Things That Bang

She came over to ask for Neem leaves. We started talking about the death of my Neem tree due to the Jamun tree pushing at it. We talked about gardening, snakes crawling into our homes, children and somewhere in between we got talking about religion.

It wasn't a topic I wanted to talk about. It makes me impatient. She told me she was a Muslim and asked about my religion. I replied- Buddhist. She smiled, nodded and said that I was a Hindu.

I didn't get into the semantics and merely shrugged. She became more chatty and continued talking about her Hindu friends and I stared at the bamboo rhizomes that were growing under my cracked cemented walk path.

I wasn't interested in hearing about her secular inclinations, I wasn't interested in her exchange of gifts on Hindu Muslim festivals nor was I interested in hearing about her getting bored to tears in Gulf, her hating the burkha nor was I was interested in her horrified reactions against the Mumbai tragedy.

She was barking up the wrong tree. I was already on her side. I had already faced half her shit post 9/11 in America when people who recognized that I wasn't a Hispanic or 'Native American' decided I was a Muslim.

I had to wear my religion on my chest as if to ward off others 'righteous' anger. I told them at the airport security checks - "No, that lady in burkha isn't my mother in law. I am a Hindu. Are you done checking my six month old? Yes, I know its for safety that you have special checks. But why is it that whenever we travel we always get the special security checks?"

Things did get relatively easier a couple of years down. But there was always that fear in the back of our minds when we traveled. We didn't discuss politics when we stepped out, our phone calls were also censored and we maintained a polite front even when a jackass passed a racist comment or snubbed us in a queue.

We had friends who treated us no different whether they were Republicans or Democrats but fear had nestled deep within my heart. And the sense of insecurity plagued me constantly. We tried to keep a low profile. The attitude that if we kept our heads down and didn't stand out like sore thumbs things would be fine was ingrained in us.

By the end of our five year stint I was eager to return home. Between the yellow, orange, red alerts my poor heart had done enough palpitations wondering what shit would be dished out to us if terrorists did some shit on US soil.

I was ready to return home and feel like a majority upper class Hindu all over again.

After nearly three years of returning home I found myself trying to make a defensive Muslim lady comfortable in my garden. I didn't talk about the apprehensions I suffered while in US being similar to her feelings. There was one big difference between her and me.

To me, my country was a haven I willingly returned to but for her there was no sense of security in her own homeland; not that she said it to me but her loud proclamations of being a moderate secular Muslim made it clear to me.

She took some curry leaves and lemons, grumbled about the death of the Neem tree and politely declined my offer of tea.

I closed the gate behind her and wished we didn't talk about religion and politics. It made both of us pussyfoot around each other and maybe it kept us from becoming good friends.