “No, I’ll — uh — I’ll come with you. No point waiting here.” He added quickly before Haroun took another meaning from his words.

Haroun smiled. “Alright, let’s go.”

Although he didn’t pray regularly anymore, Farhan still remembered how to from going to Jumu’ah with his dad. But when the prayer started and he sensed Haroun’s stillness next to him, he began to feel uneasy.

Perhaps he wasn’t doing it right. Maybe he was fidgeting too much. Were his hands supposed to be placed like that? And did he even properly remember the things he was supposed to recite?

Why did he feel this way? Every Friday he did the same thing with his dad and countless other men around him. He prayed mechanically, said Salaam mechanically, and held conversations with the others mechanically. So why was that day any different? He was still praying next to another person, still praying in congregation. Why the unease?

He realized sometime later as he was mulling over it — a whole lot of people had tried to shame him into feeling something while he was praying with them (including his dad), but when he was with Haroun, that shame automatically came. Because Haroun wasn’t one to openly scold him, to publicly reprimand him. Which only made Farhan more aware of whether what he was doing was right or wrong.

All the world had tried to shame him into being shameless but one man had stepped back and let the story unfold on its own.

Farhan took an intense liking to Haroun after that, being the first to text him to hang out. Haroun was ecstatic every time, as if spending time with Farhan was the most important part of his week. And this pure, sincere importance that Haroun gave only made Farhan like him more.

For his lack of corruption, for his kindness that didn’t ask for any ulterior motive, for his character that spoke more volumes than his words or eyes did.

For the lesson he taught Farhan that Islam was not always the Muslim. And that the religion wasn’t the problem, the way it had been demonstrated to Farhan was the problem.

By Kainat Azhar