A few days ago, I read a post about the righteousness and haughtiness of the so-called the halal police. It reminded me of a topic I had taken up when I had just started my career; but one that I had not re-visited since. The point of discussion was how a hijab or abaya-clad woman feels in a world full of extremely opposing views.

I wear an abaya. I have been wearing one since I was fifteen years old. Part of the reason behind observing this Islamic requisite is respecting God’s order; part of it is respecting the tradition of my family. (For the purpose of this post, I will intermittently refer to myself as a “hijabi” only because of the ease with which this term fits in sentences!)Having studied in all-girls school and college, I never really realised the effect a hijabi girl has on others. The first time I experienced it was as a graduate student. There was a book launch event outside college premises and our head of department had asked us to meet her there. When I reached the venue, and made eye contact with her, the look I saw in her eyes was enough to make me pause. Her smile froze when she saw me, and I could see her spacing out as she tried to process my appearance. All of this took hardly a couple of seconds before she politely averted her eyes.I’ve read a lot about peoples’ exasperation about how overtly religious men and women make them feel uncomfortable by their blatant show of righteousness. I don’t deny it. It happens. It even happens to me. I have been questioned about and commented on many things including my appearance. The questions have ranged from why I was wearing nail colour to why was the lock of hair visible over my forehead.

It’s a difficult world out there with both extremes of the spectrum, conservatives and liberals, nurturing a certain idea of “modesty” and “emancipation” respectively. It requires a continuing effort of vigilant observation, judgement and decision based on how people perceive you.

The easiest to recognise and deal with are the traditional, conservative men. They see your hijab (and abaya) and immediately put you in the “good girl” category. In public offices or out on the street, they generally treat you with respect and courtesy. This attitude lasts, however, only till you fit their definition of a pious woman. The minute you step out of that circumscribed role — debate something, aggressively contest their viewpoint, or be authoritative — there’s a definite change in behaviour.

Then there are “liberals,” the beacon of civil rights in Pakistan including freedom of choice and diversity. It’s a bit tricky dealing with them. Some are genuinely not concerned about your appearance; they wait to converse with you before forming any opinion. However, their number is painfully small. Generally, there are two reactions which you face while meeting such people for the first time. They either politely smile at you, very unsure about how to act and especially what to say. It takes a little extra effort on your part to put them at ease about you not being one of those tableeghi ladies out to correct all evils of the world. The other kind takes the easy way out and simply ignores you. With most, it takes a couple of interactions for them to understand the general direction from where you are coming. Once you pass that hurdle, you’re usually good to go. A rare few actively avoid the opportunity to know you. Their ingrained biases towards what a person in a hijab or abaya must be like freezes their brains beyond any rational objectivity.

I understand people’s strange reactions towards me. I wear a very overt symbol of religion, that too in black colour (which has more of a fashion value than a religious one). It’s not a small cross on a chain tucked under a shirt, or an imam zaamin discreetly tied around the wrist. It’s a cloak which booms the message of my supposed religious identity to everyone. How can people not be affected by it?

But the reality is that there are thousands of women out there, including me, who observe this one edict of God out of thousands more. Wearing a hijab or an abaya does not automatically put us in the category of rigidly conservative mindset. Being a hijabi does not mean you are the epitome of a pious Islamic woman and a model for others to follow. It definitely does not automatically mean you are an authority on religion. Yet, I’m continually looked upon as a source for Islamic references. In a discussion, whenever a religious reference comes up, many a times speakers have subconsciously looked at me for affirmation or denial.

But frankly, the reality is that I’m as knowledgeable about Islamic history, jurisprudence and theology as any average urban adult who studied Islamiyat in school. I don’t understand Arabic; I cannot quote randomly from the Quran; I don’t even know all the names of Ashra Mubashra, and I definitely do not represent the entire Muslim (read rigidly conservative Muslim) community.

Sometimes explaining yourself just gets exhausting.

The point is: there seems to be some sort of huge communication gap between the conservative and liberals of this country. Whereas the problem does lay a lot with the conservatives in terms of their rigid views, which they are entitled to as long as they are not being projected on others, some of the liberals hold the responsibility for this divide as well. I have been constantly told by people who know me as a liberal person that I cannot be a free thinker till I take off my hijab — a notion I find ridiculous and offensive. My decision to hold power over who gets to see me without my hijab has no bearing on any other part of my life. This constant bickering that continues with a few of my leftist friends, sometimes in jest, but sometimes in earnest, about my choice to cover myself is symptom of a deeper malaise. They are so rigid in their view about what a hijabi girl is supposed to be, they refuse to accept my practice just on the basis of their rigid principles, something they are quick to accuse conservatives of.

In 2007, there was a huge rally organised by civil society on Mall Road, Lahore. They were protesting the new trend of Jamia Hafsa women forcing their morality and code of conduct on others. I was the only abaya-clad girl in sight, and as you can imagine, a big source of attention. Media people wanted to know why I was present (as if just because I cover myself, I’m waiting for the day I can beat others with a stick to do the same). Some “activist” ladies wanted me to hold anti-extremism placards and take pictures with them. It felt a bit like a circus show.

Admittedly the likes of us — women who choose to observe pardah while not letting it dictate what they feel is rational and true — are few in quantity. But we are very much present. And I’d like to be treated as equal humans and not like some frail flower or a ticking time bomb.