Islam in exam season

On the morning of Eid, a third-year finance student Jopija Srikanthan was getting ready to email her lecturer that she couldn’t attend her exam purely because of her faith.

“Are you going to put an exam on Christmas? Are you? No, no you’re not,”

Srikanthan said.

Eid marks the end of the fasting month of Ramadan, an Islamic celebration across the world. And for Srikanthan, the overshadowing presence of an exam begs the question:  Faith or finals?

Degrees are often someone’s most treasured possession. The greatest educational achievement one can earn and still, students like Srikanthan are now at a crossroad because timetables are simply incompatible with Islamic ceremonies.

Picture by: Vitaly Gariev/ Unsplash

For Srikanthan, the looming company of exams blend into her holy month and as a result misshape her reality, making it hard to cope with balancing religious commitments with academic endeavours.

“I don’t know what it is, but I just don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to waste time. I’m so stressed and I have so much going on that I’m just numb to it now, I just don’t care anymore.”

Statistics from Bookdown show that Srikanthan is not alone, being one of approximately 300,000 Muslim students in the UK.

Lights celebrating the Muslim festival of Ramadan are displayed in the West End of London, UK
Picture by: Neil Hall / Shutterstock

“When it’s Ramadan, it’s a community so you can share your struggles and you can reach out for help if you need it. I’m just not the type of person to reach out for help, I like to do it on my own. All I can do is keep on praying.”

Srikanthan leaves our interview to break her fast whilst mentally preparing herself for a late revision session. She shuts down and twitches when overwhelmed, something she looked at as nothing other than a normal occurrence.

“One of my assignments was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my entire life. I am so stressed. If I’m trying to do something and a lot is going on I just can’t focus.”

Srikanthan feels a need to lock herself in her room to avoid seeing the people closest to her, relying on her education to bring her happiness and hopes that are hanging by a thread.

“Who’s going to stay with me longer – my education, or you?” she asks the empty room. The silence lingers only a moment before she answers it herself: “My education. This is what my family sacrificed so much for.”

This is university, a choice that she made for herself that’s turning on her. Instead of threat, she looks at the bigger picture: “Whatever happens, happens to us for a reason. I have to revise, do my best and talk to Allah when I need to.”

“He’ll guide me with anything I need,”

she ended with absolute certainty.

As told to Josh Scampton

Josh Scampton

Born in Guildford, made in the mean streets of Tiverton, Devon,