I hate you all infidels.

From the core of my heart. Tell me who is to blame for that.

When I fell in love with him I never had any idea why I was doing so. You can’t fall in love with anybody after programming a computer you know. It’s a simple act of liking someone intensely. Why and how can’t be explained. It comes spontaneously from within without yourself knowing about it at all. Of course, I admit that every action, every feature of him attracted me deeply and brought me closer to him. It was an act of living. Shouldn’t I have the right to live? According to my own wishes, ideals and aspirations? Without harming anybody else in the slightest?

But No. You and host of other factors associated with you – your religion, culture, customs, norms, social mores, and tradition – call what you may – don’t allow me to breathe even. You are trying to strangulate me. All this in the name of social order, family prestige and what not. For the betterment of society dare you say? How ridiculous!

Can you imagine how innocent my mind was? I can still feel the warmth of your love and affection. In what a loving and satisfying atmosphere I grew up. I could never grasp the significance of religion. Conversion was a meaningless term to me. I simply followed the footsteps of my elders and peers and visited particular places of worship and imitated certain rituals. It was all fun to me. And I was happy. As you all were happy too. Real good old days.

Gradually all got changed. For the worse I must say. Though there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He had a fine physique, pronounced features, good family background and was very intelligent. What a broad outlook he had. He never asked me about my religion. He used to say religion was a personal matter. Each one of us could follow his or her own religion or no religion without interfering with the ways of the other. It was beyond my dream even that religion would ever come in the way of my love.

Alas it did come. That too in a big way.

I passed my childhood quite happily in spite of my highly dominating father. After the school I entered the college. Just I crossed the threshold of adolescence. The mind was pure, free, and full of romance. And of course, of high expectations. It is at this juncture of life I met Khursheed and instantly fell headlong in love with him. I couldn’t ask a question or two why I was doing so. Should I take my parents into confidence? I couldn’t find time for all such rubbish thinking.

With the passage of time our affair became known to others. One day it reached the ears of my father too. Obstinate and strong willed as he was he got wild in rage. After all, how he would show his face to the society. For fear of scathing criticism of you all.

Quite resourceful as my father was he quickly arranged my marriage with a boy from Allahabad. They all planned to go to Allahabad for the ceremony. To me it was told that we were going to see some distant relative. Somehow the design leaked to me through my cousin. That would tantamount to suicide for me. Naturally I decided to elope with Khursheed. And entered into court marriage. He never asked me to change my name even.

I can’t forget the blood-shot eyes of my father when I met him for his blessings after a few days of registration. Probably I shouldn’t have gone to him so soon. I went because I knew how much he used to love me. I was his most favourite darling being the youngest of the three siblings.

His angry mood still rings fresh in my mind.

How did you dare to come in front of me? Get away fast I say before I commit a murder. You should never turn your sullied face this side.

I am still your dearest daughter. With tears in my eyes I pleaded.

Don’t utter that word again. You are no more my daughter.

In utter helplessness I looked towards my mother and brother. None of them showed any sympathy for me. Greatly hurt I turned back.

I thought the anger of my parents would cool down in course of time. But it didn’t happen. With each passing day the antagonism went on multiplying.

I felt extremely guilty to Khursheed. He advised me not to go to my father. Might be he could judge him better as his views were not influenced by emotion.

Khursheed did his best to fill the vacuum I felt in my chest for my parents. For their love, affection, and above all recognition. His intense love and meticulous attention could bring some waft of solace to my tormented mind -- crowded with sweet thoughts of brother Raju, his little loving son Sonu and sister Rajni.

On the day of Diwali I was eagerly waiting for some sweets from my parents. Raju might come to take me home. Some greetings card at least. How long they can afford to forget me. But no, I didn’t get anything. My expectations gave way to frustration.

Days , months, and years rolled by. I got my first child – a daughter. The flood of happiness that little lumps of limping flesh brought to me was beyond measure. My parents also might have had similar feelings when I was born. Could these feelings growing strong with each passing day evaporate so easily just because a time honoured custom was broken? A man-made custom dry as dead-wood? Could this happen to me too under similar circumstances?

How strange! It was happening in front of me. It was happening with me. I was the poor victim of this rigid outlook of static society. And there seemed to be no way out.

The fault might have been with me. I was not able to reconcile with the severed relation. My attachment for them was so strong that all the time I felt severely disturbed internally.

Time and again I tried to re-establish the relation in the hope of some crack might develop in their attitude with the passage of time. But no, on the contrary every time harsher insult was hurled on me. Slowly, almost unawares my attachment towards my parents and relatives got completely eroded. In its place a new hatred was born. The venom of hatred intensifying with the passage of time. My outlook on religion underwent sea change. Suddenly I felt an inner urge to believe in Islam. I mastered the Arabic language. I read secretly all the Islamic literature – history and scripture – I could lay my hands on. Took active parts in all religious affairs. Compelled Khursheed to observe all the Islamic rites and rituals which earlier he never bothered for due to his liberal outlook.

Circumstances turned me into a strong believer. I am now a fanatic as staunch as any Khomeini.

I am a perfect convert now. I hate all the infidels.

Am I to blame?

(If you’ve reached up to this point I fervently seek your opinion. It’s based on actual story)