- Born in Pakistan into a Punjabi Muslim family, Tahir Gora identifies himself as a Muslim with deep connections to Hindu civilization, which are reflected in his literary and broadcasting career.
- He discusses the profound identity crisis faced by Muslims in South Asia due to forced alienation from their cultural roots.
- Gora highlights the complexities of Hindu-Muslim relations post-partition, noting the lingering cultural ties and the challenges of communal narratives in modern Pakistan.
- He advocates for recognizing and embracing Hindu cultural heritage among South Asian Muslims, challenging extremist narratives, and promoting a more inclusive understanding of identity.
Tahir Aslam Gora, born on September 26,1963, in Pakistan, in a Panjabi Muslim family. He is a Canadian broadcaster, editor, publisher, and writer of fiction and non-fiction, and the founder CEO of TAG TV. His shows on YouTube have received more than 100 million views. He has written 5 Novels, 3 collections of short stories, and 2 collections of poems in Hindi and Urdu. He is also the founder and CEO of the Canadian Thinkers’ Forum. Gora identifies himself as a Hindu born in the Muslim faith and a Canadian Punjabi of Bhartiya heritage, born in the political entity called Pakistan.
This article is based on his interview with Dharma Explorers. A complete video recording of his interview can be accessed here.
I recall one of your public talks in which you said, “In my country of birth, Pakistan, it is next to impossible to get an answer to the question ‘who am I?’” Could you explain what you mean by that? And how did you eventually come to understand your identity?
I was born in Lahore, the city named after Lord Rama’s son Luv, and I grew up in Kasur, named after Lord Rama’s other son Kush. Kasur is also the city of the famous 17th century Sufi poet Baba Bulle Shah. My house was literally 200 meters from his. My initiation into the world of poetry began with Bulle Shah’s Punjabi verses, a language rooted in the Gupta dynasty and integral to Hindu civilization.
Bulle Shah’s verses from the early 1700s, particularly the poignant ‘Bulla Ki Jana Main Kaun’ (Bulla, I know not who I am), have resonated deeply within me. They not only evoke strong emotions but also prompt contemplation on the pervasive identity crisis among Muslims in the South Asian region, extending to Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh.
During my childhood, surrounded by gurdwaras and mandirs in Kasur, I grappled with the notion of being Muslim in a setting that seemed to contradict this identity. Bulle Shah’s quest for identity mirrored my own, as I found myself amidst the rows of gurdwaras and the teachings of Islam. Back then, we only knew about the outside world through state TV and sometimes seeing Arabs in newspapers, so I mainly thought of Islam based on these images.
My mother, grandmother, and others shared the narratives of my ancestors, describing a pre-partition era when religious distinctions were much less pronounced. My family members, who lived through the years before India’s partition (1947), saw themselves as carriers of a shared civilization that transcended religious boundaries. Born in 1963, the creation of Pakistan in 1947 was a recent historical event, and my family retained a connection to their Hindu heritage.
Surprisingly, my parents, despite the migration and the communal tensions that followed, did not harbor hateful sentiments towards Hindu civilization. However, some migrant Muslims from the Indian side who resettled in Lahore and Kasur after the partition held grudges against India. I often wondered about the roots of this animosity, considering my family’s embrace of their Punjabi roots, rich in civilizational rituals and spiritual elements.
As I grew older, I recognized my profound connection to Hindu civilization. The Punjabi language, inherent in my upbringing, was a critical part my cultural identity. Baba Bulle Shah, my neighbor (in the distant past), further solidified this connection. His poetry, considered blasphemous by some, confronted me with the term ‘kafir’ (infidel), which I found derogatory and hateful, even to this day.
Bulle Shah’s defiance of societal norms and the subsequent rejection of his body by the mullahs at his death left a lasting impact on me. His poetry, along with works by Muslim writers like Sadat Hasan Manto, Ghulam Abbas, and others, reinforced my belief in our shared Hindu heritage. This recognition fueled my conviction that, regardless of the later uncertainties about Islam, my roots were deeply embedded in Hindu civilization and Dharma.
I often joking call my Pakistani counterparts “kafirs,” which means ‘deniers’, to highlight their denial of their ancestral roots. For me, Hindu civilization is not just a part but an inseparable essence of who I am.
Could you describe the atmosphere in Pakistan during your growing-up years and how it influenced your understanding of your identity?
I was born in Gangaram Hospital in Lahore, a city founded by Lord Ram’s son, Luv. I grew up in Kasur, which was founded by Lord Ram’s other son, Kush. While I spent my early years in Kasur, most of my mother’s family lived in Lahore. This meant we frequently shuttled between the two cities. It wasn’t until I was in tenth grade that we permanently relocated to Lahore, some 45 kilometers from Kasur.
Krishna Pura, my first residence in Lahore, left a lasting impression. The architectural remnants testified to its Hindu past. Conversations with neighbors, relatives, and friends revealed that pre-partition, Krishna Pura was predominantly Hindu, with only a handful of Muslim households.
Adjacent to Krishna Pura was Shanti Pura, and in proximity stood the Jain Mandir. My father’s business was located in this area, surrounded by a beautiful ambiance. Then there was India Tea House, later known as Party House, which became a literary hub frequented by writers, poets, and thinkers. I pursued medicine, secured my house job at Gulab Devi Hospital, and generally enjoyed the rich cultural fabric of Lahore.
Despite later changes, like the renaming of Krishna Pura to Islam Pura, the original names lingered in the collective memory. My encounters with influential writers, such as Ahmad Bashir, further unveiled the social landscape of Lahore. In his book, Ahmad Bashir highlighted that within the walled city, a mere five or six Muslim households existed, emphasizing the historical Hindu dominance.
Tea houses, particularly in the Lakshmi Chauk area, became a significant part of my evenings. Interestingly, even in Canada, my current residence, a restaurant named Lakshmi Chauk, captures the essence of Lahori food. The owners, originally from Lakshmi Chauk in Lahore, have seamlessly recreated the flavors, preserving the cultural connection. Echoing the Lahore legacy, this restaurant encapsulates the essence of Panjabi cuisine. This cultural continuity, spanning continents, reflects the deep-rooted connection to one’s heritage.
Thinking about Lahore’s complex history and my experiences, it’s clear that the city’s buildings and culture reflect its varied past. The areas like Krishna Pura, Shanti Pura, and Jain Mandir, together with the well-known Lakshmi Chauk, show how diverse Lahore’s origins are.
Unfortunately, some people in the Pakistani and wider South Asian Muslim community hold on to stories that connect them to Central Asian or Arab roots, ignoring the clear signs of their common Hindu heritage. The story of the Lakshmi restaurant owner, who keeps the name and traditional flavors from Lahore, goes against this trend. It shows the importance of recognizing and accepting our true cultural identity. Doing this reminds us powerfully that our roots shape who we are, going beyond places on a map and lasting through generations.
Considering you were born after the Kashmir War of 1947-48 and were still a toddler during the 1965 War, and only about 8 years old when the 1971 Bangladesh war took place, how did these conflicts influence the socio-political atmosphere you grew up in?
Before addressing your question directly, I’d like to share with you one of my books, titled “Al Pakistan,” which features images of Imran Khan and the former Army Chief of Pakistan, Bajwa, dressed in Arabic attire. I’m currently writing an autobiography that reflects my views rather than focusing on my personal life. I want to convey that every Pakistani is essentially a Hindustani, just as every German is a European and every French person is a European. Although Germans and French have their sovereign states, they don’t deny their European identity. Similarly, individuals from what we call Bharat or Sindhu Desh, encompassing present-day Bangladesh, Pakistan, and even Afghanistan, are all Hindustani. There’s nothing wrong in acknowledging that, whether one is from Punjab, Bengal, or any other region.
Now, addressing your question, in my perception, Islam is a faith, a religion of Arabic origin. I don’t see it as a civilization. If Islam were a civilization, Somali, Pakistani, Bosnian, and converted Muslims would share a lot of cultural practices and traditions. However, they only have a few tenets and greetings in common. Even names like Tahir and Dara have Arabic origins. The word “Salaam” itself is of Arabic origin. My Christian Palestinian neighbor greets me with “Salaam,” emphasizing that it is not an Islamic word but an Arabic one.
Now, regarding Islamic practices in GCC (Gulf Cooperation Council) countries, where I frequently visit, Islam appears different from South Asian Muslim practices. Mohammed bin Salman of Saudi Arabia today shares greetings and hugs with Prime Minister Narendra Modi, reflecting a lack of animosity from Arabs towards Hinduism and India. Arabs recognize their ancestral ties to Hinduism, realizing that their ancestors were Hindus. Unfortunately, many Muslims from South Asia, including those from India, have developed a dislike for their own countries due to ignorance and arrogance.
Could you share some details about your personal and professional life, especially how you moved away from Pakistan and eventually settled in Canada?
During my early years in Pakistan, I wrote and published several books through a publishing company that I started. Unfortunately, these books didn’t receive much positive reception in Pakistan, mainly because my opinions clashed with those of the establishment.
From 1989 to 1998, I lived in various parts of Central Asia and Russia. During this period of my life, I was drawn to communism – a popular ideology at the time. I moved to Russia in 1989, back when it was still the Soviet Union. However, it soon became clear that the Soviet Union was about to collapse. This was evident all around, and by 1991, I could see the end coming.
While living in Almaty, Kazakhstan, in 1991, I watched on TV as Mikhail Gorbachev, the last leader of the Soviet Union, announcing the end of the federation. It was a historic moment, marking the dissolution of the Soviet Union.
During my stay in Central Asia, I worked as a freelance writer and journalist for various agencies and media outlets. Eventually, I opened a restaurant because journalism wasn’t paying enough to meet all my needs. All the while, my respect for my Dharma (duty and righteousness in Hinduism) remained strong. This was despite the negative views I had experienced towards Hinduism in Pakistan. In Russia and Central Asia, the attitude towards Hindu civilization was much more positive, which was encouraging for me.
I continued to travel back and forth between Pakistan and Central Asia or Russia until 1998. Then, I decided to move to Canada, where I began my career in journalism anew. Because I had seen so much hatred directed towards Hindus, Sikhs, and Jews, I made a conscious decision not to publish anything hateful in my newspaper. Despite the fact that it was an actual printed newspaper—during a time when the internet was just starting to become popular—people were interested in reading the physical copy.
I started my career as a writer focusing on issues related to Hindu civilization and Israel. My work attracted a diverse readership that included Pakistani and Indian Muslims. Many were surprised by my positive portrayal of these subjects, which they found unusual.
The reaction was strong, especially from certain quarters in Toronto, where I was living at the time. Local mosques began to issue fatwas against me. It’s important to note that this was during 1999-2000, before the events of 9/11, a time when the Canadian political and media landscape was quite different. Back then, the Canadian government, which was under Liberal leadership, and media outlets like The Globe and Mail and Toronto Star were very supportive of my right to express my views freely. They published articles that portrayed me as a peaceful advocate, and the government assured me of their support.
During this challenging period, the Governor General of Canada, who represents the Queen, personally met with me. I arrived in Canada as a refugee with only $5 to my name, and that meeting in her office, of which I still have a photo, was a significant moment for me. She affirmed my freedom of expression, which I deeply appreciated.
Although the political climate in Canada has changed over the years, I still have great affection for Canada and the United States, recognizing them as wonderful societies that value freedom and diversity.
However, the pressure from the community eventually became overwhelming, especially after the 9/11 attacks. The backlash forced me to close my newspaper. I had to find other ways to make a living, which led me to take various jobs in restaurants. Despite these challenges, my commitment to my beliefs and my respect for the principles of dharma has continued. Through all the ups and downs, my journey reflects the complexities of expressing controversial opinions in changing societal and political landscapes.
Many Muslims, including some from Pakistan like yourself, may share a positive view of Sanatana Dharma, yet few speak out as publicly as you do. What motivates you to be a vocal advocate for these principles?
Many people from the Muslim community are liberal and open-minded, but often, they don’t speak out much about certain issues. Some of them might also be confused. For example, consider Mr. Jinnah, who grew up in a secular environment and never practiced Islam. Yet, he ended up creating an Islamic state called Pakistan. Then there’s Mr. Imran Khan, who has openly admitted to being a playboy in his past. Despite not practicing Islam for most of his life, he now positions himself as a champion of Islam.
Similarly, Mr. Javed Akhtar, a well-known Bollywood screenwriter and poet, identifies as a liberal and even an atheist. However, he tends to focus on Muslim issues in India. When the genocide of Kashmiri Hindus and Buddhists happened, I don’t recall him making any statements on that. It’s the same issue with journalists like Saba Naqvi and Arfa Khanum; they don’t seem to comment on issues facing Kashmiri Hindus and Buddhists either.
Such a biased approach is quite confusing and puzzling to me because it suggests a form of secularism that only addresses certain topics, like issues concerning Muslims, while ignoring others, such as terrorism by Hamas against Israel. This selective approach to secularism is shocking to me.
On the other hand, individuals like Tarek Fatah have shown clarity in their thoughts later in life. I remember when I first met Tarek back in 1998 in Canada, and he seemed a bit confused about certain issues as well. However, after 9/11, his views experienced a significant change. I really respect him for his evolution of thought and his use of common sense, which, unfortunately, isn’t very common these days.
When you ask me why I advocate for Sanatan Dharma, the reason is simple: It strikes me as odd that Mr. Javed Akhtar often speaks out about Muslim issues, but I haven’t seen him comment on the Hindu Kashmiri Exodus, a significant human rights issue. Honestly, I don’t often see Hindus initiating attacks on others, and it’s only recently that they have started to respond to aggression, which I’m thankful for. As a writer observing these dynamics, and they motivate me to respond. By the way, my family background is Punjabi Khatri; our last names are Chawla on my father’s side and Narula on my mother’s side. So, that is the other reason I am so passionate about advocating for the dharma perspective.
How are you received within your own community? How do you handle the tension that might arise from these differences?
This question about my community is intriguing, especially when considering my own chosen communities throughout my life. This topic becomes even more interesting when seen through the lens of a 60-year-old man who has lived in various places and experienced many cultures.
For me, Burlington, Ontario, represents my current community, but my understanding of community extends beyond just my immediate neighborhood. Previously, I lived intermittently in Central Asia and even earlier in Lahore, Pakistan. Each place I lived in had its own unique community, from the bustling streets and local bars to the temples and workplaces that defined my social and physical environment from childhood onward.
Community, for me, is not just about where you live—it’s about choosing to connect with certain people and places that resonate with your personal values and lifestyle. This concept of choice is central to my definition of community. It’s about finding my own place within a broader social and cultural tapestry, which I feel I have done over the decades through various moves and life changes.
Living in North America, I’ve encountered the term “diaspora,” which refers to people who are spread across the world from their place of origin. I consider my diaspora community to be those people who share my background and current geographical location but might not necessarily be from the same place. For me, community is defined not just by geography but by shared experiences and choices.
This belief in choice extends to my understanding of diversity, especially in a multicultural country like Canada. To me, diversity is not just about different backgrounds; it’s also about accepting and respecting different viewpoints.
I often find myself explaining this concept of diversity to my friends, especially those from similar backgrounds as mine, such as other Pakistani immigrants in Canada. I emphasize that diversity should be seen as a strength and that it includes allowing space for various thoughts and opinions, even those that might contradict one another.
Mutual respect is crucial for a truly diverse society, which translates into a simple rule – Just as I respect others’ opinions, I expect them to also respect mine. If we are unable to converge on certain issues, then we can agree to disengage but maintain respect for each other’s views. If someone cannot respect my viewpoint, I believe it’s better for us to part ways amicably rather than cause conflict. I value his peace and the diverse friendships I have cultivated, from those who are deeply religious to those who are not, as long as there is mutual tolerance and respect.
In short, community and diversity are not just about where you come from or the color of your skin—they are about the ideas you bring to the table and your ability to respectfully engage with others’ ideas. For me, these concepts are not just abstract theories but lived realities that shape my everyday interactions and my sense of belonging in the world.
Please describe some of the issues you have actively advocated for.
I am a defender of my dharma, first and foremost, a Dharma Warrior, if you like. In January 2020, I reached out to a few friends because I was upset by how Canadian media, politicians, and civil liberty groups were disrespecting and misrepresenting Sanatana Dharma and suggested that we should establish an organization to address these issues. That’s how Hindu Forum Canada was established.
Our main goal at the Hindu Forum Canada is to counteract the ignorance and arrogance of those who spread false narratives about our faith. This isn’t just activism for me; it’s a necessary part of my life and my duty as a defender of dharma.
As Hindus and “Dharma warriors” in Canada, we do our best to challenge these misconceptions with our resources and capacity. Our efforts often relate to international matters, too. For instance, if I notice any group or media outlet internationally that misrepresents Hindus or attacks our faith, we try to respond appropriately.
While we do engage with global issues, our primary focus remains on addressing concerns within Canada. We strive to make a positive impact through the Hindu Forum Canada, especially when dealing with issues that affect the Hindu community directly. I became a Dharma warrior because I saw my fellow Hindus shy away from standing up for themselves and our beliefs. This reticence within my community has been both surprising and disheartening.
A recent incident highlighted the challenges we face. Following the event at Sri Ram Mandir (the inauguration of Ral Lall mandir on January 22, 2024 in Ayodhya), there was a surge of negative perceptions and connotations about Hindus in the Canadian press and among some civil liberty groups. During this time, I received a letter via WhatsApp from a concerned Hindu Canadian citizen. The letter expressed deep concerns about these issues and urged action. However, the sender, who leads a significant organization that fosters Indian opportunities in Canada, had sent it anonymously.
I found myself in a dilemma. How could I circulate a letter that had no name on it? Anonymity would strip it of its impact and sincerity. I believe in standing firm and visible in our convictions. So, I reached out to him and told him, “You are my good friend, and I know you’re an effective organizer, but why can’t you put your name or your organization’s name at the bottom?
This interaction shed light on a broader issue—a prevailing paradigm of shyness or reluctance among some members of our community to openly advocate for our narrative. This hesitance to step forward and claim our space and voice in public debates is unfortunate. However, when I speak to my other Hindu friends in Canada who are involved in various organizations, they deeply appreciate our efforts. They understand the importance of what we are doing and often express their gratitude. These expressions of appreciation reinforce the importance of our mission and encourage me to keep fighting for our dharma. This is not just activism; it is a duty to my community and to the core of my beliefs.
Muslims have been part of Indian society for the last 12 centuries; in fact, a vast majority of them are converts from Hindu dharma. Most of them are well-integrated into the broader society, but there are some who still speak the language of ‘Gazwa-e-Hind.’ What would you like to say to that segment of the Indian Muslim community?
Recently, I came across some comments made by Imam Omar Ilyasi, the chief imam of the Indian Imam Association. He attended the ceremony at Sri Lord Ram’s temple, but unfortunately, he received a fatwa from some individuals because of his participation. This was disheartening, but it also brought to light a glimmer of hope. Imam Ilyasi stated, “This is our tradition, and we are a part of it,” which was a powerful message of unity.
My observation is that in their daily lives, people don’t distance themselves from the broader Indian culture, which they refer to as ‘Bhartiyaness’. However, when it comes to religious identity, divisions emerge with various groups and opinions within the community.
Among these groups, there are a few open and liberal Muslims as well. Some of them advocate for progressive theories, while others embody the spirit of a Dharma warrior—fighting for their righteous path. It’s important to note, however, that such individuals are few and far between.
Interestingly, among the younger generation, a small percentage, possibly in single digits, actively identify with this inclusive Indian identity, or ‘Bhartiyaness’. Even among the poorer segments of the Muslim population in India, many resonate with this broader national identity. The majority of them are working people; they don’t have time even for their religious practices. Unfortunately, these individuals are sometimes influenced by radical elements through mosques and madrassas. I find these influences concerning but I believe they can be addressed effectively.
The challenge often comes from what are termed as ‘secular liberal Muslims’. This group frequently discusses issues like Islamophobia, which isn’t even a familiar term in the more rural or simple mosques where the local imam might not know about these modern terminologies.
From my perspective, India, as a nation, has seen a positive shift over the past decade. Under the current government, which may face criticism from secular groups, there has been a noticeable reduction in communal violence compared to the past when secular governments were in power. This change is significant and demonstrates a potential for further progress.
With the cooperation of ‘Sanatani Muslims’ who share a vision of peace and integration, India has a great opportunity to eliminate the Gazwa-e-Hind-type narrative. While these Sanatani Muslims may only number some hundred thousand right now, they need to be empowered to use their platforms to promote peace and progressive values within madrassas and other religious institutions.
This responsibility shouldn’t rest solely on the Muslim community; it is a collective responsibility of the entire Indian society. It is essential to foster an environment that sends a clear message to Muslim citizens that they are an integral part of society. The ordinary Muslim, in their daily life, aligns with this inclusive Indian identity, but ideological stereotypes often overshadow this unity.
In conclusion, it is crucial for Indian society, including major corporations and government entities, to come together to provide the necessary resources to support and develop progressive Muslim institutions. Such efforts will help bridge gaps and promote a more integrated and harmonious society. This isn’t just about supporting one community; it’s about uplifting the entire nation to foster a more inclusive and peaceful coexistence.
This is a rather delicate topic, but it often seems that the philosophical underpinnings of Islam place Islam on a warpath with the rest of the world. Does this issue resonate with you?
There is a common misconception, especially after events like 9/11, that Islam is at war with the world. This view has been fueled by actions and policies from countries in the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), particularly Saudi Arabia. As someone who often reflects on global politics and religious perceptions, I’ve noticed significant changes in how some of these countries are now addressing their past approaches and are actively engaging in modernization efforts.
Saudi Arabia, for instance, is central to Islam as it is home to the Kaaba and Qibla. It’s a country that has long been seen as a defender and representative of Islamic traditions. However, in recent years, under leaders like Mohammed bin Salman, Saudi Arabia has been undergoing a transformation aimed at modernization and reform. For example, during a visit to the UAE two months ago, I came across several books by Saudi officials that openly criticized groups like the Muslim Brotherhood and Hamas, labeling them as harmful forces. This kind of public denunciation is not something you’d typically see in Western nations like the United States or Canada.
These books reflect a significant shift in the official stance of some Middle Eastern governments, a response to the extremist ideologies they themselves had a part in fostering decades ago. This shift is crucial because the narrative about Islam globally largely depends on the actions and policies of influential Muslim-majority nations.
In South Asia, misconceptions about Islamic teachings are prevalent due to ignorance or misconstrued arrogance among some communities. Many don’t understand the historical context of Islamic scriptures. The Quran, like other religious texts such as the Torah and the Bible, includes passages that were relevant to the social and political contexts of their time. For instance, verses in the Quran about infidels were specific to a time when there were no sovereign states, and societal conditions were vastly different from today.
In discussions with Arab scholars, I’ve learned that in the Arab world, where Islam is predominant and the Quran is in their native language, interpretations of the Quran can vary greatly. They engage in what is known as ‘Ijtihad’—the critical reinterpretation of Islamic principles to align with contemporary times. This approach is something they view as their prerogative and responsibility.
Political complexities also play a significant role in how countries like Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Jordan handle groups like Hamas. While the public might expect straightforward condemnations or support, the reality involves intricate diplomatic and security considerations, which is why these countries have restrictive policies against such groups, recognizing the potential harm they could cause.
In Western contexts, criticism of Islam or its followers quickly draws accusations of Islamophobia—a term often used politically to denote an irrational fear of Islam. However, distinctions must be made between unfounded fears and legitimate concerns about radical elements within any ideology.
The perception of Islam is slowly changing, thanks in part to the efforts of GCC countries to address and reform the radical elements within their societies. It’s an ongoing process, and while the path forward is complex, acknowledging these efforts is essential for understanding the current and future landscape of Islamic interpretation and its global perception. This nuanced understanding helps differentiate between legitimate concerns and misplaced fears, providing a more comprehensive view of the challenges and changes within Islamic societies today.
In my own case, I was born into a Muslim family, but my roots are deeply embedded in Hindu civilization. This duality shapes my understanding of faith, which for me is not just about religious rituals but is also profoundly influenced by my cultural heritage.
My faith is expressed through various elements of my life. It manifests itself in the music I listen to, the language I speak, and even in the food I eat. Unlike the traditional Arab flatbread, my daily bread, or ‘roti’, is a thick Punjabi style that I grew up eating. This distinction might seem small, but it highlights how regional influences shape my personal identity and practices.
My emotional connection to my faith is also reflected in the music that moves me. When I listen to bhajans sung by Mohammad Rafi, a renowned Indian playback singer, it often brings tears to my eyes. These songs, though part of a Hindu tradition, touch something deep within me and form an integral part of my spiritual life.
Discussing the concept of Islamic faith, I find it broader than just the rituals and practices commonly associated with it. To me, Islam, like any religion, is influenced by its cultural context. While Islam originated in the Arab world, it has been interpreted and practiced in various ways across different cultures. In my experience, the Islam practiced in South Asia is heavily influenced by the local customs and traditions inherited from Hindu civilization.
For example, my approach to places of worship is eclectic. I feel a profound respect and spiritual connection not only when I visit mosques but also when I enter temples, gurdwaras, churches, or synagogues. This openness to experiencing the divine in various forms is a reflection of my belief that the essence of God permeates the entire universe. This perspective allows me to appreciate the beauty and spirituality in different religious architectures and rituals without feeling confined to any single doctrine.
Interestingly, my travels to Saudi Arabia opened my eyes to another dimension of Islam. There, the Quran isn’t placed on a high shelf as a distant relic but is kept on tables, readily accessible for reading and reflection. The people I met were incredibly open about their faith, integrating it into their daily lives in a way that was both personal and straightforward. This experience taught me that even within Islam, interpretations and practices can vary dramatically, influenced by local customs and personal beliefs.
Over time, my understanding of my own faith has evolved. I’ve come to see it as a blend of my cultural heritage and personal experiences. Whether I am praying in a mosque, a temple, or a church, I feel connected to a larger spiritual reality. I find profound peace and solace in this diverse spiritual practice, where I can honor Lord Rama, Allah, or Jesus Christ in moments of reflection.
This eclectic approach to religion might be confusing to some, but for me, it embodies the true essence of faith — an unbounded, personal experience that transcends traditional religious boundaries. My faith is a tapestry woven from the many threads of the cultures and beliefs that have touched me throughout my life, and it continues to evolve as I learn and grow. This unique blend of influences is what makes my spiritual journey deeply fulfilling and profoundly personal.
Thank you for your generous time and candid articulation of your beliefs and worldview. I appreciate your openness, and I eagerly look forward to future conversations on various topics of mutual interest.
Thank you!
