When Character Speaks Louder Than Faith

By Syed Majid

In a world often divided by faith, politics, and suspicion, the simplest acts of responsibility can carry the most profound moral weight. Sometimes, these moments appear without warning—in an ordinary office, on an otherwise unremarkable day—yet leave behind lessons far more enduring than speeches or sermons.

Yesterday in Srinagar, I found myself a witness to one such moment. The encounter was brief, almost mundane on the surface, but its quiet dignity has refused to leave my thoughts.

An Ordinary Day, an Unforgettable Exchange

I had gone to meet a young businessman at one of the city’s largest trading firms. His family, non-Kashmiri speaking and from a faith different from the Valley’s majority, had been running this enterprise for generations. His office—spacious, bright, lined with neat furniture—reflected both success and discipline.

We sat down over coffee, discussing business. On one wall, a large LCD displayed live security feeds from his other offices scattered across Srinagar. His schedule was packed, but he made time to talk, the kind of courtesy that still means something in this age of hurried interactions.

Midway through our conversation, the door opened quietly. A young woman, modestly dressed in an abaya, stepped in. With her eyes lowered and voice soft, she asked permission to leave work early for a personal matter.

What happened next was not what I expected from a busy entrepreneur managing multiple offices.

Not Just Permission—Protection

Without missing a beat, he turned to her with fatherly warmth.
“No problem, beta,” he said, “but first, call your parents. I need to speak to them.”

The girl stepped out, made a call, and returned moments later. “Sir, please speak to my mother,” she said softly, handing over the phone.

He addressed the woman on the line with respect, calling her “Aunty ji” as he asked if it was alright for her daughter to leave early. The mother readily agreed.

But the businessman wasn’t done.
“Beta,” he told the young employee gently, “your mother’s permission alone isn’t enough. Please call your father too. I need to hear his consent as well.”

She obeyed without protest. Soon, the father was on the line. The businessman spoke to him with the same courtesy, addressing him as “Uncle ji,” explaining the situation, and securing his approval.

Even then, there was one last step.
“Uncle ji,” he requested, “please call me in 15 minutes. By then, your daughter should have reached home. If she hasn’t, let me know immediately.”

It was more than procedural caution—it was a declaration of responsibility.

Guardianship Without Boundaries

When the call ended, I could not contain my curiosity.
“Sir,” I asked, “you could have simply let her go after her mother’s approval. Why take these extra steps?”

He smiled, lifted the remote, and pointed to the LCD screen. On it, scenes from his other offices appeared—dozens of young women working diligently at their desks.

“Look,” he said. “Across my offices, I have around 50 to 60 girls working for me. They’re educated, hardworking, and many support their families. In today’s world, anything can happen. I feel it is my duty to take every possible step to protect their safety and honour.”

He went on to explain a personal policy.
“No outsider is allowed to meet them directly. The moment they enter my office, they are under my protection. Until they return home, I consider myself answerable to God for their dignity and security.”

His words carried no grandstanding, no hint of self-praise—only the conviction of someone who believes responsibility is not an optional extra but a moral obligation.

Why Fathers Matter

I asked one final question: “You have managers and male staff. Why do you take this responsibility yourself?”

“When someone truly wants to protect women’s dignity,” he replied, “they don’t delegate it. They take the responsibility themselves. Mothers, out of love, can sometimes make emotional decisions. Fathers think more cautiously about their daughters’ safety, especially when they leave work early. That’s why I always confirm with the father too.”

It was a small window into a worldview where discipline is inseparable from care, and authority is tempered by respect.

A Quiet Counter-Narrative

The Valley is no stranger to headlines about mistrust between communities, stories of division amplified until they drown out the quieter truths. Yet here was a young man from a minority faith, running a successful business in the heart of Srinagar, showing through action—not words—that humanity is not bound by religion.

There were no cameras, no audience. His actions were not part of a corporate policy statement or a publicity drive. They were simply an extension of his belief that employees—especially young women—should be treated with the same caution and respect as one would offer a daughter or sister.

It struck me that his approach wasn’t about chivalry in the outdated sense, but about accountability in the truest sense. He had built not just a workplace, but a zone of safety in a society that often fails to provide it.

Lessons for a Distracted Society

We live in times where speeches about women’s empowerment are endless, yet practical safeguards are often neglected. Employers may talk about being “like family” to their staff, but few accept personal responsibility for their wellbeing beyond office hours.

What I saw yesterday was not complicated. It didn’t require resources beyond a phone call, nor did it demand special training. What it did require—what is increasingly rare—was the willingness to slow down, pay attention, and act with conscience.

As I left his office, I realised that I had walked into a meeting expecting a discussion about trade, but walked out having witnessed a model of guardianship that transcended cultural and religious lines.

This was a reminder that while laws and policies are important, they cannot replace the quiet integrity of individuals who see themselves as accountable—not just to society, but to something higher.

Where Faith Meets Character

In the end, it didn’t matter what religion the businessman followed or what language he spoke at home. What mattered was the culture of responsibility he embodied—a culture that begins with small acts and ripples outward.

As I replayed the scene in my mind, I realised that the most moving part was not his insistence on calling both parents, but the tone in which he spoke—warm, respectful, free of condescension. It was a tone that conveyed not just authority, but genuine care.

Yesterday reminded me that in our distracted, sometimes careless world, there are still those who believe that looking out for one another is not just good manners—it’s a duty. And that duty, when carried out with sincerity, can bridge the widest divides.

The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of this newspaper