Tales of a Solitary Soul

The term feminist itself does not have a defined boundary and its detailed interpretation seems to differ but from a western perspective, it is the granting of equal rights to men and women in a way that gender plays no role in the social and economic classification. Think of it as secularism where the citizens of the state are just that – religionless. Similarly, it is argued, that a man and a woman are the same and there should be no distinction of responsibilities placed on each other. The movement has been broken down into three phases: the first wave in the 1940s for access to workforce followed by the sexual revolution of the 60s and the evolution of the modern woman in the 90s away from the misoandric attitudes. I and the Islamic point of view would disagree with that for men and women are different physically and emotionally but that doesn’t indicate the superiority of one over the other.

Most Muslims tend to view feminism as a western construct and one that should not be associated with Islam. The concept of western feminism itself is not a black and white issue but rather needs to be examined on a case-by-case basis. It advanced women rights to take part in the workforce but also created a false ideal, which goes against the very fundamentals. The movement was started to provide women with a freedom of choice except it came at the degradation of roles such as motherhood. Therefore, the successful woman in the mind of young girls was not someone that made her own choices; it was a person that excelled in the workforce. This is the opposite extreme to the pre-movement times when the definition of success was primarily associated with being a mother.

As we approach Islamic feminism, we have to understand that it is not a recent phenomenon nor is it a western conspiracy. The term Islamic feminism should not be viewed with negative connotations though it contains certain elements that do not fall within the boundaries of Islam. Women like Khadijah (ra) and Aisha (ra) could be considered feminists as they broke social norms and stereotypes. The former was a highly successful businesswoman and the latter was a scholar and narrator of hadeeth.

The western feminism was a rebellion against the church and state establishment but Islamic feminism needs to derive itself from Islam otherwise, it would be parameter-less entity that would lose its focus and drive. Current times and situation demands a revival in the Islamic feminist movement but with clearly established borders and limits. Equal access to education and mosques, forced marriages, prevention against emotional, verbal, and sexual abuse are just some of the issues within the Muslim world that need to be addressed by women to women. The problem arises when the Muslim women’s source of inspiration is not Islam but rather Mary Daly and Charlotte Bunch.

Therefore, when the western concept of feminism is imported to an Islamic framework, we end up with incidents such as women led mixed prayers. This is falsely viewed as bringing respect to women since leading prayers is the domain of men. A Muslim woman’s quest to equal instead of identical rights will not be achieved through blind imitation of men. In essence, this itself is derogatory because it implies that a woman is only worth respecting after she proves herself equal to a man.

Allah(swt) has ordained certain qualities in men and women that are specific to each gender. Men can never perform the role of motherhood as admirably because they lack the emotional depth of a woman. But this very lack of emotion gives him a better ability to carry out certain other tasks that women would find very difficult. Of course, it does not help that many Muslim men view the female responsibilities with complete disdain and thus do not lift a finger around the house. This extreme love affair of women with male associated qualities and the likewise misogynic attitudes of men is a dangerous trend whose peak has yet not been reached.

There needs to be an understanding of priorities of a modern Muslim man and woman within the realities of society. A clear examination needs to take place on an individual level to ensure that our goals and aspirations are in line with what’s expected of us as Muslims. And you’d be surprised at how flexible and open the limits are to accommodate our needs. Stepping outside these limits might bring temporary success, whatever we define it to be, but it will even in a best-case scenario be of no value when it comes time to determine our true success.

DISCLAIMER: If you're not Muslim, you might not agree with many of my points but being a practicing Muslim, my views and ideas are the product of Islamic teachings. This piece is not meant to be an attack of feminism. As I said, it is not a black and white issue.

Labels: feminism, women

I am twenty two. There is an unusual chill in the air, the kind that permeates the body and overwhelms the senses. Snowflakes dance and twirl a perfect ten in mid air like an Olympic figure skater, only to die upon hitting the ground. The weather is cold but still amicable enough to wander around on foot. I am the last one to leave and there is a comfortable silence that speaks louder than a thousand words.

It’s hard to pinpoint where reality ends and imagination takes hold, refusing to let go like a tiger on its prey. I imagined being in a place of serene beauty and ever lasting peace, where the mind runs free and ideality reigns supreme. The moon shines through the white curtains like a future bride spying upon her potential suitors, playing hide and seek, ducking and weaving in the heavenly path it follows. Making my way to the car, I gingerly step on the fresh snow to avoid any unsavory incidents. A deep breath and exhale.

I am six. We walk around the puddles of water which during the day serve as the battleground of boats for the neighborhood kids. Hand in hand, I follow my aunt and mother as we stroll through the darkness, lit in patches where families forget to turn off their porch lights. The familiar path guides us from one street to the next into a seemingly never ending maze of entrances and exits. I pass by Irfan’s house and reflect on the beating he received in cricket today, wondering if he will show up tomorrow. Next come the high walls of the mosque lacking paint and finishing touches but abundant in wild bushes that grow on its perimeter. Another house that I recognize; a kid with a yellow bicycle and a solid third place finish each time.

I like this. There is a certain eerie silence broken by the mother’s discussion as she talks to my aunt about something vaguely recognizable though I’m the least bit interested. It had stopped raining some hours ago so the air is infused with morning freshness and a hint of crispness only found after the first rainfall of the season. A prisoner rose bush sticks out a gated metal fence and if not for the watching eyes, I would have plucked it.

I am twelve. It is mid afternoon and the sweltering heat rains down like a plague. I sit inside my fourth floor apartment, immune to the elements but taking notice of the constant hum of the air conditioner. Everyone is asleep.

Life carries on beneath my nose even as it comes to a stand still in my head. I sit on the head of the sofa and gaze out into the open as people walk back and forth in quick paces to avoid the tyrant sun. White flowing robes, casual wear, shalwar kameez dot the horizon and endless stream of Mercedes, BMWs, Toyotas, Mazdas zip by as if racing towards a prize. Everyone is in a rush, yet there is a beauty to their madness, a cyclic rhythm that pulsates like a throbbing heart. I lean my head against the sun baked window--line between reality and imagination is blurred.

Labels: life

Half an hour past lunch and the effects of Friday afternoon were beginning to show. I could hear the monotonous ticking of the clock, growing louder by each passing second. Ironically, there are no clocks in the office save for my cell phone that I checked with annoying and increasing frequency so the origin of the sound is anyone’s guess. There was much work to be done and deadlines to meet but the prospect of a long awaited weekend combined with two hours of sleep the previous night had rendered the afternoon useless.

Sleeping at work is not the best of practices though I have seen it done. There’s the obvious feeling of guilt and then of course, the fear of getting caught. But when you have only two more weeks left, the latter tends to lose its luster. Anyone who has gone through extended periods of time without sleep will realize that only so much resistance can be put forth before everything comes crashing down. In my best attempt to stay awake, I began to look around at something that would catch my interest – anything. Luckily, my office walls are plastered with posters of British Virgin Islands, Costa Rica, Maldives, etc. for such times.

There is one picture in particular that I lose myself into. It shows one of the French Polynesian islands surrounded by crystal blue water as if colored in using a paint brush. The island is not very large, inhabited by long slender trees with arching branches and a beach that stretches far into the bosom of the ocean. There is a clearing in the middle and a resort or perhaps a house welcomes its visitors. In the background, another island rises into the sky with a much denser shade of green than its smaller neighbor. It is a magnificent sight to behold, an undiscovered land that excites the senses.

Having found something worthy of distraction, I began to browse Expedia.ca, researching the approximate costs for a trip to an exotic ‘paradise.’ I’ve noticed a big shift in my thinking as of late. No more am I concerned about the next project, assignment, lab, or exam. They have become trivial nuisances like a fly buzzing around a Bengal tiger. Thoughts are measured in months, years, and decades with seemingly endless opportunities and adventures waiting to be found.

A round trip to Maui is $900, to British Virgin Islands $1600, and to French Polynesia, upwards of $3000. Take into account a 10 day stay at a 3-star hotel that overlooks acres of lush greenery and rolling hills waiting for someone to trek through their innards to its desolate peak and pray fajr as the shearing sun rises on the horizon – will cost about $3500. Can you put a price on the experience of giving adhan in the wilderness with animals as your congregants and the clouds as your witness?

Sometime after 3 o’clock, I closed the office door and put my head to rest on the desk. Dreams of beauty and glory ensued.

Labels: British Virgin Islands, dreams, French Polynesia, goals, Maui, paradise, pray, work

Received saddening news today with the death of Saifur Rahman al-Mubarakpuri, the author of the famous book, The Sealed Nectar. The book is one of the most well known works of Seerah in any language, which is quite astounding considering it was written within the last half century.

And yet, today it is widely read throughout the Muslim world. A testament to his sincerity that it gained such fame within a short period of time. It was one of the first Islamic books that I bought and after 6 years, I still turn to it for guidance.

It relayed the life of the Prophet (pbuh) unlike any other. I felt as if I had a front row seat watching the Prophet being chased out of Taif, when he ascended to the heavens, the Battle of Badr when he spoke to the dead bodies of the Quraish leaders, when he foretold about the conquest of Persia and Rome during the Battle of Khanduq (Trench), then the victory of Makkah followed by the booming, melodious athan of Bilal as he stood atop the Kabah……….

He will be greeted by a 'man' in white, with a beautiful face that will give glad tidings. Paradise will call him by the best of names and he will, insha Allah, sleep peacefully in his temporary abode. Such is the end I want.

Labels: death, scholar, seerah