And So It Ends

It was my last day at Sundance, and the last screening of The Taqwacores. The bands had all left, most of cast had left, the punk rock house was clean again, and really just a condo again. I wore my bootleg praying man shirt, and walked with Dominic Rains, who wore his Jehangir green laced boots, and Bobby Naderi to the theatre.

I sat by myself in the second row in a packed theatre. Unlike the premier, I wasn’t surrounded by friends or the taqwacore family. It was just me, up close and personal with the big screen.

I didn’t think I’d get emotional, but I did. I choked up four times in the movie, tears constantly brimming my eyes. Unlike the first time that I watched the movie, this time I was actually watching invested in the storyline of the movie. The first time I watched the movie I was trying to see if my favorite lines, or scenes from the book had made the cut; I was trying to catch inside jokes and overwhelmed by all the real life references to the real life bands. At the premiere I was surrounded by the laughter and comfort of friends. This time I watched it, I watched it for simply what it was, the story of Muslim punk kids struggling to find their place.

The movie opened with Basim’s voice singing Shahria Law in the opening credit, and took us into a journey of life as a Taqwacore. When Jehangir recited the shahadah on the rooftop of the punk house in response to Umar’s challenge, it brought tears to my eyes, reminding me of how as a Muslim, I too have had my faith questioned by other Muslims. When Fasiq was on the rooftop talking about how the bands had called from a gas station and were on their way to the punk house, I too was reminded of that giddy anticipation feeling whenever a taqwacore band was near. When Jehangir gave his khuthbah at jummah prayer at the punk house with that gonzo kind of fear and love, I felt it, cuz at some point in my life, I had felt it too. When Rabeya took her stand at the end of the movie, I clapped because it was metaphorically a stand that as women we were constantly struggling to be heard on. The movie was gritty, punk and raw and full of energy mixed with somber complexity. It felt like what I had pictured in my head. It felt like what I feel as a Taqwacore in real life.

This time I watched it, I appreciated it for what it was – the complex story of what it meant to be an American Muslim in a fantastical tale that had somehow become wrapped up in reality.

It had been an emotional week for me and I had barely begun to process the taqwacore at Sundance experience. I find it harder and harder to explain to people what it means to be taqwacore the deeper I get in the scene and the more complex the created culture gets.

Watching the movie again reminded me of the guy that had the questions at the premeire screening. He said, The Taqwacores is a piece of art, and what kind of message are we putting out there to non-Muslims through this art?

It irritated me to no end because to me, this isn’t about art. This is a created community, a peoples with a common culture. And this isn’t a piece of propaganda to distribute to non-Muslims so they know what it feels like to be us. This is for the kids like us, the one that stumbles across the film or the book, and finally feels like they belong. This is a piece of comfort for all the misfit lost Taqwacore kids.

And maybe that’s why I was emotional. It was the end of Taqwacore at Sundance, and I was getting in a car the next day for the long drive back to reality. The comfort and solace I felt in my taqwacore peers was fading fast, all of us spread back thin across the country. Our time together is always fleeting.

Till the next chapter. We’ll see what The Taqwacores will bring.

Mashallah to the movie. Inshallah to the scene.