Diversity in a surau

AUG 25 — The women’s surau in our office building is tucked away in a carpark and near the management office. It’s small and clean, and functions well as a place for prayers.  Sometimes it is the simple things that count. Ornate places of worships which are empty and devoid of soul somehow remind me of mausoleums. And office suraus, well, they brim with life.

There was that one time I entered the surau thinking how lucky I was to have it all to myself when there, lo and behold, was the building cleaner. I assumed she was one because she wore a uniform.

She must have been so, so tired, that she lied on her back, like a beached whale, on the tiled floor and sejadahs, hands and legs splayed out.

Since there were just the two of us, I had a lot of space to pray. After prayers, me being me, I had to sit and observe her. I was quite tempted to sprinkle salt into her wide open mouth — which my cousins and I used to do when we were very, very young, on our unsuspecting uncles and aunts — but as an adult, you don’t walk around with bags of salt, do you?

She coughed and snored again. I thought to myself, if this was how she slept at home, laki mesti tembor lari cari bini lain.

On the  first day of Ramadan, the surau was packed. Now the surau, I noticed, has two peak hours. The moment Zuhur starts, there will be a mad rush for prayers. The other peak hour will be almost right before Zuhur ends and Asar begins, so Muslim men and women can perform both prayers. Kiranya multi-tasking lah.

Because I had an appointment at three that day, I decided to brave the crowd and head for prayers. Now usually the rush hour crowd is a motley crew of professionals working in the building, students, hijabbed, unhijabbed, kopiah-ed and unkopiah-ed. Still, entering the surau today had the Terengganu makcik in me almost keel over in shock.

There was a young woman wearing a white tank-top, and a very short skirt, performing her ablutions at the wuduk area.

Aiyo, I thought I had put on my glasses backwards, you don’t see skimpily-clad women in suraus and mosques in Malaysia! I may be this “modern” Terengganu makcik, but I tell you, I won’t go near a surau or mosque wearing a skirt and a tank top! If Allah doesn’t strike me down, my mother, the patron saint of strange alternative remedies and let’s-get-rich-ideas, would mow me down with her car.

Now there’s a small surau-cum-school near where I live. When I go for my runs, wearing my tee-shirt and leggings, I either give it a wide berth because I don’t want to shock the ustaz there, or I pray that they think I’m some crazy Ah Lian running up and down the hill. Whatever works.

While the young girl in the mini skirt did raise some eyebrows among the older women who had come to pray, it certainly wasn’t an issue. We were there to pray, not judge, and we had to rush back to our respective offices.

It is this diversity of Muslims which create the beauty and paradox in Islam.  In our pursuit to be seen as One Ummah, heard as One Voice, we have forgotten that we Muslims are not perfect. We’re like everyone else, trying to make sense of our lives, juggling bills. The street kids my friends and I befriended may come from the roughest ends of Kuala Lumpur, but they’re fasting.  Some may sell their bodies just for clothes and some food, but when offered food, they ask if it’s halal. Believe me, I’ve met all kinds. And I’ve always said, I’d rather deal with a believing sex worker than one of those Holier Than Thou types who feed off charity meant for orphans.

Sometimes when I read op-ed pieces by Malaysian Muslim columnists and representatives of faith-based organisations, I wonder if they realise how and what real Muslims/Malaysians are. They seem to be preaching from a pulpit on another planet. Then again, what would I know? I’m not a religious scholar kan?

After prayers I hung about the LRT station and watched people getting on and off buses. Malaysians rushing here, there. Young kids in school uniforms giggling. An old man dragging a bag packed to the brim. A posh-looking executive talking on her mobile phone.

Politicians often demand for equality for all races in Malaysia. I feel that their fire and brimstone speeches sometimes divide us even more. We should celebrate our differences and be united in our desire to be Malaysians, just like in our surau where an eclectic bunch of Muslim women pray to God.

* The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the columnist.