For a while, I’d taken the idea of “al-Tashabuh bel Kufar” for granted; something that the good, sweet, pious Muslims should not be doing. “Kokha,” as a traditional Egyptian would simply say.
Well, not until everything that most people did had been branded as “tashabuh” did I start to question the whole concept. This was back in college. But the memory haunts me.
For some people, the line to where a normal, accepted, and a needed conduct of behavior, speech patterns or dress code ends and where “tashabuh” begins is disturbingly blured.
Same as with “Tashabuh bel Regal/Rijal.” But this is a different story.
Revision with a capital R is a word I should write on my forehead as I walk the streets of Cairo, and perhaps the Arab World, in protest.
I end this undeveloped, incomplete note with a loud -almost spooky- laugh that is not unlike that of villians’ in 40’s and 50’s movies – a laugh void of “7ayaa,” just like the infidels’ except that it’s the only laugh that I have, and so I claim it as my own.