COMMENT | When my children were much younger, I decided to send them for religious studies at a mosque next to our apartment. My intentions were clear, apart from learning Quran, I wanted them to mingle with the neighbourhood Muslim children, under the care of a religious teacher stationed at the mosque, better known as ‘Ustaz’.

Both my children are of Indian blood. At home, we spoke more English than Malay and watched more Tamil shows than any other TV programmes. And at school, my children’s social circle, though diversified, were mostly non-Muslims.

As such, I hoped their enrolment into the religious class would be a learning curve on its own, where they would be able to interact with other Muslim children of the same age group.

On the first day of their class, I requested permission from the Ustaz to join in. I sat a couple of meters away inside the mosque, observing other children sitting in groups while my two sat together, looking lost.

After a while, my eldest made her way to join another group while her brother, my youngest, followed her.

Instantly, I heard one of the children say, “Apa budak Hindu ni buat kat sini?” (What is this Hindu kid doing here?).

As other children began to participate in the little group discussion, I turned to the Ustaz, concerned. I was very sure he heard the children’s comments as he was seated closer to them compared to me.

However, he decided to ignore it. After shushing the children, the Ustaz continued...