Identity, Exclusion And Safety: Mental Health Through A Hijabi’s Lens

It is no secret that Islamophobia is at an all-time high in India and the world, following a major election in our country this year and a devastating humanitarian crisis and genocide currently raging in Palestine. The ripple effect of the same is felt every day in my life, although it is not new for Muslims anywhere around the globe. 

With increasing incidents of violence, death threats and lynchings, the mental health of Muslims in India is rapidly deteriorating. It is especially difficult for women and hijabi women in Delhi, the crime capital of the country, where it is never about women’s clothing until it identifies you. 

Personal experiences of a hijabi Muslim

The horrors of crime in Delhi seldom leave my mind as a Muslim woman, but I am especially conscious of them while travelling on the metro. The stares begin at the security check that I can never rush through at the risk of looking like I have something to hide. As I reach the platform, I make my way to the women’s coach in search of respite, only to be subjected to added scrutiny over my outfit and hijab and they aren’t averting gazes this time. I feel overly seen while minding my own business. Women avoid sitting beside me on the metro and I’m left feeling like an alien in my city. 

Changing metro lines is more dreadful as I fear someone pulling at or snatching my hijab away. I also choose to stay as far away from the train track as possible while waiting, lest someone with an extreme anti-Muslim mindset try to push me off it. I wish I could be called dramatic and proved wrong but the increasing incidents of crimes against Muslim people and bulldozing of Muslim homes has only added to my anxieties. The killing of a 19-year-old Brahmin boy who was mistaken as a Muslim makes me wonder to what extent the vigilantes can go and what would happen if he was a Muslim.

Hate crime and alienation have become part of our lives. While appearing for a postgraduate entrance examination, I was manhandled and told to take off my hijab during the frisking process. It came initially as a shock and soon felt like a justification for all my hesitation. Failed attempts to politely reason with the security personnel led me to loosen it to make my ears visible for the duration of the exam. The invigilators were rude and uncooperative as well and my state of mind was not one appropriate to give an exam in.

After the horrid experience, I had to re-evaluate my career choices since it proved that my options were few and far between. I now remain anxious and hypervigilant around new people and feel withdrawn due to social exclusion. 

Hijab and identity

Following the hijab ban in Karnataka, it has become a political statement to don the hijab in public, showing great courage. At the basic level, it is a piece of cloth and at a personal one, it is a choice. However, given the delicate socio-political atmosphere of the country, the concept is always up for debate with no mentions of autonomy, little female representation and widespread misinformation for political gain. 

People usually put us in a box. Hijabi is more often than not, equated with a traditional mindset, orthodox thinking, quiet and timid personality. It reduces us to a label, generalises us and assumes that we have no unique experiences. I have never been one to care about what people think but I often wonder if that is how I’m supposed to be. My individuality becomes a question and a confusing one for someone who is learning about themselves every day. Do I try to fit myself in the box? Do I make a new box to fit myself in? Do I justify being different or is that wrong in another way? Finding answers to these questions is probably a lifelong quest. 

Islamophobia and microaggressions

No one is safe from Islamophobia. Blatant racism and islamophobia are often called out, but the new fad is microaggression which is usually left undiscussed. These include derogatory terms used casually, subtle references to identity and hijab, ISIS jokes, and a general bias against Muslims. It propagates a sense of alienation and imminent danger with no place to feel safe enough. In a research paper published in the Journal of Health Sciences, it was found that Muslims were at a higher risk of anxiety in India compared to Hindus. 

The sense of instability that surrounds us is detrimental to our mental health as a community and hinders everyday activities as well. Surviving means putting livelihoods, jobs, and lives in jeopardy with constant stress about the future. 

The othering of Muslims was a slow process which has been in the works for a decade now. Language implicating the “us and them” complex, screaming on prime time news that “they” are taking over, screams of Jai Shri Ram on the streets, flags designating political stance on every shop, and the unsolicited opinions are all a part of the long list of discriminatory practices prevalent. Often shrugged off as zamana hi aisa hai, it has added a layer of anxiety and discomfort to my mental health. Not to mention the trust issues that come with dealing with lotus apologists. 

The incessant avoidance by middle-class Muslims has led to the young generation trying harder to fit in, ignoring microaggressions and in turn aggravating their mental health issues in an attempt to not make it a big deal. In addition to the cultural disregard for mental health, the situation on the ground is dire for young Muslims who are struggling with identity, safety and mental health. 

As a young hijabi Muslim woman finding my path in the world and figuring out my life, career, emotions, family and relationships, it is hard to constantly be on the lookout for my safety. It is not only tiring but exceedingly unfair to a Delhiite who has only known Delhi as home.