Why Islam is viewed negatively?


There are a number of Christian terror groups are still out there, killing and torturing. (6 modern-day Christian terrorist groups)

Hindus in remote India still kills people on witchcraft charges. (Fighting Modern-Day Witch Hunts in India’s Remote Northeast)

Buddhist monks are fanning ethnic cleansing in Myanmar. (Straying From the Middle Way: Extremist Buddhist Monks Target Religious Minorities)

Communist factions are still bombing and burning in some corner of the world or other. (10 Left-Wing Terrorist Organizations From Around The World)

Every religion has its fair share of people who are violent and intolerant.

But, for most religions they are outliers. No one takes them as mainstream. Violent and intolerant people in most religions do not have funds, resources or connections to worry about.

Islam is different.

Because the violent and intolerant people of Islam are sitting on the biggest funds and resources in the world. And that doesn’t just include the declared and identified terror groups. Governments and communities practising intolerance, human rights abuse and violence in the name of religion/god are part and parcel of the scenario.

I am looking at the lowest common denominator among the Islamist intolerance and human rights abuse - Salafism. Following is a map of the Salafist world.



Then comes the map of their resource:



They have gas. And that makes them dangerous. That also makes them a target.

Muslims in the post-WWII world were led by people like Gamal Abdel Nasser, Mahathir Muhammad, Muhammad Ali Jinnah et al. They were liberals, and they were tolerant to a high degree.
Muslims were led by Ottoman, Abbasid, Idrisid, Mughal and a number of other empires. Those were largely liberal (at least liberal enough for their times) and sometimes highly tolerant. Ottomans sheltered Jews persecuted across Europe and Mughals experimented with Hindu-Muslim religious fusion.

In fact, the average Christian was way more violent and intolerant than the average Muslim in the middle ages. The Christian Crusades were worse than the Islamic Jihads.

But, the Crusades ceased. With the advent of Protestantism, Lutheranism and other more tolerant types of Christianity the whole religion grew out of its violent and intolerant past. The Spanish and French killed or force-converted entire populations in America and Africa. The British ruled half the world without any religious oppression.

The religious fringe for all religions withdrew to the fringe by 1970s. Only the communist threat remained. It was the time of so-called clash of civilisations - the liberal and democratic West versus the communist East.

In a hurry to end that status quo, the US created its greatest folly. And that involved Muslims.
By the 1980s USSR became the biggest oil power in the world, and it was their only foreign currency earner. President Ronald Reagan hatched the brilliant plan to offset Russian dominance in the world market with an alternative source.

That source was in the Gulf, and sitting on it were the fringest of fringe Muslims, desert dwellers who were denied any culture, literacy or civilisation for long. Arabia was ruled by desert Emirs who had only one claim to fame - superiority in horseback warfare (yes, in mid 20th century).

The US funded, trained and armed those fringe Muslims, the only followers of hardline Salafi movement, to extract, export and defend the oil. The whole balance of the world was reverted.



The result?

The most awesome strategic victory in history: Fall of Soviet Union and the Eastern Block, followed by capitalism in China and Indo-China. It was a victory of trade and diplomacy over military interventions.



The Muslims were the newest weapon of the US against the Red Empire. President Reagan also funded, trained and armed Afghan Mujahideens (groups that followed another fringe school of Islam, and who also were poor, illiterate and extremely backward) to fight against Russian occupation forces and heir collaborators.

Pakistan was already a US ally, and a bulwark against Soviet presence in South Asia. Mujahideens found a safe heaven in Pakistan, in areas dominated by gun-trotting Muslim ignorants, the violent fringe.

With all the oil, money and guns… the US propped up the Muslim fringe. It is like handing free guns, money and protection to KKK, hoping that they will be under control.

They are not under control anymore.

The little control they had - strong-man rulers of Iraq, Syria and Libya were either ousted or in trouble because of US intervention.

Illiterate followers of fringe Islam became the mainstream, and they have no scruples or control to stop them. They are not even articulate enough to make sense of their philosophy (the communists were way better in that regard).

One of my friends was a student of medicine in Morocco. Two of his classmates were Afghans who had fought as the Mujahideen. In the second year of their studies the Afghan boys packed up and left, telling that war was easier and more fun than studying medicine.

Another of my friend was a WHO worker in Khyber. At one time when he went with his team to immunise a village, the villagers took shelter in a cave, put artillery at the mouth of the cave and started shooting with assault rifles. All that because they believed that polio vaccines somehow takes away their Iman.

Yet another of friend was a hospital steward in Saudi Arabia. He was charged with weed smoking, and his tauba spared him from death. He came back with one of his hands cut off.

These are the people the US funded, trained and armed.

They key words are not Muslim or Islam. The keyword is fringe. Whatever religion violent and intolerant people belong to, they operate in the same way. With Islam they have more power.

For us, this is not the face of Islam any more:



…nor this:



…nor this:



…nor this:



We have successfully marginalised those who should be mainstream, and mainstreamed those who should remain in the political margins.

The story is the opposite for all other major faiths, including even communism.

And that’s why Islam receives so much negativity.

Life expectancy in the middle ages


The average life expectancy for a male child born in the UK between 1276 and 1300 was 31.3 years. However, by the time the 13th-Century boy had reached 20 he could hope to live to 45, and if he made it to 30 he had a good chance of making it into his fifties.(Source: BBC)
In short, if a male living in 1500 managed to see his 21st birthday, he was expected to live around 30 more years. It was so because, infants and children died at a horrific rate (some say up to 1/3 of all died before the age of 5).
In more details:
Different class of people had different life expectancy.

Life expectancy at birth was 33 years by the Middle Ages. In the Middle Ages, the average life span of males born in landholding families in England was 31.3 years and the biggest danger was surviving childhood. Once children reached the age of 10, their life expectancy was 32.2 years, and for those who survived to 25, the remaining life expectancy was 23.3 years. (Source: International Journal of Epidemiology)
Among royalty, the mean life expectancy for women was 43.6 years, with a median of 42/43; for men, it was a mean of 48.7 and a median of 48/49. The mean life expectancy of kings of Scotland and England, reigning from 1000 A.D. to 1600 A.D. were 51 and 48 years, respectively. Their monks did not fare as well. In the Carmelite Abbey, only five percent survived past 45. (Source: Sarah Woodbury)
Between 1200–1599 and 1600–1900, median age of death was 77.0 (69.0–82.5) for Popes, and 70.0 (60.0–79.0) for church artists. ( (Source: International Journal of Epidemiology) Being born into a family of wealth or status did not guarantee a long life either. In ducal families in England between 1330 and 1479, for example, one third of children died before the age of five.
Causes:

If you were born during the Black Plague, you average life expectancy would be 2 years.
People in the medieval times died of a long list of causes, including famine and food shortages, animal attacks (not just bears and wolves, but also pigs and cows), violence (both bandits and knights killed people frequently, often they also beat each other to death), child birth, disease (dysentery, sweating sickness, St. Anthony’s fire, gonorrhoea, malaria, leprosy, measles, child-bed fever, small pox, tuberculosis, typhoid, syphilis etc. ), falling and drowning, poisoning and drinking, and cold (their homes and clothes were highly inefficient).
The Black Plague (50 million people dead) and wars, including the Crusades (3 million adults dead) killed of a large number of people to bring down the overall numbers.
Beyond Europe:

The highest life expectancy in the world was enjoyed by Muslim Spain, estimated to be 62 years, followed by people of trans-Caucasus, estimated to be 50–60 years. Chinese women lived longer on an average than most places, bringing their average up.
Here are some interesting reads:

How much sleep?

Left to right: 8 hrs, 7 hrs, 10 hrs

Romans probably slept 6–10 hours as inferred by historians. Ancient Indians 4–7 hours as described by Ayurveda. Ancient Chinese slept probably for 8 hours a day, as it is described as one-third of a day.

City of Joy III: What areas are dangerous in Dhaka?

According to Safe City Index 2017, Dhaka is 58th among 60 surveyed cities (Digital Security 58, Health Security 59, Personal Security 43, Infrastructure Security 60). Chicago is 19th and New York is 21st. Only Yangon and Karachi come after Dhaka.

According to Numbeo, Dhaka is the 24th most crime-ridden city. Chicago is 38th and New York is 153rd. Karachi 47th, and Yangon is not on the list. According to a report in the Independent (UK), Dhaka is the 7th most dangerous megacity for women.


The 141 spots identified by Dhaka Metropolitan Police as the most dangerous are:


Maghbazaar-Motijheel: New Eskaton Road, Eskaton Garden Road, Dilu Road, Kakrail intersection, the area of ​​fisheries, the university area and the Doel Square. Dilkusha, Balaka Square, Dainik Bangla intersection, the Dhaka Stock Exchange area, Kamalapur Railway Station area, Fakirapul, Railway Hospital Road, Pirjangi Mazar, Shantinagar intersection, Notre Dame College Gate, Lane Fakirapul Gorom Panir Goli, Rajarbag in front of the telecom building, Ittefaq crossing , Nayapaltan Dgashani Goli, Purana Paltan Mallik Plaza in front of Notre Dame.


Uttara: Some roads in sectors 11 and 13 , Abdullahpur, House Building, Jasimuddin Road, airport and railway station areas.


Khilgaon-Rampura-Badda: Goran, Malibag, Chowdhury, Khilgaon Sohrab, Pallima Sangsad area, Bhuiyanpara Balur Maath, Rampura Bridge, TV Road, Merul Badda Market, North Badda Police Station Road, South Badda, Kuril Bishwa Road, Aftabnagar Iron Bridge, Central Badda Bepari Goli, Bazar Goli, East Badda Link Road and Graveyard Road.


Jatrabari-Kadamtali-shyampur: Bibi Gardens, Kutubkhali, North Jatrabarhi Kolapotti, Dayaganj intersection, Kazla fringe, Sayedabad Bus Terminal, Janapad Road, Dhalpur Citypolli, Jatrabari Graveyeard Road , near Jatrabari fish warehouse, Maniknagar, Mir Hazaribag Ghantighar, Jurain Balur Maath, Kudar Market, Medical Road, Kadamtali Wasa Road, Shyampur incline.


Gulshan-Banani: Gulshan lakeside, Niketan in front of Shooting Club, Kakali intersection, Banani kitchen market road, Korail slum, Banani flyover, the club and the soldier Chairmanbari area.


Dhanmondi-Mohammadpur: Dhanmondi 8 bridge, Jigatala bus stand, Kalabagan playground, Circular Road (Bhooter Goli), Mirpur Road, Asad Avenue, Aurangzeb Road, Kantasur, Bansgari, Mohammadpur Embankment, Dhaka Residential College area, Adabar road 14, Baitul Aman, Ring Road and Hazaribagh Embankment.


Mohakhali-Tejgaon: Mohakhali Bus Stand, in front of Kacha Bazaar, Tibet intersection, North Begunbari, Hatirjhil, Moghbazar intersection, in front of Malibagh Super Market, Karwan Bazar, grinaroda, Indira Road adjacent to the alley behind T&T office.


Mirpur: Mirpur Embankment from Shah Ali intersection to Dhaur, Mirpur 1 Circle, Mirpur 12 bus stand, south Manipur, Bauniya Bund, Bihari Colony, Agargaon intersection, in front of IDB building, Kalyanpur Housing Estate area, the road in front of Banglabandhu International Conference Centre, Agargaon crossing, Agricultural University area, Darus Salam, Mazar Road.


Old Dhaka: Chan Khar Pool, Tanti Bazaar, Shakhari Bazaar, Nimtali, Sadarghat, Babu Bazar, Kazi Riaz Uddin Road, Dholai Khal, Shahid Nagar and Kamrangir Char.

City of Joy II: How has Dhaka changed since 2008?

Dhaka is the fastest growing megapolis in the world, growing to become one of the top cities in the world in terms of size.

Two things about dhaka have increased dramatically in the last 8/9 years - wealth and population.

Dhaka, already the wealthiest settlement in Bangladesh, has received so much private sector attention and state facilitation that economic growth of Dhaka constantly remained the same till mid 2000s. It now grows even faster, and despite policies and state investment into outer regions increased dramatically in the last decade, Dhaka has maintains the same wealth ratio against rest of Bangladesh.

You would notice wealth everywhere - new movie theaters, shopping malls, car showrooms, spas and salons, hotels, restaurants and cafes, beautified city, beggar free zones (in fact beggars are now a vanishing breed, who appear in Ramadan to supplement whatever income they have in villages), resorts and clubs, amusement, imported brands, luxury apartment blocks, gated communities, school and university campuses… the list is endless.

There have been hundreds of them coming up since 2008, changing old neighborhoods and the cityscape forever. Many of the dilapidated blocks in the old town now features glass fronted banks and shops, shopping malls and superstores, as well as brand shops of the luxury kind. Many quint little parts of the city (like northern parts of Uttara, western parts of Mirpur etc.) are now busy hubspots with tall modern buildings. Many more 1–3 story buildings have been replaced with 10–12 story buildings, and as a result some of the more tightly built neighborhood streets to become narrow urban canyons.

Even cars, of which there are tens of thousands more than 2008, are not just second-hand Toyotas. From Geely cars to Mercedes cars - the choices are endless. Bicycles have come back, motorcycles are everywhere. More streets have banned rickshaws, while electric rickshaws are plying all over the periphery of the city. Black/blue cabs have almost vanished. Yellow cabs are run only by two companies. Uber and car rentals have taken over. And, there are way more flyovers. Home delivery and superstores now covers one third of Dhaka, a 100 times increase in a decade.

With all the wealth visible one would expect poverty to become negligible. It didn’t. Because, millions and millions of climate refugees escaping floods, cyclones, droughts and what not have arrived in Dhaka in the last decade, way more than any time in history. 40% of them live in informal shelters, 80% of them are engaged in informal economic activity. Life is tough for them. But, they still share the general optimism that a flourishing economy brings. Housemaids, once a common feature of every household, and porters, a common feature for almost every public place are dwindling fast in numbers, as neither are consistent with the status they seek.

Informal business is the key. 45% of Dhaka economy is still these micro-enterprises, though the sectors are often different from 2008. Once a ubiquitous feature of every street corner, the common cigarette and candy sellers are becoming increasingly rare, while the once popular modes of transport - the “tempo” or the “hauler” are also vanishing.

This tremendous building boom and population increase has taken toll on the infrastructure. Newer neighborhoods are not getting piped gas, and older neighborhoods are suffering from chronic shortage of water. Safety and security is also lower than before, for four reasons - (a) government affiliated organizations and persons; (b) diverting law enforcement resources to fight terrorism; (c) a corrupt police empowered by extra-judicial power, while the judiciary remains low priority; and (d) extra population that makes governance almost impossible. This has led to a serious decrease in outdoor events like concerts and fairs, as well as serious discouragement of celebrations like international new year and baul festivals.

SHADOWS (Chapter 3): It's hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain

Edvard Munch, The Scream


What shall I do now?  What shall I do?
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
With my hair down, so.
What shall we do tomorrow?
What shall we ever do?
Wasteland, T.S. Eliot


I found me sitting on a box covered with a dusty and torn carpet still staring at the crystal jar, not seeing anything in particular, as if I was coming back from a nightmare. Or maybe I was waking up into the nightmare. I tried guessing how long I have been lost in thoughts, not a bad place to get lost in. Difficult. Shafts of light that poured in were still burning with the warmth of the sun, dust particles fleeting in a gray mist. The next door cat whined like it always did, a very irritating cat that one. Some heavy vehicle roared down the street that was invisible from here, I judged it to be a truck.

And, then it moved. Oh my bloody sisterlicking brotherblowing motherfucking GOD! It moved.

Unnoticeably, softly, slowly… the head opened its eyes, and stared back at me in a hollow and blank uncomprehending meaningless stare. I knew severed heads were not supposed to open eyes that suddenly, I never heard of that kind of rigor mortis in my life. Mesmerized I kept staring at it. It was a stalemate. I did nothing. The head did nothing. Every motion frozen in time, like so much refrigerated lobsters, two heads, one attached to a body and the other without any such commitment, stayed unblinking with eyes locked. Meeeow – it was that nagging stupid cat that broke the spell. I shifted my gaze to my hands, yes, as I felt there was something I held very tight in a double handed grip. Must have been something I picked up when I sat on the box. It was a girl’s bag in tatters – red and black, leather and hemp, with a braided strap and a bell metal buckle… instantly recognizable.

One thing always unfailingly and invariably leads to another. This time the bag led me to a great crossing. The train of memories passed through the great barrier, and, I remembered her face. Ash’s face. That face was a curious concoction that I would never dare to understand – austere like a tava-baked plain flatbread, handed out off a roadside eatery for truckers, or festive like a bowl of Kachi Akhni, the biriyani coming right of the Nizam’s kitchen sporting 50 varieties of meat – changing shades in an instant, and always inexplicably. Tired eyes that sparkled like the night sky whenever she flashed a smile, full lips that always looked a bit chaffed but never felt so when she kissed, cheeks that never could decide between sinking and blushing – the wonders never ceased. And, she lived in a perpetual twilight of fear. She believed no one. Not even me. Not that she had any reason to believe me in any damn way. It was almost like she lived in my shadow, a shadow that only stunk of death and debauchery. Sweet and sad, she still clung on to me.

It was Ash’s face that was looking back at me from inside the jar.

I felt like I was hit by the train that just made the crossing straight in the face, full blast, wheels cranking, rails screeching, winds hissing past. Boom. I started to scream, a completely involuntary and desperate wail of terror and anguish. I screamed on until blood spurted out of my mouth and my nose. Damn! I surely had ruptured some stuff inside. Blood trickled down the side of my neck. Warm and sticky. I toppled off the box headfirst into the dust. And, I lay there. No strength left in me to stir an inch. Then the head chuckled. No, really, Ash chuckled. She never laughed once in all the years she was with me like she did now. Eerie and sarcastic, not an aorta of humor there.

I lay stiff on the floor waiting for Ash to stop chuckling.

SHADOWS (Chapter 2): There's no one left to blame so never mind the darkness

René Magritte, The Lovers


From the old familiar faces and
Their old familiar ways
To the comfort of the strangers
Slipping out before they say
So long
Run Baby Run, Sheryl Crow

That’s when I found an interesting fact about memories. They are like those Russian dolls, the big one opens to a smaller one, which opens to an even smaller one, and so on. I kept opening pieces of memory only to find more inside, waiting to be opened in an endless journey taking me further, deeper down the roads long forgotten. That winter noon led me to that crow, and then another that I remembered lying on a roadside, guts spilling out, ants making a feast on half-rotting intestines that already were sporting a sickening shade of teal.

I remembered the mountain goat that my mom kept as a pet bleating at the sight of the crow. Well, a goat will always be a goat, and it followed me on most days on my way to school. So bloody humiliating it seemed at the time. That was before we left the little town that saw me running down my first soccer field, falling off my first bicycle, choking on my first chocolate fudge. I remembered taking the first drag on my first smoke at that very town. I vividly remembered the peas my mom served me that night. Amber peas floating on pearly melted goat cheese making acquaintances with crab meat and some sour sauce. Those were quieter days. Gentle. Calm. Laid back. Monotonous.

That was before I started to run. And, those were bad days. Real bad. Abes died, Shib died, and Saif too. It rained death. Death hung over us like filthy sunset clouds painted with factory slime, red and black and gray and gang green. Raja vanished, never to be heard or seen again. Murad got caught. He was tired of running. And, Pat… ah! Pat. They said he turned insane. They said he had an intimate encounter with the divine. They said he was just pretending a lot of fluff and stuff. But, they always were ignorant. Nobody knew Pat, not even us. He liked it that way.

When did the run begin? I didn’t know, probably sometime after I was done with my medical studies. Why were we running? I didn’t want to remember. Too painful, muddled and stupid. Not worth it. When did it end? Now, that I recalled with the sharp precision of a surgeon’s scalpel freshly bathed in glutaraldehyde. I stopped running when Raja’s kid sister Ash appeared at my door, slightly out of breath, somewhat trembling, heavily drenched in rain, and totally demolished by the look in her eyes. She came to seek a shelter, and I was the only one left of us. And, she looked heartstopping beautiful. So vulnerable, yet so ravishingly adorable.

I packed up, and moved to the city, bringing her along. It was a very small bag that she carried all her stuff in, as if she was ready to run again. Probably she had do some amount of running to before she reached me. She never talked about it. I remembered the bag – red and black, leather and hemp, with a braided strap and a bell metal buckle shaped like a hippie peace sign, three zippered pockets in the front. The rush of the memory train hit a wall exactly at that moment. How in the fucking hell did I forget what she looked like? I remembered everything – the breeze, the fragrance of her hair, the coolie who helped me get my heavier luggage into the taxi, the warm tarmac, the sun shining down hard… even the color of her nail polish (black, it was always black). Not her face.