After all our discussions about hijab, its necessity, whether it makes one modest/ immodest, I happened upon this interesting and very controversial post which seems to have been making its way round the blogsphere.
So I guess my conclusion is that one can try their best to be modest and interpret Islam's decrees as they will but if the person next to you is determined to adopt this kind of mind frame then there is little that can be done. At least we are only accountable for ourselves, huh!The writer does bring out a very interesting point that I had discussed with my mother and step-mother a while back and that is that without being committed to an idea then anything can be made to be alluring and sexual. Even a niqabi can use her eyes or feet to seduce- as hilarious as that may sound. As you said olching maybe modesty really does accentuate sexuality...who knows!Having said that, dear hijabi sisters, I would like to impinge upon your famed defense against a non-mahram’s entreaties and say to you that I find you beautiful. I think you beautiful when you tuck the hijab behind your ears and show off your mother’s Indian earrings. I love the way you wear your hijab in the “j-lo” style and your necks look so langorous. I love the way in which you pin your hijab with diamond clasps or tiny pink butterfly clips because it evokes so much grace and feminine innocence. I love the way in which you hastily wrap your scarfs when I intrude upon your parties: it makes me feel like a conqueror before whom the subjects must take evasive maneuvers. I love the way your hijab matches your eyes, or your purse, or when its just white like purity, or when you get together with your friends at a protest and put on the black hijab of fashionable militancy and lipstick jihadism — those black hijabs evoke an aura of tribalism and severity that slaps away all the vestiges of metrosexuality in me. I love how when you turn shy you chew a corner of your hijab and when you let the corner fall, it is stained by the sweet secretions of your mouth. Or how when you are upset you twist it around your finger or re-wrap it tightly even as you turn away. I love the feeling of when you let me take it off; but I love it more when you do that yourself. I love the assorted outfits that go with your chosen Chanel scarf, the Dior heels whose straps match the secondary color of your hijab, the supple silk monochromatic skirt that contrasts with your hijab (all the while falling on your soft thighs, the seductive silhouette of which I so dastardly observe from the corner of my sinful eyes even in the company of a Shaykh).
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