Crossposted from Taqx at Sundance. Read the entire adventure of Taz’s personal experience there – for full effect, start at the start.
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 theater.
I sat by myself in the second row in a packed theater. 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.
