The benefits of having a Muslim name in Bhopal outweighs the trouble it attracts
Muslim families who’ve shifted cities more than once will tell you that
this ghetto-isation became prominent after the fall of the Babri Masjid.
Not just Muslims but anyone with a Middle Eastern name, who’s hunted
for a home in prime localities, would have heard responses such as: “You
can find a house in the Old City/ Walled City”; “We have just given the
house to someone this morning” and; “In this society you will not have
any friends.”
Zoroastrians and well, people like me, then quickly explain that we’re
not Muslim. There’s no point debating. A communal landlord is sometimes
better than living in a friend’s friend’s hostel room.
I recently shifted to Bhopal, the capital of BJP ruled Madhya Pradesh —
with a large Muslim population concentrated north of the city’s lakes. I
got a sense of the Bhopali tehzeeb or etiquette as soon as I got
off the Bhopal Express from Delhi. A young female scooter rider
narrowly missed colliding with the auto rickshaw I was in. I expected
the driver to yell at her. Instead he blew a kiss at the fleeing scooter
and said, “Subhan Allah, maar dalegi yaar.” (Glory to God, she will kill us.)
The auto driver, though, fleeced me. He charged me Rs. 400 for a
distance of roughly 13 km. We soon got talking. When I said my name is
Pheroze, his whole demeanour changed. He stopped at a tea stall and
tried to justify the exorbitant rate he was charging. In the
conversation hence forth, I was referred to as Pheroze bhai.
He showed me around the city and gave me his number to call in case if I
was in trouble. Pointing towards a predominantly Muslim ghetto close he
said, “The police call this Chhota Pakistan. Total mian log (all Muslim). If anyone messes with you I can get 20 boys from here in 20 minutes.”
Unfortunately he was not in a position to get me house near the city
centre. Finding a house took a while. I once had to explain that I’m a
Christian. The caretaker replied, “It’s good that you’re not a Muslim.”
Once I found a house, the local grocer, conservancy staffer, auto
drivers — most of them Muslim — assumed I am Muslim. They told me where
the nearest mosque was and where the good restaurants were. One of them
whispered to me where the nearest beef shop was. It was far enough to
kill your appetite.
And whenever they see me they say, “Salaam Aleikum Pheroze bhai.”
When I went to service my bike, the attendant said they were full. By
now I could recognise that the accent he spoke in was distinctly Old
City. “Bhai, mera naam Pheroze hai,” (Brother, my name is Pheroze) I said. And right before my eyes the mechanic left the IPL match and fixed my bike.
Source: http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/blogs/blogs-end-of-the-day/article4724667.ece
