The UK

(Muslim) Boy meets (Hindu) Girl and Other Bollywood Fantasies

I confess to being a fan of Nihal, a DJ and a radio presenter on BBC Asian Network, where he presents a phone-in show in the afternoon that deals with social and political issues. Sometimes I even speak with him live on air.

There was a show on a recent Wednesday, that was inspired by the Bollywood film industry. Two Bollywood stars are planning on getting married after several years of courtship. “What’s the big deal?” I hear you ask. There is none. But when the actors are both of different faiths (she’s a Hindu and he’s a Muslim) then the gossip mill start churning away.

The question for that session was “Are Hindu-Muslim marriages in Bollywood making it more acceptable for everyone else?” Apparently Bollywood, that shining beacon of hope and morality for the South-Asian Diaspora, which churns out tall, fair-skinned Amazonian women, is that influential in our daily lives. Many a time, nestled up with a hot mocha in the local Costa Coffee (they do the best coffee – sorry Starbucks) while considering lifestyle changes, I’ve said to myself: What Would Aishwarya Rai Do? On a more serious note, I’ve yet to hear one person say in my presence that a lifestyle decision they have made was influence by a Bollywood star.

My Classmate Saif al-Islam

It was the beginning of the school year at the London School of Economics and there was already one student that caught my attention. He was slightly older than the rest of us and would always come to class in perfectly fitted Prada suits. I never understood how he managed to arrive just as the lecture was about to begin, never a minute too early or late. He sat across from me and listened intently as our professor lectured us on moral and political theory. I wondered if he was an altruistic banker who had decided to go back to school. I never would have guessed he was the son of a brutal and crazy dictator.

We were the only two non-Caucasian students in the class and quite often I’d feel his gentle eyes staring at me with curiosity. I could tell he was wondering where I was from. Despite his professional and charismatic demeanor, there was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way. In my mind I nicknamed him “the hitman” and would become visibly uncomfortable when he stare at me. He noticed my discomfort and I could tell it bothered him; it was as though he were used to being blacklisted and was sensitive about it.

One day I was late for class and remembered thinking, as I entered the classroom, “Great, the only seat free is next to the hitman.” As I sat down next to him, he turned to me with a warm smile. I forgot my notebook and asked him for paper; it was the first time we had spoken and he seemed excited about it. He handed me a hard covered notebook. I said it seemed like an architect’s notepad. He told me with pride that he was in fact an architect and opened the book showing me his beautiful sketches of buildings. He told me how he owned a building company in Tripoli. I was surprised. I never would have guessed the mysterious man in my class was a Libyan architect. “Isn’t life very hard for people of Libya,” I asked him.

Letter From London: The Aftermath of the Riots

Living in London, one becomes immune to the sound of ambulances and police vans rushing past your rented second-story flat. And the smell of fire is too often covered by that of the fumes from the kebab shop downstairs. Coming home to news of riots in London was hardly surprising, but it was confusing. Having taken part in peaceful student protests earlier this year and at the end of last year, I was initially dubious when I read the news reports about violent and volatile behaviour of these “protesters.” It didn’t take long, however, before it became very clear that this was protesting of a completely different kind.

London, and soon many other cities across the UK, were shaken by the not entirely surprising though not anticipated attacks on shops and persons. Thousands watched in horror as the news channels filmed the complete destruction of people’s homes as entire building complexes burnt down without there being the slightest attempt to put the fires out.