By Nashrah Tanvir
When I'll come out about my caste
I'll wrap my skin that's burnt colour of sun
Under disguise of modesty,
Under layers of lies my ancestors concocted.
When I'll come out about my caste
About being Ashraf, about being Syed-
I'll peel my skin, don't suspect my ammi,
Peel my skin to not be less fairer than my family name.
When I'll come out about my caste
I'll be nothing but puff of smoke
But I won't disappear completely,
I wish I could say
That smoke is darker than my melanin
But my body bears witness against me.
So I walk into class and never put my hand up,
I'm not the kid they expect to be smart.
When I'll come out about my caste
My caste will become mark of Cain,
No matter what I wear
Everyone wants to know the story of my skin
Story of skin that burns under shadow of night,
My name sticks as synonym for hollowness
Like a scar,
A scar my abba has,
A scar my dada had,
A scar that didn't let my ancestors find equality.
When I'll come out about my caste
They'll remind me my caste is a punishment,
My caste is mark of Cain, remember?
Marks of Cain are the embers that burnt my skin
While I tried to outrun the ever burning curse of caste.
It's the kind of fire that still takes lives
In the manholes of your urban cities,
It's the kind of fire that burns the books
As ashes slip through a poor kid's hand,
It's the kind of fire that swallowed
Your widows dressed upon burning pyre,
Yet you dare to tell me
That God must be a woman!
When I'll come out about my caste
You'll remember the way you branded me-
But give me a chance to prove I'm Muhammad's lineage
And let's pretend it didn't begin with a black woman abandoned in desert.
But you claimed to speak the language of Gods
To call the existence of an entire generation
Unworthy of touch, unworthy of love.
Why should I believe Sufi saints
When they say God is love?
When I'll come out about my caste
I'll roll my 'R's like the bent back of my ancestors ,
I'll bite the 'V's, like the pain of holding this newfound facade,
These scratches on glass ceilings are blips in our story,
Noises are getting louder about the mountain Nuah's son climbed
And Allah breathed into universe family isn't built upon blood
As the rest of the world disappeared into Nuah's flood.
Now, you'll preach that Islam doesn't have caste system
I'll press my lips and nod
But when are we going to talk about South Asian Muslims?
Islam doesn't have a caste structure, but you and I do.
When I'll come out about my caste,
Damage would be done,
I already took my sweet time to kiss him back,
I'm the one his parents warned about
And rest of my life is a Bollywood story
To prove to them I'm worthy.
My ammi told me I'm on highest rung
But my abba silently shakes his head,
I'm like Brahmin among South Asian Muslims
Who's squeezing and living inside body of a Scheduled Caste.
When I'll come out about my caste
I'll try not to find meaning of the words they call me,
When I'll come about my caste
I'll say I know a Syed's way
But the world will constantly remind me that I'm not,
When I'll come out about my caste
My right hand shall hold privilege of being an oppressor
Whilst left hand, as they say cursed by Iblis,
Shall hold degradation of not being equal human,
My cells are at war with each other
But those who don't become the oppressor or the oppressed on time
Become collateral damage for both.
When I'll come out about my caste
I'll clutch onto Islam like a wet blanket,
I'll still wear to keep away from the flames
But the fire will manage to seep in.
Smallest of spaces burns me away,
Just a little every day.
But I'm not here to run,
I'm here to kill a fire.