Mohammed Siraj Didn’t Just Win Matches—He Fought Stereotypes
Branded a traitor after a misstep, Siraj answered with a five-wicket haul that became more than a sporting milestone — it became a statement of belonging. In a nation where Muslim athletes are still forced to prove their patriotism, Siraj's victory carried the weight of generations. His story is a reminder that excellence is resistance when your identity is under constant scrutiny
Even today, that final scene from Shah Rukh Khan’s film Chak De! India brings tears to my eyes. After returning victorious with the women’s hockey team crowned world champions, when “Kabir Khan” (played by Shah Rukh) returns to his old home with his mother, a teenager is seen wiping off the word “traitor” scrawled on the wall. Once labeled a traitor for losing a match to Pakistan, how many years did it take for that Indian hockey star to earn the right to have that scar scrubbed clean?
Mohammed Siraj, who was branded a ‘traitor’ by the so-called troll army after catching Harry Brook only for the ball to cross the boundary, took five wickets and led India to a historic victory. Has he now managed to wipe off that ‘traitor’ tag? Time alone will answer that. But as an Indian Muslim, I understand exactly why Shimit Amin, the director of Chak De!, included that powerful scene. Why is it that Mohammed Shami, Mohammed Siraj, or even players from the previous generation like Zaheer Khan and Mohammad Kaif must constantly prove their patriotism?
Why do they have to repeatedly declare that wearing the Indian jersey fills them with pride and that they gain honor only by winning for India?
Even after 78 years of independence, Indian Muslims continue to face this crisis — they are still asked to prove their loyalty to the nation. And perhaps Siraj has just done that once more, on English soil.
A Wicket for Every Wound
As Mohammed Siraj dismantled England with five wickets and sealed a six-run victory for India, one had to wonder — which India are we living in?
We live in an India where a propaganda film like The Kerala Story, a movie laced with Islamophobia, receives a National Award. And the award is given by none other than Ashutosh Gowariker, filmmaker of masterpieces like Lagaan and Jodhaa Akbar, and now chairperson of the jury board.
In the same India where The Kerala Story is celebrated, Bengali Muslims are regularly branded “Bangladeshi,” and the Bengali language itself is often dismissed as “a language of Bangladeshis.” The rich legacy of Syed Mujtaba Ali, Syed Mustafa Siraj, and Abul Bashar is thus blatantly denied, with Bengali language and culture painted as foreign.
More Than Just a Cricketer
In such a hostile landscape, when a Muslim like Mohammed Siraj single-handedly destroys England and brings India victory, it holds a different, deeper meaning.
Let’s not forget the humiliation and racism Siraj has endured — the slurs hurled at him while fielding in Australia, the sneers after dismissing Travis Head. The boy who rose from the gullies of Hyderabad, whose father Mohammad Ghaus drove an auto-rickshaw, was likely taught that humiliation must be answered on the field — that’s the only way one can pass the test of being Indian.
Maybe Siraj has passed that test — for now.
But we can’t forget what Mohammed Shami faced when he failed to take wickets against Pakistan. No matter that Prime Minister Narendra Modi embraced him after the World Cup final — Shami had already felt the sting of India’s saffron troll brigade. He, like many others, knows exactly how Hindu-supremacist politics and hyper-nationalist rhetoric see a Muslim player in today’s India.
These accusations of being a “traitor” — do people understand how deeply they wound? It’s like being stripped bare and paraded in Connaught Place or Dharmatala. We, Indian Muslims, understand. And that’s why Siraj’s words, his success, stir us deeply.
Everyone makes mistakes — Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, Christian — all of us. But the festering wounds of Partition and Jinnah’s two-nation theory continue to breed hate. If an Indian Muslim makes a mistake, it becomes a “double mistake.” In our everyday lives, even a minor slip feels like Siraj’s boundary-line mishap.
The Unspoken Burden
This burden of being Muslim has been made heavier by the saffron troll brigade — the same people who won’t even acknowledge Bengali as a language. To them, Syed Mujtaba Ali’s discipleship under Tagore means nothing, Syed Mustafa Siraj’s literary genius rooted in Murshidabad’s soil is irrelevant, and Abul Bashar’s tales of Bengali Muslim life carry no value. They simply refuse to accept us as Indian, as Bengali.
Yet ironically, people like Amit Malviya, in rejecting the entire Bengali identity, may have unintentionally opened new avenues for Hindu-Muslim solidarity. Perhaps if he hadn’t dismissed the Bengali language entirely, we wouldn’t have begun to place both Sunil Gangopadhyay and Syed Mustafa Siraj on the same literary pedestal.
In these turbulent times — with Donald Trump issuing threats and Netanyahu carrying out what can only be described as human sacrifice — Siraj’s success shines bright. It lights a torch of hope in our hearts. It re-ignites our spirits.
And perhaps, from Hyderabad — the same city that gave us Mohammed Azharuddin — or from some other corner of India, a Muslim teenager will now find the courage to dream of cricket. Siraj’s journey will give them that belief, that assurance.
Siraj is not just a name. In today’s India, he is a symbol — of excellence, of Indian identity, and of the power to erase the traitor label repeatedly slapped on us.
