Hijab

by Guruprasad Kaginele

  ‘Oh…ok.’ I paused and asked again, cautiously, not certain if this was another attempt to pull my leg, ‘Do you know anything about the health of your biological parents?’

  ‘I was told that I was born in Sanghaala. My adopted parents are from here and when they had been to Dahir-Bar on some missionary work on behalf of an Amoka church, they adopted me. I was an orphan. They officially consummated the adoption here in Amoka once they were back. I grew up in this town.’

  Her religion was listed as Islam on the demographic section. I looked at her again.

  I had not known the history of this woman. She seemed quite unlike any of the other Sanghaali women I had come across. It was obvious right from the day I saw this woman at Caleb’s that she was an outlier, and an oddball to the whole notion of a Sanghaali woman we had had till then. Asha was born in Sanghaala, grew up in Amoka and listed Islam as her religion. And now she was ready to get a Cesarean section on live TV as a Sanghaali. Or did she transform into a Sanghaali only for getting this Cesarean section done?

  ‘My parents subscribe to the Lutheran Christian denomination. However, they have never, even once, compelled me to go to church with them. I don’t know if it was luck but when I was growing up in Amoka, I had hordes of Sanghaali friends. I would listen to their stories. My best friend Amina used to tell interesting stories—stories of the forest, camel adventures and desert fables. I read quite a few books on Sanghaala. I started wearing a hijab once I got into high school. My parents did not object to it. One year ago, I converted to Islam. Rather than calling it a conversion, one could refer to it as going back to my religion.’

  There were many questions hungry for answers buzzing inside my head. Then my gaze fell on her protruding belly involuntarily.

  ‘Then this guy entered my life.’ She touched her belly, raised her hand and kissed it. ‘He is all American, I can tell you that. I have made some significant changes and taken some important decisions because of him coming into my life. He is at present, non-denominational; does not subscribe to any religion.’ She wiped her eyes. Her tears welled up and rolled down, darkening her cheeks from her mascara.

  Farida got up from her place, ‘Oh my baby, don’t cry. How are all these related to today’s surgery, doc? Why are you asking these questions?’

  ‘Asha, please pardon me. I had no intention of hurting you with these questions. All these questions are from this questionnaire.’

  ‘You people come up with these questionnaires for extracting your patients’ most private information. Please stop this. If you have any additional queries, ask only those that are relevant to the surgery.’

  ‘Ok,’ I sat on a chair next to her to complete her chart. She is a Sanghaali by birth and then came to Amoka. Fadhuma and Rukhiya are also Sanghaalis by birth and immigrated to Amoka. The difference, however, is huge. They came here as refugees whereas she came to Amoka and was raised here as the adopted daughter of a Lutheran pastor. She grew up the same way as Amoka’s Amina or Minneapolis’ Farida or Smith’s daughter Jackie. She had the full embrace of America and its opportunities and in addition its profligate freedom too! She is twenty, may not be in a relationship but is pregnant.

  Habiba, who is getting her Cesarean section done along with her, has six children. Her first son Labaan is about the same age as Asha. It is probable that he may have convinced his mother to get this surgery done. He may have likely gone to high school with Asha. Asha’s affluence is by adoption whereas for people like Farida and Amina, it could be just geography. Asha and Jackie’s America is different from the America of Radhika or me which is entirely different from the America of Fadhuma or Rukhiya.

  This group had leapt three generations ahead of Rukhiya and Fadhuma. Glory to America, the melting pot! Asha claims that she turned towards Islam after listening to Sanghaali folk tales and being inspired by them. How can one believe this? Did she want to be a Muslim, or did she want to be a Sanghaali? Does she even know the difference between the two?

  Who is the father of her baby?

  Amina also had gotten pregnant out of wedlock. When Radhika or I were in our early twenties, did we think like these women? Did I display the same hubris, the same conviction of choice? They come across as a lot different from Mohammad Mohammad or Kuki, people who are part educated, part informed about the happenings around them and always developing a self-serving perspective of them.

  Or…

  Are Radhika, Rick Jackson and Saanvi exploiting Asha’s Sanghaali heritage for the live Cesarean section? Other than the fact that she has taken to wearing a hijab, what kind of a Sanghaali is she?

  Sometimes one is better off not knowing much. Ignorance is not just bliss, but it can be therapeutic to the fear of the unknown and the helplessness of ill-defined responsibility.

  ‘I like Indian culture a lot. I watch Bollywood movies regularly. Those colours, those dresses. Wow! I wish I can be an Indian just for those dresses. Are you married, doc? Do you have children?’ She asked wiping her tears.

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘Why not? You look like a handsome and successful man. Do they still have arranged marriages in India?’

  As someone who wants to be an Indian for colourful dresses or a Sanghaali for stories, who does she really represent? The reformed Sanghaali mom of Radhika and Saanvi? Or the jihadi mother of Mohammad Mohammad and Kuki?

  Only time will decide.

  I turned around and stood there facing the wall. I flipped out my wallet and the picture of the Brindavana—holy tomb of Raghavendra Swami at Mantralaya and prayed in silence. Swami Raghavendra, please keep her safe and happy. Let her have a safe surgery and let her have the same good sense for a long time and no matter how stressed she feels, let her not take her own life. I wrote that there are no apparent medical reasons for her to not get the proposed surgery and signed my note. I did not go to evaluate Habiba.

  24. Cesarean Section—Live

  I saw Srikantha sitting in the cafeteria drinking coffee. The cafeteria was packed with people. The live telecast was to begin soon, and the TV was on. Rick Jackson and Jack Powell were standing in line to get some breakfast. The cafeteria in our hospital was usually closed on Sundays. The day being a special one, it was open. I went over to Srikantha and sat across from him. He was watching the TV broadcast without flinching an eyelid, oblivious to everything around him.

  Minnesota’s local channels were busy. One channel was broadcasting the stock shots of the suicides of Rukhiya, Fadhuma and the Bombay women. A live interview with a Stanford Professor was in progress on another channel.

  The surprising thing was that—I had observed this some time back—there was not so much as even a mention of Mohammad Mohammad’s name on any channel. He had come to our hospital advocating his support for Fadhuma. Other than the fact that he had shared all the news related to the Sanghaali suicides on his Facebook page, what role did he play exactly? Only Radhika, Razak and I attended that meeting. There was not even a single representation from the hospital’s administration. Our hospital is in the news all over the country now; the movie that started as a staid documentary in our hospital garnered sponsorships from companies like Pepsi and McDonald’s. The interest in its content had gone beyond the targeted Sanghaali community and its appeal was co-opted by the larger masses. If Mohammad Mohammad had any real intention of garnering publicity, could there be a better time?

  ‘Srikantha, may I ask you a question?’

  He looked at me affirmatively.

  ‘The other day when we went to Habiba’s farm, Radhika had mentioned to us that they were able to get one woman who was ready for the Cesarean section. She had also said that Rick and Jack were on board and it would be better if the two of us accompanied her.’

  He looked puzzled.

  ‘Were you aware of more details?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Srikantha, when we were sitting at Caleb’s, we saw another girl, remember? Do you know her name?’

&nbs
p; ‘Must be something like Asha, right?’

  ‘She grew up here as an adopted daughter of a Lutheran pastor. She is a Minnesotan for all practical purposes. American. Single mom.’

  ‘But apparently, she has converted to a Sanghaali Muslim, hasn’t she?’

  Even Srikantha is better informed than me! ‘It is possible to convert to Islam but how can she convert into a Sanghaali? Is she a Sanghaali citizen? As far as I know, she is still an American.’

  ‘Guru, weren’t Rukhiya and Fadhuma also US citizens?’

  ‘Who shared Asha’s information with you? Isn’t this a violation of patient confidentiality? Unless you are directly involved with Asha’s treatment, you are not supposed to know any of this.’

  ‘Guru, I only know that her name is Asha. Radhika gave me her name at Caleb’s when I saw her there. Think about it, does it make any sense to not disclose the name of the person going under the scalpel for a live Cesarean on TV? Wouldn’t it defeat the whole purpose of this program?

  As an answer to our question, the TV came to life with the program. The TV voiceover started with the introduction: ‘Welcome to the very first broadcast ever of a live Cesarean section. Only on NBC!’ The graphic on screen transformed into the NBC logo. ‘It all started in this little town of Amoka, situated about seventy-five miles north of Minneapolis. This town is but a blip on the map of Minnesota. A town only slightly larger than a hamlet and like thousands of towns dotted across America. A town that one can miss in a moment’s doze off while driving on the highway. The events leading up to today’s program started about eight months back when a physician of this Amoka General hospital, Dr Radhika, performed a Cesarean section on a Sanghaali woman by the name of Rukhiya Abu-Bakr.’

  A popup screen within the larger screen showed a stock shot of Radhika giving her statement in front of the hospital. ‘In spite of my repeated attempts at explaining the safety of the Cesarean sections, all these women opposed it. No matter what we did, and how much we tried, our attempts were futile.’ It was clear that the stock shot was taken a day or two ago, Radhika’s hairdo gave that away.

  The voice-over continued with newspaper clippings, carrying the news of Rukhiya and Fadhuma’s suicides in the foreground, ‘Rukhiya Abu-Bakr committed suicide just two months after Dr Radhika performed a Cesarean section on her. The same thing happened with another Sanghaali woman, Fadhuma Hassan.’

  ‘These mothers never heeded any of our warnings that they were putting theirs and their children’s lives in danger. Our medical staff and I tried every trick in the book and spared no efforts to convince them. I thank our chief of staff and my friend, Dr Guru, and my friend and colleague, Dr Razak, for their help and support,’ Radhika said directly looking at the camera. This was also an old clip.

  Srikantha squeezed my hand. At the farther end Rick raised his coffee cup and toasted the occasion, ‘Cheers!’

  ‘But when all of this proved futile, it was the Young Sanghaali Women’s Association that came to our rescue. We were totally unaware that an organization like that existed. When a small production company from NBC and I contacted them, seeking help in the production of this program, they readily agreed to help us.’

  Once again pictures of Rukhiya and Fadhuma as well as the newspaper clippings carrying their news flashed on the screen.

  I was paying close attention to the telecast and noticed that not even once had Radhika referred to Rukhiya and Fadhuma or the suicides of the Sanghaali women, whereas the voiceover was always mentioning these suicides. Since the old clips of Radhika’s comments had been juxtaposed with the statements of the voiceover, the result was a hotchpotch. It was not clear if this was intended. What was clear was that this Good Samaritan Live Program that only sought to dispel the myth of the relationship between Cesarean section and the Sanghaali deaths had turned into a reality show.

  It had been decided beforehand that one of the women would be operated on by Radhika and the other one by O’Reilly. It was well-nigh impossible for Radhika to watch the telecast at that moment. She was probably busy inside, preparing herself for the surgery.

  The TV voice said, ‘Let’s meet Dr Radhika who will be performing the Cesarean section,’ and the camera zoned inside up to the entrance to the operating room. A silk curtain was hanging at the door of the operating room. Radhika entered from the left side of the frame. The camera zoomed in on her. She was in her scrubs. The operating room gleamed in the background, decorated with helium balloons and streamers which reminded me of Ayudha Pooja celebrations, back home. Radhika was well-groomed with generous makeup and looked more like someone attending a wedding with her fancy dangling earrings and an elegant chain around her neck. Her hair was not visible because of the sterile head cover. She really looked like one of those TV doctors from an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

  ‘Dr Radhika, this looks like a set on TV. Oh, I forgot. This is a TV program, isn’t it?’ The anchor laughed loudly and looking at Radhika said,‘You look somewhat nervous?’

  ‘A little,’ Radhika sipped some coffee from the coffee mug she held in her hand.

  Srikantha remarked, ‘Man, this should not give people the impression that she will be drinking coffee while she performs a surgery.’ I was quietly watching the TV.

  The TV girl said, ‘Don’t worry, you will be ok.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Till now you have not disclosed the identity of the women you will be operating upon. Isn’t the whole purpose of doing this Cesarean section on TV to get publicity? To grab everyone’s attention? What are you trying to achieve by hiding them from the world? Would it not defeat its very purpose?’

  Radhika smiled, ‘No, no. We didn’t want to divulge their names and get into trouble. Besides, we wanted to surprise you all. She laughed nervously. ‘Now, I’ll certainly share those names with you. But before that, can I say a few words?’

  ‘Sure, please do. This is your day.’

  Radhika continued. ‘I will not take much of your time. Come September, it will be three years since I came to Amoka. Ever since then I’ve had lots of trouble convincing the Sanghaali community to get Cesarean sections done. As everyone is aware, we cannot operate on any patient without their consent. In the Sanghaali community however, in addition to the patient’s consent, we need consent from her family, mainly her husband and her father-in-law, if any. I grew up in India, and so I can understand the aspect of getting the husband’s approval in this patriarchal system. However, this is fundamentally a woman’s problem, so we women must find a solution ourselves. In the past two months I’ve met Sanghaali women of different backgrounds. My perception from these meetings is that the Cesarean sections are not the only problems of these Sanghaalis. They have many more pressing issues to deal with and these call for nothing short of a big revolution. I’m getting this revolution going in my own small way in my domain of expertise by performing these Cesarean sections. Cesarean section is not wrong. It is not haram. Once a C-section, always a C-section is a myth. A woman’s uterus is quite strong. A cut made by my small knife cannot make it weak. The live Cesarean section organized today is to show the strength of the uterus, literally.’ She sounded like a politician delivering a stump speech. I couldn’t believe this was our Radhika.

  ‘Radhika is now playing the woman card keeping the Sanghaali women’s uterus upfront. Can there be any better cause than a uterus for a women’s revolution?’

  Srikantha did not say anything. I continued, ‘Have you met the members of the young Sanghaali American Women’s Association that Radhika was referring to?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Cheerleaders, it was like meeting the Sanghaali cast for Mean Girls. I met them when I had gone to evaluate Asha Scott. I do not think they understand any of this movement, revolution, etc.—its objectives or the issues it is seeking to address. They don’t know, and they don’t care. They are kids—barely eighteen to twenty years old. Their main interest today is neither this Cesarean section nor the fate of Sangh
aalis like Rukhiya and Fadhuma but, believe it or not Srikantha, their only concern is Asha not getting her fifteen minutes of fame! No matter how we look at them, Rukhiya and Fadhuma can no way square up to Asha. They cannot be compared. Asha is every inch an American. Doing a Cesarean on her is no different from doing a Cesarean on any white woman from Amoka. Neither of them will take their lives.’

  Srikantha stared at me, placed his index finger on his lips and hushed me. He then whispered in my ears, ‘Habiba is also getting a Cesarean section done. In what way is she an American?’

  I thought that Habiba has been living in America for sixteen years. She has agreed to this surgery upon her son Labaan’s insistence. With a young Sanghaali like Labaan influencing her actions, how is she same as Rukhiya and Fadhuma? I felt that all my thoughts were more of a shout in the wilderness.

  Radhika continued, ‘This is something very bold, very strong. Our women should be proud of themselves for getting these Cesarean sections done without any fear. They should proclaim to the world all that they have done so, and yet they didn’t kill themselves later. They should be our ambassadors of change—a gentle breeze that rustles the bushes before it uproots the trees with the ferocity of a tornado. To accomplish this, two women from our town have come forward to get the Cesarean section done on this program today. The first woman is Habiba Ahmed. This shall be her seventh baby. The second woman is Asha Scott. This is her first baby. By agreeing to get their live Cesarean done today, they are doing a great service to the Women community. They are celebrating womanhood. God bless them. We need your blessings. Please bless us.’ She started clapping. Habiba and Asha emerged from the red silk curtain in the background, as if they were on the set of American Idol, waving their hands. The foundation on their faces and the lipstick on their lips, shone prominently.

  Radhika asked them, ‘On this profoundly important day, how does it feel to be a part of this significant game changing event?’