I was a shy normal kid. Just a tad bit more curious, perhaps. But nothing about me was non-compliant. I did what I was told to do and believed what they fed me with.
I developed an intriguing mind somewhere along the line. Then, I became obnoxious in the eyes of my family, teachers, and qari sahib.
Life went on. They kept abusing me, warned me against becoming the dreaded ‘divergent kid’. Then I started to see through the façade. I tried to search for answers.
A bookstore in my hometown Multan became my source of knowledge. The first book I picked from my own money was A History of God by Karen Armstrong. The book made me see things from a different perspective. It taught me how to question things. I went on to read Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, and Carl Sagan, to name a few.
I started working for a small Communist magazine where I translated articles from English to Urdu. It was a magnificent journey. I was learning and meeting people with interesting ideas, translating books, learning and questioning… Little did I know that it would have serous consequences.
I was in my mid-twenties back then. I got my first panic attack. The relative started spreading amongst common friends and family that I was becoming a divergent and a non-conformist.
One day I was sitting with a group of people in my home, and a relative saw us holding the magazine, which had a communist monogram on the cover page. The enraged relative threatened to murder me if he found me working against Islam. I was naive and laughed it off.
But soon after, I heard the news that Rashid Rehman (the lawyer working on the case of Junaid Hafeez) had been gunned down in Multan in 2014. The gravity of the situation hit me.
I was in my mid-twenties back then. I got my first panic attack. The relative started spreading amongst common friends and family that I was becoming a divergent and a non-conformist.
The problem was that I was divergent. I was non-conformist. And I had to hide it.
I hailed from a conservative family. I was unaware that anxiety disorder is a reality. I started feeling unsafe around my family. Their exhibitionist religiosity annoyed me immensely. It was then that I started taking medications for depression and anxiety. I became a prisoner of conscience.
I remember watching the video of Mashal Khan’s lynching and thinking… this could happen to me. I felt like fear was sealing my lips; an invisible check was imposed on divergent thinkers. It didn’t matter which faith you represented, which sect you followed — anyone with a touch of sanity or a curious mind could become a target.
I have been on anti-anxiety pills for more than a decade. The thought of facing violence is ever-present. I rarely speak my mind. Most of my time is spent staying clear of people, especially those I am not familiar with.
This sort of existence is hard to lead. I feel I am imprisoned. Especially when I see people being lynched, forcefully converted or killed – simply for having a different faith or being ideologically divergent.
*The name of the author has been changed to protect his identity.
The blog has been published in collaboration with Ravadar – a series that documents the lives of religious minorities in Pakistan.
Brilliantly written . The issues highlighted make a lot of sense. Wish the writer had used his/her own name.