Bombs and Beards

It traverses my face like a helmet strap, as if trying to keep my lower jaw from falling. What started as an urge to make something different out of myself has now maintained a debilitating and deceptive permanency, making others believe what I am not.

Not so long ago, while I sat studying mind boggling theories on machine design under a 100 watt bulb table lamp, it struck me that I really have something missing on my face. Slowing racing my hand across my chinbone I noticed the long awaited hair had finally arrived, and that my habit of scratching my chin would now have a reason. I dropped the pen I was writing with as a brilliant idea raced across my mind… the table lamp flickered as I got up with a jump, keeping myself from shouting out a loud “YESSSS” 3’o’clock in the morning. The contents of the Gillette shaving foam standing in all its glory upon a table in the far end of my room would not grace my face anymore, and I almost heard it saying “Farhan, you know you’re making the wrong decision, YOU CAN’T JUST LET ME GO!” Putting the electric shaver back in the closet I looked at myself in the mirror, the aftermath of the change already flooding my mind. This was going to be no ordinary beard; it would herald a major change in my personal relationships with people, a flashing sign of striking mutation of beliefs and faith, symbolizing religious enlightenment.

Giving myself one last look in the mirror I locked away the shaving apparatus, not to be disturbed for a long, long time. And then it grew and bloomed, making me feel like an experimental guinea pig, a miser with no place for Gillette on the washroom shelf, an unsuccessful lover who failed to win the heart of his femme fatale…

Ladies and Gentlemen, say hello to my Model 007 Chinstrap Beard.

The neighborhood kids who used to call me ‘bhai jaan’ now think I am their uncle. The naughty milkman who used to call me ‘sir’ now shouts a ‘Molvee sahab’ in my face with a toothy smile. Friends, acquaintances and foes keep asking questions if I had any plans to fight with the Afghans. Relatives warn me that I won’t be able to find a reasonable girl for marriage with that beard on my face. But the worst I ever heard from anyone was “Aray taira demagh kharab ho gaya hai kia? Koi suicide bombing na kernay chal perna!”

I knew I had made a mistake by growing it right after the September 11 attacks on the WTC. People would look at me with suspicion in their eyes, scanning with their glances ever inch of my innocent body, hoping to find a crude assortment of amateur electronics and wires tied to a dozen brown rods labeled ‘Dynamite’. An old man in a metro bus sitting in front of me would stare at the picture of Osama Bin Laden in his newspaper, and then would look at me adjusting his glasses. The best I could do was to smile back… good for me they don’t publish pictures of a smiling Osama Bin Laden in newspapers.

A bearded young man wearing army boots and a rugged camouflage vest posing as an estate agent once came up to me and introduced his business. When he finally understood that I was not the least interested, he pulled out a small register with names of men written in Urdu. He asked my religious sect at which I got infuriated and calmly ignored him. Judging from my countenance he understood that he had picked the wrong person, apologized and rode away giggling nervously on his bicycle.

“Typical youth brainwasher on the loose”, I thought. I shuddered at the thought of all those men enlisted in his register, wondered what would they would be forced to do and where they would be sent to with promises of a beautiful afterlife. But then again, there are people who have better opinions about bearded men. Like the small group of people who asked me ‘what Islam said about keeping dogs inside the house?’ Of course my scanty knowledge of religion was not enough to satisfy them, and in my embarrassment I tried to explain all that I knew. On another occasion a young lad ran up to me, panting and gasping for breath, just to say:

“Bhai jaan, I have a viva today… please do pray for me success… the teacher is a cruel man, and I really don’t want to flunk this one. Du’a keejeeyay ga zaroor!”

“Errr… sure! Inshallah everything will be all right! Have faith in Allah and you will succeed”, I replied.

These were examples where people of various species who have different opinions about bearded men. It is slowly becoming a universally accepted truth that all bearded men are basically evil. I’m not sure if the reader would agree with me on this, but the youth sure have some pretty unconventional views. Some think that bearded men are dacoits, robbers and thieves. For some, bearded men are pious angels, with nothing to do but dissolve themselves in the love for their Creator. Some even think that bearded men are losers, fools who have lost their faith in themselves and consider life a burden. But most of all bearded men for many are terrorists, jihadis, merciless combatants with no respect of humanity and ignorant extremists who tarnish the name of Islam for their own material benefit. The first thing that comes in the mind of a normal human being after setting eyes upon a bearded person is the possibility that this very man could be potentially dangerous, and should be avoided proximity at all costs. After the September 11 attacks have I noticed a remarkable change in people’s attitudes towards all bearded men, especially the ones who shave their moustache and who follow the Sunnah of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). The word ‘mullah’ is being frequently used to curse all extremists and religious bigots all around the world, the internet being one of the prime sources to promote hatred against them.

I sometimes feel that I should shave it off as soon as possible, before anyone else nicknames me ‘Al-Jihad’ or ‘Mister Afghanistan’. It’s quite hard surviving with a label enforced on you, something which you never wanted to be yet are being awarded for it with words like ‘Mashallah’.

Not all beards have bombs hidden in them you know.