Tag Archives: Patriarchy

The Evil Within Islam

The first time I stepped out of a Muslim country (on my own, that is, and after reaching some level of maturity), I was a Muslim apologist. I defended Islam by quoting the good examples from my (limited) personal life, ignoring the bad ones.

Once I was aboard my university shuttle talking to two girls – one Vietnamese and the other Chinese – we were talking about our cultures and I was answering questions – like why we didn’t let women step out of the house. I told them my mother had a job (no, her second husband had made her quit) and that women in our family didn’t cover up (yes, but the dupatta was compulsory, still).

I was caught off guard when they asked me why my Prophet had married a 9 year old (referring to Aisha, obviously). Coincidentally that’s when I arrived at the science faculty stop where I had to get off, but I did my research later.

I considered myself to be an Agnostic even then, but I was sympathetic towards religion, especially Islam because I thought it was better than all the other religions out there. Yes, I had a strong bias.

Then again, my maternal family was very nice. They believed in Humanity before God – that Rights Of The People was a concept more important than Rights of Allah, so I had a very decent upbringing from them.

These days I am stuck with mostly Muslim company (family and friends). There is Pakistani Atheists and Agnostics (PAA) but I don’t meet up with them often – they’re either too rich or too poor to meet up with a middle class person like myself. Which is why I can get influenced by genuinely good people who believe they are Muslims but they hardly ever study their own religion.

So to allow myself to not get swayed by these good Muslims in my midst, I am compiling a list of Quranic verses that I used to regret back when I was Muslim, and now I use as fuel to fire my hatred of the religion’s evil teachings that have all combined to ruin my life (in the past as well as now). I hope I get out of here soon.

#1. Islam is violent.

If they did read their book with translation, this would be how they’d like to treat me or my apostasy – if I ever told them about it openly.

There are 75 verses in the Quran that hint towards beheading, if not recommending it explicitly.

Maybe they could make violent video games exclusively for Muslims so that they can fulfill their lust for blood and gore? Oh, and with messages like “Sorry you can not take a slave until you kill some enemies first”.

#2. Islam believes in revenge.

Forget Gandhi’s ‘eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’. These people think if you sleep with their sister they can sleep with yours. Or any other version of it. (Like, if you sleep with their daughter, they will try to even the score by sleeping with your sister. I’m not kidding!) And then they’d go a step further to malign her character regardless of whether she refuses or accepts. I’ve witnessed this so many times in my personal life.

#3. Islam punishes brutally.

I had a phase in my life when I began stealing to buy rechargeable batteries (very expensive in third-world countries back in those days) for my dated remote-controlled cars, and stuff like that. Now when I look back, it was a dangerous trait and I’m glad I got caught, but it was still quite innocent as I was still in my mid-teens. Thankfully, when I got caught I wasn’t reported, or I would have had one hand missing my whole life. (I was simply kicked out of the house.) I am also thankful we had moved to Pakistan by then (I was born in Saudi Arabia).

#4. Islam hates sex for pleasure.

If you’ve ever wondered why Muslims are so perverted or horny (usually both), it’s not just because they’re missing a part of their penises (they’re circumcised), but because they keep fighting their biological urge to copulate. The more devout Muslims often have wet dreams (they’re probably imagining paradise), while the slightly less devout ones masturbate and live with the guilt of having done so. Most of them, however, give in to their desires secretly and live in denial publicly. They carry on like this even after they get married.

#5. Islam is a patriarchy.

So what happens when these men are not so righteous, oh noble Quran? What if they don’t spend from their wealth and treat their devoutly obedient wives poorly, O’ Allah?

No response.

Men are essentially the bearers and implementers of Islam, and even if it could be said that Islam is fair to all humanity (which it is not), what could any woman do to seek justice and fairness? What will she do when she goes to her father for help and he forces her to return to her husband, only to be beaten up by him for going to her dad in the first place? What’s that? Exalted and Grand? Grand indeed! Grand inhumanity is more like it.

Consider the options a prostitute has in a typical setup when her pimp treats her unfairly. They’re no different from the options a Muslim woman has, in most cases: No legal help. No help from family. No help from the government. No organisation who will like to help her. And no foreign country to give her a visa.

#6. Islam loves booty. (Plundered booty.)

You might, by now, understand the perversion with which they view, say, a girl in tiny shorts, or a low-cut top. Why, that must be booty ready to be plundered! Because see, maal-e-ghaneemat (plundered booty) could be applied to anything as a concept. And if she isn’t covering it up like the Exalted would have women cover, then she must be ripe for the taking. See, God said it clearly in his book! He even used the word ‘booty’!

At least, that’s how I imagine their ability to reason. Just imagine a bearded guy with lustful eyes saying “maal-e-ghaneemat!”. The perversion is intense!

#7. Islam doesn’t believe in adoption.

Not really, at least. Why would Mohammad marry his adopted son’s wife, but to prove that adopted children are never to be treated like your real children? I still remember when I got out of the car to open the gate to the driveway so my stepfather could park the car inside the house, when he said to himself, “Mashallah! Nokar ka nokar, sawaab ka sawaab!” Meaning: “Praise be to Allah. I get a servant and I also get a spiritual reward (for taking care of him).”

I wish I could elaborate more upon the Evils Within Islam, but what we have here is quite the list – my top 7 reasons to hate Islam. I hope that I will be able to move to a non-Muslim country some day, and these memories will stop haunting me every day.

Note to fellow ex-Muslims: Please don’t fall in love with a Muslim, unless you have the energy to continue to bear the Evils of Islam for the rest of your life. I really love my wife, and treat her as well as I can – against my teachings of Islam. But sometimes she doesn’t appreciate what I do for her, because she is still Muslim at heart. However, she gives me her all, and loves me selflessly so I have no reason to complain – perhaps the most ‘Muslim’ thing about her is that she can’t drive, ha!

The Best Tool For Sexual Exploitation

When you think about it, it’s a fairly simple technique that doesn’t require any degrees or in-depth knowledge about hypnosis. And once you learn how to brainwash, it doesn’t take much time to bring out your evil side.

I still remember that evening when I showered and decided to wear a white shalwar kameez, before heading out to the grocery store to grab something for my mother. There was a mosque on the way. When I crossed it on my way back, a senior maulvi standing right outside stopped me and asked me for a lift.

As he initiated the conversation, he used his religious authority to ask me where I lived, what my father did etc. I answered truthfully. Maybe he wanted to figure out if he knew someone from my house? I don’t know.

I was riding a locally manufactured mountain bike that had a frail carrier installed at the back that could hardly carry my school bag. I motioned towards it and told the maulvi it couldn’t carry his load. So he continued trying to converse with me, and I didn’t know any better.

He spoke briefly about hell, and then turned towards heaven. He talked about working for Islam and told me about the hoors awaiting us in heaven. As he touched this topic, he also started touching my penis, gently moving his fingers around it and applying gentle pressure.

I quickly shifted the topic back to how it started off, and told him my bike carrier couldn’t carry his weight. Still touching me, he told me he could just sit on the rod connecting the handle and the seat. I told him I couldn’t balance the bike like that and bid him farewell, before making a quick dash home.

Allah Hafiz.

I never went for another Friday prayer again.

I guess this is what happens when you oppose nature and isolate women in society so much that men begin engaging in what is commonly known as “bacha bazi“. Most people who exploit young boys sexually are based in places like Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan. They are straight, but an asshole has no gender as far as these people are concerned.

Thank you for reading this rather intimate story I’ve shared from my life. I have never been able to openly discuss these things, but I am starting to heal now. The patriarchy doesn’t allow me to share these things. Even my wife attempts to emasculate me if I become too sensitive about things – that scene in Kite Runner made my eyes wet, but I didn’t cry.

Also, it may not be much, but you can actually save some Afghan Orphans who might be sold as sex slaves just by making a small donation to AfghanOrphans.org – a friend shared their Facebook post which is what inspired me to write about my first inappropriate sexual encounter as a child, living in Lahore, Pakistan (in a rather upscale setting, that too). I was lucky that time but there was another time when I wasn’t so lucky. I will write about it some other time.

In case you’re still wondering what the best tool for sexual exploitation is, it’s religion.

The Business of Gaslighting

I’m a terrible, terrible, terrible person.

She has been working really hard lately, but unfortunately, my income hasn’t kept up with hers, and now things are off-balance.

For the past 5 days in a row, she talks about money for at least 3 hours everyday, ruining the little time we have for each other, and causing me to feel inadequate at the same time. What I understand so far is that she wants me to comfort her, and make promises about how my income is going to increase, so that she can do all the things that she wants us to do.

I began a new business about five months ago, and it looks very promising. The returns are great – unfortunately I don’t have enough assignments yet. We’re still in the startup phase.

Yesterday was the fifth consecutive day that she began talking about money – her salary is right around the corner, and we’re broke right now.

It was perhaps the worst conversation to have had at dinner time. This time though, I had had enough. I did not entertain her thoughts and considerations. She took out a piece of paper and started doing our finances – out of her paycheque. Here she was assuming I wouldn’t contribute a single cent, and then demanded me to give her a number, at least.

She even said, “why do I have to pay the price for your father not being there all your life?”

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I wanted to tell her how privileged she was to have a father who invested in her career unconditionally. I wanted to try and have a logical conversation with her, but here she was throwing fire at me – touching sensitive topics over what could’ve been a peaceful dinner. My survival instincts wanted to kick in but I remained calm, and reminded myself how physical abuse can never be productive – yes, she said things that made me want to strike her. So I pictured my father hitting my mother and reminded myself about the superiority of words and just faced the attack on my whole life.

But she wanted answers. She had never had to pay her bills, and when she married me, she thought I would take care of it for the rest of our lives. And I would’ve if I was still pursuing a job, but after thinking hard about the future, I realized my own work would be much more rewarding – financially as well as mentally. It is.

I work in the creative industry – I write articles and copies, draft digital campaigns, work with business strategies, and work with visual artists and programmers of all sorts. I enjoy my work. That is, when I can.

To put it simply, I am passionate about what I do, and money has never motivated me. Sure, it’s a great by-product, and a necessary one, but it isn’t my primary aim when I set out to finish a product. Unlike her.

On the other hand, she’s a surgeon – she chops out body parts when they go bad, and she is good at what she does. When these surgeries get carried on for longer, she works overtime and gets paid for it. She fights with herself to find focus when she’s working more than she expected, because it is a tiring job. Then she motivates herself by thinking about the compensation she will receive for every extra hour worked. Therein lies the difference in our personalities.

After moving in together, I provided for both of us for more than two years before she began making a substantial amount of money, but she climbed up the payroll ladder very fast, probably because she works very hard (and is smart too).

However, what was once a partnership has now turned into a competition.

I never wanted this. I never thought it would affect us this much, but it does. It affects her a lot. Me, I’ve lived most of my life barely surviving, but this is all new for her. And we’re not even ‘barely surviving’ now – we got a new car and a house this year, and those things cost an arm and a leg – of course there is pressure!

She complained about how she will not be able to upgrade her phone or computer this month, or those summer dresses she wanted to get. The list wasn’t very long, but lacked the sense of partnership I thought we had. No, she doesn’t want to cover up for where my income lacks.

So I did what a self-proclaimed male feminist like myself should never do.

Gaslighting.

I told her I thought she needed to see a doctor because she’s chronically depressed. I told her I don’t have the energy or the patience any more to do this everyday AND fulfill the role my startup requires of me. I need to sleep for 7 hours and work 12 hours everyday to take my business to the next level, which would also increase OUR income, but I am unable to do it because she gives me a downer EVERY night. Most creative work is done at night, and I need my loved ones to instill positivity in me when I socialize with them in the evening – if anything, and she was doing the opposite. And then I told her I had shown her the door a few times when we had similar fights but I wouldn’t leave her myself because she herself told me her father wouldn’t welcome her back. (Why, hello there patriarchal dad.)

Needless to say, she’s not a feminist. She doesn’t think it makes women worthy. (As if what makes a woman worthy is what a man spends on her, ha!)

Yes, she did tell me I made her feel worthless.

I want to tell her she’s being crazy when she keeps obsessing over the same things over and over, but I don’t, because that’s gaslighting. I want to tell her how life is a bed of stones but together we can make it right, but she’s adamant when it comes to her sense of entitlement.

So I left the room, put my headphones on, and travelled to the planet of rock and hard metal as I usually do in desperate times. I opened some work-related windows on my computer and tried to get some important things done. But I couldn’t.

She came to me after a while to tell me she was going to shift to her dad’s place tomorrow, and I didn’t react or even acknowledge the message. “Go wherever you wanna go,” I told her, and turned towards my computer screen again.

So she took one of my headphones off and shouted, “Didn’t you hear me? I am leaving you! You understand that right?!”

I told her she can do whatever she wants. Nobody is forcing her to do anything, and I need to get some work done, so please excuse me. She left.

As you can imagine, I got nothing done. In fact, I couldn’t even work today, which is Monday, the most important workday of the week. I am really troubled by all this.

I wish we could go back to the times when we were a perfect couple together. We’ve been seeing each other since some eighteen years – she’s my high school sweetheart – and we began living together a little over three years ago.

I am convinced that she might be depressed and that I should help her through it, and I really hope I’m not gaslighting when I say that. But how can I help her at my own expense? Especially since I have been attending to her emotional needs every single day for so many years. Maybe I spoiled her? I just want her to understand my perspective, sometimes.
At one point in our discussion I even told her, “When your salary arrives, go get your iPhone – first thing.”

“But how will we manage the bills then?”

“I’ll manage. I always have.”

“I don’t want us to be broke again by the end of next month. I will not take it.”

“Well, this is your house. If you don’t want to pay the bills even when you can, that’s something you have to decide for yourself. I do whatever I can.”

Ode to Salvation

It’s not everyday that the CEO of your company tells you, rather politely, “Okay, from now on, I will CC you in all the email threads.” The privilege of being an account manager was starting to get to my head – I felt like I had arrived.

Here I am!

Credit: frankhorvat.com

Once you go through a transformation like that, you DO look back at yourself, how you started off and how far you’ve come, and try to figure out what the hell happened. How the fuck did things work out – so well? I mean, seriously, you don’t know the shit I’ve been through. You don’t know how much I sucked, and I still do, probably. Things have never ‘just worked out’ for me, so excuse me for being cynical when they do seem to work out. It makes you pause and reflect, and REALLY wonder if God might exist after all, for justice is not something you find in the natural order of things.

On the other hand, if I just sing along the song playing on my headphones, Maynard sings:

“…Eulogy.

He had a lot to say,
he had a lot of nothing to say,
he had a lot to say,
he had a lot of of nothing – to – say!

“Come down,
get off your fucking cross
we need the fucking space
to nail the next fool martyr!”

Followed by a splendid lead that a true music lover like myself just can’t resist bobbing his head to, even if he’s surrounded by colleagues.

“To ascend you must die,
you must be crucified,
for our sins and our lies,
goodbye…!”

I despise religion from the bottom of my heart.

See, culturally, and, socially – in my family life, at least – I have been Muslim since I was born. I was born in Saudi Arabia, in Jeddah – a 90-minute drive away from Mecca. My grandfather, ‘whispered’ the Adaan (Muslim call for prayer) in my ear, and the first thing I ever tasted, was the purest, yummiest, most-hygienic form of honey.

By the time I was 10, I had already completed five pilgrimages (Hajj), numerous ‘mini-pilgrimages’ (Umrah), completed the recitation of the Quran twice and completed my early years of education at an American school. We traveled to Pakistan twice in this time, 6 months each on average, and both times my father cheated on my mother. See what I mean by the natural order of things?

So, how did I find out? Well, my mother told me. Sort of.

She told me my father always opened all his suitcases right in front of her except for this one Samsonite breed. That one, she said, he opened only after locking the room, in complete privacy.

So one day when my father was out, at work I guess, my mother tried to open the suitcase, and after some time, gave up and sat down, frustrated. That is when she thought it might be a good idea to ask ME to try.

I looked at the Samsonite case. It had 3 digits. Using simple logic (that the number had to be somewhere between 000 and 999) I started from 000 and kept checking every number one by one.

It was somewhere near the 200s when it snapped open. Both locks had the same code, and viola! Papa dearest was pictured with a hottie in our house – and then there was another one too amidst a separate stash of pictures! The third stack of pictures featured a third hottie, this time wearing my mother’s night-gown in one of the pictures. It was surreal.

For some reason I knew then that my mother would be upset with this. And reluctantly, being my obedient self, I went to tell her I had opened the suitcase and gave her the code on a piece of paper.

What followed were crazy times. They fought. A lot! Then after a few weeks they just started to co-exist without talking to each other all day.

Except when she called on our home phone. I didn’t know what to call her, so I called her ‘auntie’.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” would be her response if my mother picked up the phone. And then she’d just laugh at her, for several minutes sometimes, pitying her all the time.

“Tsk, tsk.”

At least, that’s what my mother told me. But if I picked it up, she would talk to me, ask me where my dad was, and tell me to ask my dad to call her back.

Like an obedient son, I would always pass her messages to my dad when he returned from work, only to be met with a slap or two, perhaps for breaking the news in front of my mother? I don’t know.

Shit hit the ceiling when he became abusive to my little sister as well – somehow girls get really attached to their fathers and my sister was no exception. Every morning it was a huge deal for her that he had to go to work. On one occasion, she hugged one of his legs tightly and refused to let go. My father jolted his leg violently, oblivious to where she might bang her head when she landed. Needless to say, my mother had had enough.

That episode marked the end of the fantastic mirage of a life I had lead in the kingdom. It was time to return to Pakistan.

The problem with getting your moral code from a religion is often the lack of guidelines it offers for all the grey areas. So you chop a thief’s hand off because Islam prescribes it in the Quran? Well, does it explain how a person with one hand will survive in this world?

Nope, there’s nothing.

Similarly, Islam goes at great lengths about the way husbands and wives should live together, but what does it say about divorce and separation? You guessed it, not much. All advice is aimed at reconciliation, and there’s not a word about how to go about life beyond divorce.

My mother had waived her right to divorce when she signed the marriage contract (Nikah) with my father, but she had no knowledge of it at the time. She had to file a law suit to obtain a ‘Khula’ in order to get divorced by my dad, but my father, aware of his privilege in the patriarchy, refused to sign it. He knew that she might be able to get married again if she got divorced, so he pledged to never sign it. He told her, “you will keep sitting in your parents’ home for the rest of your life,” as if to drive her to comply and return to him.

Of course she didn’t. I was above seven years of age, so I had to appear in court twice during the three years of court proceedings to confirm that I wanted to live with my mother. My testimony was to affect my little sister as well, since she was below 12 years of age and her testimony couldn’t count in a court of Islamic law. She would go wherever I went.

My father threatened to abduct us but twice we narrowly escaped it by hiding at a neighbor’s house.

Survival instincts tell us who we really are, as humans. There is no book of guidance that teaches us to hone our survival instincts. We simply adapt to our surroundings and try to make the best of them as we go through life.

And through life we went, albeit an endless stream of pitfalls, one after another. There is no easy way to imagine the life of a single mother trying to give her children the best while living in a male-dominated society. That too a woman who wasn’t designed to function as an independent woman in the first place.

We have survived, but we still have a long way to go. Fighting a patriarchal system as a man is a lot easier than fighting it as a woman. Sure there’s the occasional tinge of guilt as I feel I betray my fellow men. But what do they know about male privilege – it was passed down to them by their fathers, and they take it for granted everyday. I, on the other hand, never received it. But no, I don’t desire it. In fact, I reject it. The sad part is how the very people who suffered from it the most tell me to make use of my privilege.

So yes, I won the MNC’s account that my female peer did not, even though she has an MBA and works harder than me. (I only have a fancy bachelor’s degree and a talent she doesn’t have.) I also managed to gain our CEO’s trust. But this was not an act of misogyny – it was mere survival instinct.