When my first child was born, it was like a heartfelt wish granted. I still remember standing outside the labour room, my heart pounding with anticipation, time taking forever to pass. Finally, when the baby was brought out, I asked with a mixed emotion of hope and nervousness, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Ever since we knew we were expecting, I had been praying for a daughter. In Islam, we are taught to pray for what we desire while being content with whatever Allah grants us. Without any doubt, I would have equally loved my child had it been a boy. But for some reason, my prayers had specifically wished for a girl. So yes, knowing that I had been blessed with a daughter was everything I wished for. And when I held her in my arms, my heart was overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude and joy.

It is natural for people to have personal preferences or inclinations—some wishing for a son, others for a daughter. Such desires, in themselves, do not constitute any harm, so long as we wholeheartedly accept and indiscriminately love whatever is bestowed upon us. What is truly troubling, however, is the perception that the birth of one gender is inherently a cause of lesser joy—or worse still—a reason for despair.

Although I was not unaware of the prevailing cultural preference for boys in some societies, I had never witnessed it first-hand—especially not within my own household or family. Hence, that first experience on the very day of my daughter’s birth came as a shock to me.

As I went to my wife’s house to collect a few things, a neighbour asked if the baby had been born, and whether it was a boy or a girl. With uncontainable joy at my wish having been fulfilled, I said, “It’s a girl”. To my utter surprise, she responded—not by congratulating me, or sharing in my happiness—but by expressing pity. She ‘consoled’ me, saying, “Oh! Don’t worry, don’t be sad”, as if the birth of my daughter was something to be endured rather than celebrated.

I was taken aback. I could not fathom how deeply such a perception could be woven into society. I wondered how she, a woman herself, could think in that way. Although I do not doubt that she would love her own daughters (if she had any) sincerely, the danger lies not in individual feelings; it lies in the cultural belief that interprets the birth of girls as a cause for disappointment.

This also made me reflect on myself. Why, being part of the same society, had I never felt that bias? Was it because of my parents or my family environment? If so, why had they never exhibited such prejudice? That was when I realised there was something beyond personal preference at work—a principle, a guidance, a moral framework—that safeguarded me from being affected by a mindset so widespread in society.

Suddenly, I started to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the influence of one man—not a scholar, not a philosopher—but an illiterate seventh-century desert dweller, whose teachings continue to inspire and shape the lives of billions to this day.