TAQWACORE WEBZINE

Confession. I don’t know in what direction to place the prayer mat. It hit me with extreme sadness this evening as I came to that realization. I had been fasting all day for Ramadan and had just broken my fast with a date by myself in the kitchen and I didn’t know what to do next. Everywhere I’d ever been throughout my whole life, I’d be praying behind someone that would provide direction for me. At home it would be my parents; when traveling abroad my friends would direct me; at mosques you’d follow the lines on the carpet. At one time I even had one of those prayer mats with the compass sewn into it. But here, living on my own in a completely new place, I have no one to show me how to lay my prayer mat. Look outside at the setting sun, I know some of you are thinking. Well, I moved to Oakland and it’s been four days. Where there is nothing but cold weather and cloudy skies. There is no rising or setting sun, at least not yet.

Ramadan can either be the most glorious time, or the most saddening time. It is what you make of it, essentially. There is no one to keep you in check as you fast, no one to tattle tale on you. The test is between your virtuosity and yourself. Allah may be looking down on you and you may gain those extra points during Ramadan, but when it comes down to it in the present moment, it really is about the day to day personal struggle, dare I say, personal jihad.

Community – your circle of friends, people to help you on the right path, people who encourage your deen – that’s really who you turn to for all the fun stuff. The people who make the struggles in life easier. The people who really understand you. The people you break fast with. The people that share your food, and words, and blessings with. That is what makes Ramadan, at least for me, glorious. And when you stay some place completely new, it’s difficult to find that.

On the first day of this Ramadan, I broke fast with the Knights. They are by far my most favorite couple ever and I’ve really enjoyed getting to know them over the year. They were in town, and I knew I had to see them before they left. I hadn’t seen them since Sundance in January, and we caught up and chatted waiting for the clock to go to iftar time. We sat at a table laden with iftar treats like samosas and kababs. We broke our fast with dates and faluda. We prayed with Mike leading and to my delight he recited the sura with my name in it, Ya-Sin. We sat in the living room late into the night and caught up on all things Muslim and punk and in between.

It was surreal, though I really can’t pinpoint exactly why except that all my stories with Taqwacore always fill me with this feeling of being Alice in Wonderland on a wild adventure. It had been a year since I joined the madness – my adventure last summer culminated with my drive back home to make it in time for Ramadan. Siddhartha’s recently posted article on the scene reminded me of the magic that summer held. It was in Taqwacore that I found a community of like-minded Muslims and it was in this scene that I finally found people that really understood me. It wasn’t just a band or music, but it was a way of life. Even though we were not a closely living community and the ideas of community were virtual, it was a community all the same that used the power of the internet, music, words, film and images to connect with each other. It was hard to define what taqwacore is, buy when you are in it, you just know.

But you can’t break date and have iftar with a virtual community. Though excited to have an iftar with the Knights, I was nervous about the next 29 days and what community I could find here in my new city. I told Mike I was thinking about going mosque hopping, checking out the local Shia mosque and see what else is there. He suggested I go to a masjid in East Oakland full of NOI converted to Sunni Muslims. It was well known in the activist-y circles in Oakland, I found out later. He had gone there in Blue Eyed Devil on his search for Wallace Fard Muhammad.  “It’s the type of place where women will loudly say, “Allahu Akbar, brother” to whoever is leading the sermon,” Mike said.

I was nervous at first but realized in the spirit of Taqwacore I should say, “Fuck it,” and just go. It is all about discovering new manifestations of faith, right? Making Islam your own? And maybe also in the spirit of punk DIY-ness, I shouldn’t stress so much about how I lay my mat to pray. I should say fuck it, lay my mat down in the direction to what I think is best, pray, and inshallah, things will work out in the end.

Up the Taqx and fast well. Ramadan mubarak taqwapunks. Where ever you are.

+++

Tanzila “Taz” Ahmed is an activist and writer living in Los Angeles. She is the Founder of South Asian American Voting Youth (SAAVY), an aspiring novelist and a long-time blogger for the popular South Asian blog Sepia Mutiny.