Of course everyone is talking about Malaysia's recent fame as the country that bred a wanted terrorist. Forget the Twin Towers and our sunny beaches, we're crawling with fanatics.

Everyone wants to know how a jovial man like Dr. Azahari Husin became a killer. From accounts by former students and friends, he was a brilliant academic. A great husband and father. A good son. How could such a seemingly sensible man become a terrorist?

I don't know why but when all this exploded yes, pun was intended I suddenly remembered my days in Lancaster as a graduate student in 1998, and how one day, I found myself on the bus surrounded by Malay undergraduates all wearing the kopiah thosay . It was a surreal sight that winter morning.

Shopping for groceries

There was only one seat left, and it was next to one of the boys. Funnily enough, the young boy smiled and patted the seat next to him. Guess I was kosher.

" Kakak nak pergi mana ?" (Where are you going, big sister?)

"Supermarket. Groceries. Tonight I have a pot luck dinner party. Where are you off to?"

"Manchester. We're attending an usrah ."

"In Manchester?"

"There's a tarikat there," he explained.

"Oh. Ok. Take care of yourself then," I said. My stop arrived and I left, thinking of more worldly things like crisps and food for the night.

All of us have stories or heard about people that had a 'little spiritual' adventure when they went to school. Of strange cults, and marriages to Middle Eastern men that looked more deranged than religious. Yet most of them came back, laughed off or talked little about their experiences. But there's always one or two that stay strayed. Or so we think.

While the boys did their thing, we girls had our own club. On Sundays we met for Arabic classes, which was led by a revert and older students. God, for the life of me I can't remember the revert's name now, but one day she asked me why I never attended the usrah led by younger Malay female students.

I told her I didn't attend because no one told me. However the fact that it was led by students my youngest sister's age disturbed me.

Oh age shouldn't be a factor, for maturity and knowledge are bestowed on those God wills, the woman claimed.

True. I've learned a lot from my former IIUM students when I taught them three years ago. (If you find English Literature students from IIUM that are warped, they're my kids. I've thoroughly destroyed them. Don't even ask about the two times I succeeded in making a student faint in a lecture and when I, er, accidentally flashed a whole class. I didn't think jubahs needed petticoats. I could only thank that this happened in Malaysia. If this happened in Saudi or Iraq, I'd be a kebab by now).

Unless the kid was an Islamic scholar-wunderkind, and has reams of degrees and experiences to benefit the ummah , those usrahs were pretty suspect.

If we adults ask among ourselves whether an ustaz or visiting Islamic scholar and his teachings are bona fide, what more the young?

Let me admit this to you: I write to understand; and I write this column to comprehend the goings-on in the world so that I have some semblance of sanity and logic, and as a seeker, I value age, for with it comes wisdom.

So you can imagine what a young mind might come back with, if he or she is left in the wrong hands.

At home

Yes I worry about being bombed and killed before I live a full life. Just like you too, I have dreams. Yet I am more concerned with what is happening here. What I observe may have no relations to terrorism at all, but the bigotry that I see frightens me. If I ever have children, will they have my childhood?

I email and receive emails from friends. And sometimes I see a sliver of intolerance, threads of hatred towards the Unbelievers. The Unbelievers are not only non-Muslims, but imperfect Muslims. It scares me because they too have the same education as I, and some are in high positions; places I'll never be, and yet the sentiments expressed are frightening:

Bloody ________. If they can't take the heat, get out of Malaysia.

If you're a Muslim, you're either a good one or an infidel. Either you follow the Pillars of Faith and Islam or you don't.

(This came from a very married someone that had a romantic indiscretion. Hey, women can be naughty too).

There were even threads about violating women that transgressed from the path.

Go to the many newsgroups and blogs and read. There seems to be rabid intolerance towards The Others. If Malaysia was made of entirely one race, one culture, then I suppose this would be considered fine. But we're not. And we cannot see ourselves as an 'island' for the world now is literally at our fingertips. The Internet melds worlds. Thoughts. Opinions.

You're probably familiar with the occasional essays by Anonymous, Memoirs of a Militant Schoolboy , that appeared in this column before. Yes, he does exist, but he has stopped writing because writing his memoirs reminds him too much of a bitter past. He wants to forget, but he can't. As far as he is concerned, he appears to be a typical Malaysian to the public. An excerpt from the third part of his essay:

We were young blood, who were willing to carry the flag of our belief system when there were so many others who were either simply afraid, incapable or just corrupted (by western values). We equated ourselves to others who had gone through a similar rough ride, the Ikhwan-ul Muslimin, the al-Gama'a al-Islamiyah, and others.

Glorified stories from Mujahideen in Afghanistan were often told by the holy brothers. Tale of mujahid who brought down Russian helicopters by only throwing stones amplified the importance of being pure and having set our intentions right. Tales of Russian soldiers surrendering to a few unarmed holy warriors upon seeing the entire valley filled with opponents dressed in immaculate white robes, riding on brave stallions were repeatedly illustrated during many usrah and tazkirah.

We have to return to the true path, we were reminded often. The true path is always full of tests, obstacle and tribulations. And only those who walked it would be tested, as some sort of purification and testimonial.

Charity, tolerance and moderation begin at home. No?

Malaysia Muhibbah

Over Raya, my close friends and I thought of a former classmate who's now based in New Zealand. I went to Convent Bukit Nanas for a while, and that had to be some of the best years in school I've ever had. I don't remember any of us splintering off into groups made up of race. The cliques were based on popularity, wealth and types. There was this one time when this classmate, Cynthia C gave us a book on How to Date The Christian Way . We couldn't even get the St. John boys to look at us, what more date us.

Oi bodoh, what beladi book is this la wei.

Shadap you read it then you understand la.

Eh I Malay lah. Where can read such book meh.

All the more you should read it. Bodoh.

You bodoh.

Oi you two, quiet la. I tell Mrs Yeoh, serves you right.

Guess who got knocked up right after Form 6?

That was in the late 80s. Imagine the same scenario happening in our schools now. It's fine for the kids to smoke, threaten teachers, get their rich parents to sue the school but if you have a that scenario now, I don't think it's going to be thought of as funny.

Our poor politicians, Muslim leaders and scholars and normal Muslims like us, we tell everyone that Islam is against violence. This is not jihad. We are on a huge p.r marathon, to tell everyone that our religion does not preach violence.

And everyone that we meet smiles, nods and cocks an eyebrow to say yes, we believe you.

Of all the things to be famous for

I have a friend that went to Kolej Islam Klang. He's doing fine. He has a lovely family and a great job. None of his friends are would be terrorists.

I have male friends that attended all-boys residential schools and they're doing all right too. One or two have been subjected to some rough-housing, but they figured, hey, it's part and parcel of life. Toughens you up. We're men.

At the end of the day, is there a face to terrorism? Is there a definite profile?

Articles in the National Review , The Observer and the Christian Science Monitor , to name a few (publications) show that there really is no definite prototype of a terrorist. Some are like Osama Ben Laden rich and disillusioned by how Islam is practised in the world. Some are poor and want to defend their homes and cultures. Certainly Dr. Azahari didn't look or behave like one.

People want to know how hate can consume even the most mild-mannered person. Hate can change a person. Hate kills.

I don't know who the good doctor is, but after reading the papers, in my mind, I see Azhari laughing. Enjoying the company of his students. Being with his family. It is difficult to reconcile this image with the other Azhari. The terrorist.

Nothing's conclusive yet. The media blows things out of proportion. You have no right to judge him. Maybe Azahari did not hate , my friend said.

Maybe his heart was full of love, which was why he did what he did.

If that was love, can you imagine anger and hate?

Glossary

Usrah - religious classes

Tarikat - religious group

Ummah - Muslim community

Kopiah thosay - cone-like hats

DINA ZAMAN lives in Kuala Lumpur with her family, She is single and still accepts duit raya.