–While on this busy tube, I thought… if in Islam you are not supposed to shake hands with an unrelated man, how must a Muslim woman feel when crammed up against total strangers?–
The red pole is hot under many salty palms. I can only see some triangles or slithers of light between arms and hands and bowed heads. Thumbs jump about over mobile phones. This is the only real movement except the occasional stamping of feet as the carriage sways from side to side. I am caught in the sweaty clutches of the Central Line rush hour.
My mother and sister don’t get on the tube at rush hour. I would avoid it if I could, but today I have to work because other employees are on strike. More trouble because of the Night Tube. There’s an odd satisfaction to wearing an Underground jacket with a hijab. Proves a point. Continue reading “Underground Compatible”