We Are What You Are

When I tell the story of the Muslims that I have known, I tell the story of clerks and generals, doctors and victims, engineers and farmers. I tell the story, largely, of Indians. And yet, is there a difference? Yes, there is. However private my faith, however common my fears or aspirations, I am a Muslim and that means something. What precisely it means changes from person to person; to them I may be a believer, a non-vegetarian, a terrorist, or somebody intent on marrying four times and covering each wife in a tent of black cloth. My faith exists in the eye of the beholder. We Are What You Are