Bechara Faisal -- Portfolio Piece

Not being religious was not a conscious choice for me. I had never sat down and decided I did not want to pray. I had never thought that God did not exist. I never even thought God had been unfair to me in any particularly malicious way. Yet, I never ended up being as religiously inclined as my parents would have wanted me to be. As far as I was concerned, I was plenty religious, thank you.

For a start, I did believe in God; believed enough to occasionally ask Him small favors. Also, when I was home, I said my Friday prayers. When my mother reminded me, I even said one of the five during the day. Often during the day I would use phrases invoking God’s mercy, help or blessings—a consequence of a religious upbringing. I could argue at length about religion in general and Islam and its injunctions specifically. My knowledge came from that same religious upbringing which also made him protective of him Sunni identity and of religious institutions.

None of this was of any consequence as I stood before my parents trying to explain to them why it was that I wanted to marry a Parsi girl.

“You want to marry a what?” Daddy bellowed, convinced he hadn’t heard properly the first time.
“You must be crazy Faisal. You can’t marry a Parsi. You’re insane if you think I will allow anything like this. This is ridiculous.” Mummy had decided to go on one of her rambling-sprees—not a good sign. “Parsis aren’t even Muslim,” she declared. “And you are definitely not marrying a non-Muslim girl. Don’t they worship fire or something of that sort? Mrs. Kamal had a Parsi neighbor once and she told me they had a fire-altar in their house. Don’t they also wear odd-looking clothes? How can you even dream of marrying someone like that?”
“Because, Mummy, I love her like mad. I’m absolutely insane about the person she is and I know you will love her too once you meet her. And her family’s quite nice. You’ll like them. Her mother goes to the Gymkhana regularly and is a member of your Helper’s Society as well. You’ll really like them all.” I tried my best to attack Mummy right where I knew she would respond best. Her love of high society and the good life dictated that any sensible woman must do some charity work.
“I don’t care what her mother or father do. I don’t care how rich they are or who they socialize with. There is no way that I will allow my son to marry a non-Muslim. As long as you live in my house you will live by my rules.” Daddy declared, testing out the strength of his lungs.
“Well then I suppose I’ll have to find some other place to live. I suppose I’ll have to go somewhere where people understand that religion is less important then how two people feel about each other.” This sappy answer was never going to earn me point with my father though. I knew that. I also knew that I would never be allowed to go through with this unless something changed drastically.

Something did drastically change.

“Baby, I can’t marry you if neither of our parents are willing to accept this marriage.” Souzan attempted to justify her decision. “You know I love you but love really isn’t enough if we don’t have any family to be with. We need support from our parents in order to live happily. You know I love you so much but just think about it, Baby. If only either your parents or mine were willing to support our marriage then we could convince the other somehow. Without support from either side, we really can’t expect to get anywhere.” She kept talking, giving me all the reasons why we couldn’t make this work without our parents consent and support. She kept talking, and we kept moving further away from each other with every word.

Bechara Faisal never did end up marrying Souzan. My parents would not budge. Souzan’s parents weren’t ecstatic at the idea either. Her decision left me thinking only one thing: I could never allow anyone to do this to me again. I will not allow my parents or other family members to be in a position where they can manipulate me with emotions. I will definitely not allow anyone to get close enough for them to become my weakness as I let Souzan become.

All of this happened two years ago.

Since then, I, Faisal Nasir Khan, have lost faith in religion and God. I have pushed away friends and family and live the life of a complete recluse. Sometimes I wish I could allow people to see the person inside me. It would make things so much simpler for everyone concerned. The parties involved could then decide on how to conduct the relevant affairs in accordance with the acceptable conditions prevalent inside my deeply twisted interior. This would lead to a simplification of the process of communication between me and the people dearest to me. In less complex terms—again using that word “simple”—if I were able to let people see the real me, they would be able to understand me better and that would make all our lives easier.

Unfortunately, or otherwise, I just can’t allow anyone to see what is inside my head. No one must ever know the functioning of my mind or else they will be able to hurt me. Nobody should ever gauge my weaknesses for I will never permit myself to be vulnerable. It is this fear of vulnerability that has made me drive away the people who care about me the most. This fear has made me push away my closest friends, walk away from my family and delve into a life of solitude and isolation.

To get away from my family, I choose an easy route. I detached myself from the religious lifestyle followed so diligently by my parents and other family members. In doings so, I instantly became an outcast—a pariah. I rejected their religion and their beliefs and I rejected their values and norms, all in an effort to prevent them from discovering my own weaknesses. Each day, I drift further apart from them.

Friends, I do not make for fear that they too shall come too close and notice the wrinkles inside my mind. I dread the moment when someone tells me that they know what I am thinking. Invariably, it happens with a girl. I will get close to her, become great friends. At some stage, we will become involved in a relationship and one day it will happen. She will say something mundanely unimportant and when I look at her, she will say she knows what I’m thinking. From that day on, we will slowly drift apart.

I cannot allow people to get close to me so that nobody will ever be able to hurt me again.