MANY of us view Muslims as a homogeneous social group. While never quite belonging to this segment, I did not recognize the extent of diversity till my stint as a member of the Sachar Committee that recently submitted its report on the Socioeconomic and Educational Conditions of Muslims in India. My academic pursuits provided few opportunities to read political science based, sociological or anthropological accounts of Indian society. Consequently, my ‘understanding’ of diversity among Muslims in India is essentially experiential and has evolved as I got more opportunities to interact with Muslims.

This essay tries to briefly document my personal exploration of this diversity. There are no conceptual or theoretical underpinnings to this exploration. Mainly anecdotal, it reflects different dimensions of diversity that I encountered during my interactions with individuals of the Muslim community. I also claim no novelty in my understanding of this diversity.

In childhood and even in college and university, my exposure to Muslims was essentially restricted to the friends and acquaintances of my parents and grandparents; I had no personal Muslim friend while I was studying. Later I learnt that my experience was not atypical. My father, who taught at a university, had some Muslim colleagues and students. And my grandfather as a lawyer had a few Muslim clients and old friends from college and the neighbourhood where he grew up. Given the vagaries of our legal system, I got to know some of those clients quite well.

We had an ancestral house in a predominantly Muslim area where I never lived but often visited to meet the tenants who were Muslim and old friends of my grandfather. Among the Muslims I interacted with at that time, two differences were quite apparent. One, some were quite poor while others were similar in economic status to our own household, a middle class one. Two, the education status of the poor Muslims was much lower than that of the better-off ones. But these were not differences that were specific to Muslims; I saw them all around me in the different communities.

Given the Sufi tradition in our family, I was exposed to Urdu although I never learnt the language formally. As a child I never viewed Urdu as a language of the Muslims; everybody in the generations previous to mine on my father’s side had not studied Hindi formally but Urdu, Arabic and Persian. Even on my mother’s side most people knew how to read and write Urdu.¹ But in my generation the knowledge of Urdu was limited and formal instruction was essentially restricted to Muslim children. Despite this, while studying, I neither identified Muslims with specific levels of income or education nor through the Urdu language.² However, I did recognize that Urdu could be a bridge between the community and me.

 

I started my career in Ahmedabad in the early 1980s and had my first experience of communal riots in 1985. I was actively involved in the Peoples’ Science Movement and it often took me to the old parts of the city. Although the scope of this activity was limited, it provided an opportunity to interact with the community as many of these areas had large Muslim concentrations. I soon realised that Urdu was not the predominant language used in these parts of the city. Only areas where migrant Muslim workers from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar had settled down during the boom in the textile industry was my knowledge of Urdu of any use in communicating better with them.

Elsewhere, it was important to know Gujarati to make any significant headway in communication. Even the younger generations of migrants from UP and Bihar had learnt Gujarati and were more comfortable in that language than in the Urdu-Hindi mix. Apart from the issue of language, two other things were striking in these areas: one, a large proportion of Muslims engaged in textile industry related work were facing problems due to its decline, with some shifting to other occupations, especially trade; and two, home-based work was widespread, especially among women.³ 

Post the 2002 riots, my engagement with the community became more intense as we got actively involved in rehabilitation and searched for avenues for interaction among communities. Four incidents/experiences during this engagement have remained with me.

 

On the second day of the riots in 2002, a few of us visited a couple of relief camps with the Red Cross. As soon as we entered these camps, the children, women and the old clung to us and started narrating their horrifying experiences. Most of the young men did not join in these conversations but just hung around. We tried to draw them into some discussion and asked why they were silent. Initially, some of these men said that there was no point in talking to us, as we would not be able to do anything. But when we persisted one of them said, ‘You do not know how many Al Qaedas you have created!’

Some of us facilitated the visit of about 35 communal riot and earthquake-affected children to Kerala to attend a science fair (a Gyan-Vigyan Jatha). During this trip, many children stayed with families of the ‘other’ community; Muslim children stayed with Hindu/Christian families and vice-versa. On the day of their return, I went to the Ahmedabad railway station to receive the group. The kids were excited and so were their parents.

As I waited for the children to leave, the parents of a Muslim child, who was part of the group, approached me. The mother came up to me, held my hands and started to cry profusely. Finally, when she managed to speak she said in Gujarati, ‘You don’t know how much you have done; my child now knows that all Hindus are not like the ones he has been exposed to recently!’ For me, this statement still symbolizes the wisdom and hope of that lady and probably of the community.

 

In recent years, one has seen a resurgence of the use of identity markers like a beard, hijaab, topi or specific type of dress favoured by the Muslims. Even in a state like Kerala, one sees large hoardings advertising fancy burqaas. The reasons for this change are not entirely clear, but the role of these markers has always fascinated me. After the 2002 riots, these identity markers were seen by many as a security risk, so much so that Hindu friends with a beard were invariably advised to sport a clean-shaven look.

I raised this issue with a few Muslim friends who were professionals and usually dressed in a ‘mainstream’ fashion. A couple of them talked of instances where they had interacted with non-Muslims professionally and were told that ‘they did not look or behave like Muslims.’ They did not know how to react to such comments; at one level they felt sad as they were practising Muslims but at another, were also somewhat relieved. Interestingly, these friends were convinced that the people who made such comments did not have any dealings with other Muslims.

In our effort to provide opportunities for people (especially youth) of different communities to interact, we helped set up centres in Gujarat where a classroom, a small library, Internet facilities and television were available. These centres were typically located in poor neighbourhoods. We started with science programmes and screening films to attract people in the neighbourhood. Newspapers and books were also provided for people to come and read. We soon found that the utilization of these facilities was rather low; also that few Hindus came to these centres. After much debate we started subsidized tutorials for the secondary and higher secondary students and classes for spoken and written English to attract more people. Not only did the participation of non-Muslims go up significantly, a large number of Muslim youth (especially girls) started to visit these centres.⁴ 

 

I joined the Sachar Committee with a great deal of trepidation, unsure of my ability to contribute, given my lack of understanding of issues relating to the Muslims. But it turned out to be an enriching experience. The report analyses data to highlight significant differences in the conditions of Muslims across regions, heterogeneity within the community, and diversity of views on different issues. It is not my intention to repeat those findings but to highlight a few insights that I gained through my interactions in different states as a member of the Sachar Committee. The overwhelming impression of these interactions was of a community in the throes of introspection.

Unlike the obsessive media focus on the issue of personal law in our interactions, the main concern was education and employment. In meetings attended by large numbers, including Muslim women and NGOs, issues of personal law remained peripheral. One reason might be that the people who interacted with the committee were not ‘representative’ of the general or Muslim population. But interestingly, wherever these issues did come up, two reactions were common: (i) this is not the forum to raise these issues; and (ii) we can take care of them ourselves, let us first get some opportunities to earn. And most often, young Muslim girls brought the focus back on education and employment in these meetings.

In one of the heated exchanges, a group of young girls virtually shouted down a representative of a conservative Muslim organization who was pushing for a dress code for Muslim women in government and other jobs, including the police forces. They argued that purdah and the dress code were non-issues which they could handle but something needed to be done about employment. While gender issues are certainly important for all communities, there seems to be a significant segment among the Muslim youth, especially women, who wish to focus more on issues relating to education and employment.⁵ 

 

Given the fact that less than four per cent of Muslim children of school going age go to madrasas, the relevance of such schools will now have to be seen in a new light. However, the views of Muslims on madrasa education expressed during our meetings varied a great deal. At one extreme, some argued that madrasas should not be touched by the state and be allowed to teach whatever they want, while people at the other end of the spectrum felt that madrasas did not have a role in modern education. Still others questioned the ability of madrasas to generate employable people while recognizing their role for Deeni taleem.

The modernization of madrasas with science and other courses was favoured by some, partly to improve the employability of those who attend madrasas but also to enhance the exposure of the clergy to modern subjects that may have some positive effect on religious education in the future. While it is impossible to figure out the majority view on this issue, the image that has remained with me is of a young girl shouting at a senior cleric representing one of the oldest lineages of madrasas. She lamented that people like him had churned out unemployable youth for a long time and they should now withdraw and give ‘mainstream’ education a chance.

 

The havoc created by militancy in Jammu and Kashmir is fairly well-known; normal life has been disrupted in numerous ways. Complaints about the non-availability of facilities and atrocities of the state were common during our meetings there, though it is virtually impossible to fathom the current mood in the state on these issues. During personal conversations, the misuse of resources transferred from Delhi was talked about a great deal and was seen as being responsible for the pathetic infrastructural conditions of the state. But two other issues raised during these conversations were revealing.

Some people argued that militancy and the recent bus links across the border have brought the Muslims of J&K closer to ‘India’! It was suggested that militancy had virtually destroyed local industry as tourist traffic dried up as did the demand for products from J&K in the emporia of the national capital and some other capitals. The survival instinct pushed the state artisans and traders to build marketing and distribution linkages with different parts of ‘India’, going all the way to the southern tip of the country. This revived and sustained the industry in troubled times.

As conditions improve and the tourist traffic builds up, the industry would benefit from both ‘domestic’ demand as well as the demand generated from other parts of the country. It was felt that these economic linkages were much too important to break now. The bus links across the border had an interesting externality. People who went across the border found that the ‘other side was not greener’, in fact vastly inferior. Retaining ties with India, therefore, becomes a more preferred option. Apparently, an increasing number of Muslims in J&K are thinking along these lines.

 

The Sachar Committee report explicitly recognizes the importance of identity for minorities. The issue of identity markers was briefly mentioned earlier. In our many interactions, it was clear that Urdu language serves as an important element of identity for Muslims. But I soon realized (as I had during my first exposure to Muslims in Gujarat) that this was the case only in select parts of the country, mainly North India and some southern and western parts of the country.

In many contexts, religious and linguistic identities get mixed up. In West Bengal, for example, the divide between Urdu speaking (mainly urban) and Bengali speaking (mainly rural) Muslims seems quite deep. This divide deepens further when political mobilization focuses on linguistic identities and Bengali and Urdu speaking Muslims end up with separate political identities. The Bengali speaking Muslims who have migrated from Bangladesh complicate the identity question further. The situation is somewhat similar in Assam with the divide between Bengali and Assamese speaking Muslims, a section of the former being migrants from Bangladesh.

The division among Muslims along caste lines was most evident during our meetings in Bihar. Here again, political mobilization of Muslims along caste lines has further accentuated the divide. On the surface at least, caste identities in Bihar seem more important than religious identities. While the issue of non-inclusion of certain Muslim groups in the OBC lists of the states and the centre was raised in virtually all meetings, the issue of Dalit Muslims was raised more strongly in Bihar and Maharashtra. It is not clear if this is a result of political mobilization along these lines or due to other factors.

 

There was no unanimity on the issue of reservations as well. A segment wanted reservation in employment and education for all Muslims. A few favoured an income criteria. Another group was against reservation for all Muslims but supported reservations for Dalit Muslims. The argument here was to cover Muslims with SC background in the reservation regime for SCs, as is done for Sikhs and Neo-Buddhists. Still others wanted inclusion of more castes among Muslims in the OBC category, so that they are included in the OBC reservation list. And finally, there were those wanting equal opportunities for learning with improved access but no reservation.

The Sachar Committee recognized that all minorities face issues relating to identity, security and equity and that these issues are interlinked. The committee also distinguished those problems that are: (i) common to all poor people; (ii) common to all minorities; and (iii) specific to Muslims. I believe that many of the problems faced by Muslims are not very different from those faced by all poor as the bulk of the Muslim community is poor. But their response to such problems is likely to be influenced by the issues they face vis-à-vis identity and security.

 

While Muslims share many of the identity related concerns with other minorities (who are generally not as poor), they are the only minority that has to continually deal with the stigma of being seen as ‘anti-national’. As a result their security related concerns are more intense. Thus, as compared to other minorities, Muslims in India face more severe problems with respect to security, identity and equity. Despite all this, the diversity of perspectives within the community is remarkably high.

Eves as the dimensions of diversity I have highlighted are reasonably well-known, surprisingly, during our discussions with politicians and the senior bureaucrats in different states, this diversity was rarely emphasized or even recognized. It is evident that some elements of this diversity are exploited for political mobilization. But why is it that they are not recognized in policy discussions and in analyzing the issues faced by Muslims? Is it because such recognition would add significantly to the complexity of the analysis and therefore make analytical outcomes more ambiguous? This question has remained with me even after submitting the Sachar Committee Report.

 

Footnotes:

1. During the pre-independence period, several schools in Uttar Pradesh used Urdu as a medium of instruction. Consequently, a large number of people from different communities were exposed to the language.

2. In fact, for me the main differentiator was food!

3. Interestingly, when we analyzed the occupational patterns of different communities for the Sachar Committee report, we found that participation of Muslims in trade (especially retail) was higher in Gujarat than in most other states, where manufacturing (including several crafts and repair activity) was the dominant occupation. Besides, home-based work was found to be much higher for both Muslim men and women (especially the latter) in almost all parts of the country.

4. While the market forces seem to be working as far as the participation of different communities in these centres is concerned, I was pleasantly surprised to see that when some of these students were brought to the educational institution where I teach, they found the library most fascinating.

5. One of the most striking findings of the Sachar Committee report was that Muslims are somewhat better off than other socio-religious communities in terms of sex (female/male) ratio and infant mortality. I will stick my neck out and say that the issue of gender differences across different social groups will need to be viewed in a different perspective in the context of these findings.