Junaid Moolla is a handsome young man, so soft spoken one has to lean close to hear what he is saying.
Married with two children, Mr Moolla was an IT professional in Johannesburg, South Africa, before "God showed me the light".
For nearly four years now, he has been studying Islam at the Jamia Ashrafia - one of Pakistan's oldest and most respected religious universities - in Lahore.
"It is a personal thing," he told the BBC News website. "I don't understand why you are interested."
'Source of knowledge'
It is not easy to imagine Mr Moolla as an IT professional working for DataTech - a company once listed on the London Stock Exchange.
He wears a long white robe with his hair neatly tucked away in a white turban. He has a heavy beard but no moustache - the traditional appearance of a devotee.
"I have heard that my grandparents came from India but as far as I am concerned, I am a South African," he says.
Mr Moolla says he went to the Hajj in Mecca in 2000 and decided to give up his career in IT to pursue Islamic studies.
There are many religious institutions - or madrassas - in South Africa managed by people educated in India and Pakistan. "So I decided to come to the source of knowledge," he says.
Mr Moolla says no-one in his family, including his parents, objected to the switch.
The monetary loss in giving up a lucrative job is the least of their concerns.
"They were sad that I was going to be away for four years but that was all."
Mr Moolla intends to rejoin the IT industry on his return to South Africa.
"But I will start working with the community as well when I go back," he says.
"You do not become an aalim (scholar) just by getting a degree," he says.
"You have to apply the knowledge that you acquire and only after the successful application of your knowledge can you be confident of having become a scholar."
'Disappointed' Mr Moolla is part of a group of six foreign students studying at Jamia Ashrafia.
Like his colleagues, he is visibly uncomfortable with the links being drawn by the media between terrorism and religious education.
"You take the example of Microsoft - or for that matter the BBC - which employs thousands of people," he says.
"If one of their employees gets involved in terrorism, can you fairly blame Microsoft or the BBC for it?"
So does he get angry when this connection is made?
"More disappointed than angry," he says, smiling sadly.
A Malaysian student sitting next to him nods in agreement.
Suhaili Bahadzur, from Kuala Lumpur, is enrolled for an eight-year course at the Jamia.
He gave up a career in graphic design to take up Islamic studies and intends to go back and teach.
"What should I get angry about?" he asks ruefully. "What is it that I can do, even if I do get angry?"
Shamsul Haq, from Nepal, agrees.
"I don't even think about these issues," he says. "It is best to stay away from all this debate."
'Impossible task' Asked if he would also train his children in the strict Islamic code that he has chosen for himself, Mr Moolla brings out another example from his personal life to illustrate his disdain and disappointment with the media.
"For as long as they are my responsibility, I will teach them what I think is right. After that, they can decide how they want to live their lives.
"My parents stopped taking decisions for me when I was old enough. Is that too difficult to understand?"
Maulana Akram Kashmiri, the registrar of Jamia Ashrafia, walks up to me soon as the students leave.
"You understand the challenge that you face as a media person?" he asks.
"You have to explain to the rest of the world that it is these people that are typical of those seeking Islamic education.
"Islamic education and institutions have nothing to do with those who go around killing innocent people," he says.
"But mind you, yours is an impossible task. The Jews and the Christians control the media.
"And that is one of our great misfortunes," he says, walking away into the quiet, tree-shaded corridor. "There simply aren't enough people around to present our point of view to the rest of the world."
