This, that, and all between.
Not that it matters, but…
हम भी वहीँ मौजूद थे, हम से भी सब पूछा कि ये
Exactly 25 years back (Oct 1997) the Queen had visited India and had inaugurated the Queens Gallery at the British Council Delhi. Yours truly was also on the invite list. With some difficulty you can spot me in the smaller picture. Ah! that pearl in her ear.
So long, Queen.
Pictures from the BC newsletter which was also designed by me at Ishtihaar.
There was nothing special about that Sunday, and if I can recall it clearly, nothing special either about the walk through the Sunday Book Bazaar at Daryaganj. A usual lazy Sunday morning, cacophony on crowded streets, the crawling traffic skirting cows and bulls majestically occupying the road and squeezing past the crowd on the narrow footpath. I stopped and checked the new additions with familiar vendors, smiling at strangers, rummaging through stack after stack, putting aside a few titles and then putting them back, bargaining at times and then submitting to the demand, and lastly worrying about the weight I will have to lug to the parking at Delhi Gate. This is one bazaar I am never ready to leave soon despite the tiring walk from the edge of Asaf Ali Road to Jama Masjid and back twice over. Sitting on this pavement I have enjoyed umpteen glasses of extra sweet hot chai served by Rafeeq whose brother Faizan has a motorbike repair shop just short of the bend where Daryaganj foot-over-bridge once used to be.
Wonder if the God listens to its faithful or not, but somewhere I feel it is very unfair on those who fast for an entire month, every single day for the month of Ramzan. But, to us kafirs, this month gives a limitless opportunity to gorge on delicacies from sehri (at dawn) to iftar (at dusk) day after day without having to fast.
With no iftar invitation coming my way this year I called my friend Azhar and decided to enjoy an iftar evening at Delhi’s Jama Masjid. Probably the finest Jama Masjid I have seen. A Jama Masjid literally means, a mosque where Friday prayers are offered. On Azhar’s asking I reached outside Delite theatre at Asaf Ali Road at 5.30pm from where he accompanied me through the busy lanes and bylanes of puraani Delhi. Although the day had been cloudy and sultry, by the time we reached Matia Mahal and crossed Urdu Bazaar there was a gentle breeze flowing above us giving much needed relief. On the crowded streets vehicular smoke and dust ruled, but inside the bazaar smell of kebabs, tikkas, gosht being cooked in deghs and biryani was all encompassing.
For the devouts heading to end their day’s fast after the evening namaaz, the smell of good food is a torturous ordeal. One is hungry & thirsty, counting every minute for that moment when one will be able to fulfil his roza and take a few swigs of sherbat or munch a khajoor (date) – at that time – to pass through a street where every inch of space is decked up with food, food and more food is a torture to the even the strongest of beings. The road to gate number 3 of the Masjid was completely blocked from all sides. It was difficult even to walk and find your way past thousands of people, rickshaws, scooters and cars.
The magnificent Masjid, with its imposing red stone wall ran to my right. It was past 6.15 when we reached that point where there was a long queue at the security check. From outside I could see the last of sun rays shimmering through the southern minaret and lazily resting on the ramparts. Adjusting my bag with one hand and clutching my shoes in the other, I ran past the crowd to land on the crowded square courtyard. Hundreds of families in their colourful attires had taken up each inch of available space. Somehow struggling my way through them I reached the central water pond where too there was a queue of people waiting for their turn to do vaju (ablution).
Once past them I managed to reach the main entry facing Red Fort. Having positioned myself strategically facing the Masjid. I managed to catch the setting sun behind the western minar and the smaller dome on its side. The announcement for iftar (for the rozedars to end the fast) came as a loud bang of a fire cracker after which there was a call by the muezzin. I had found my friends Azhar, his brother and Shoaib comfortably positioned in a corner next to the main prayer area. Food had already laid, there were dates, fruit salad, bananna fritters, pakoras, kebabs sherbat and chilled water.
By the time we finished eating the call to prayers, next namaaz, had already been announced. Wow!!! What a scene it was. As the lights were lit over the largest mosque in the country, Shahjehanabad the city of the Mughals came alive. Thousands of faithful quickly took position in neatly formed rows to offer prayers as the Imam read prayers from the scriptures. It takes all of 20 minutes for the prayers to be over and then it is time to gorge on more food as people scramble their way out of Jama Masjid to hit the colourful bazaars and food streets all around it offering lip-smacking delicacies.
As I came out of the Masjid having thanked my friends and having made peace with the God, I was amazed to see the jam-packed bazaar below the main gate, past the steps where a canal used to run till a few years back. With dozens of people crowding at each shop, it was difficult to negotiate way past the crowd of men women and children busy buying artificial jewellery, clothes, household goods, gifts, sevaiyaan and kebabs. Colourfully decorated streets on all sides of Jama Masjid were lit with strings of tiny LED lights had the spirit of festivity. Shimmering streamers and flags tied from one end of the bustling street to the other were like a low-hanging canopy of stars coupled with paper lanterns, a reminder of the times gone by.
Fasting and feasting, thats what Ramzan is all about to me.
Merri Dilli – from New Delhi to Old Delhi. 21 June 2016, Summer
A clock replaced the good old bell. Effectively, two hands of a clock replaced a tongue or the clapper of the bell. The clock could do by itself all that the bell couldn’t. To begin with the clock couldn’t be heard afar like the bell, so they built a bell inside the clock. The word clock actually comes from the French for Bell.Yes, an alarm was added to the clock which would do exactly what the bell did. The Bell Towers of yore were replaced by Clock Towers with easy availability of large size clocks in the 15th century.
They killed Mahatma Gandhi for they hated him and his idea of equality, brotherhood and diversity. The hate that killed him and hundreds of thousand others won’t stop at the doorstep of the other… one day it will come knocking at your door too. Stop them from destroying the diversity of India. Speak up and stand against the politics of hate. #HatePoliticsNotInMyNameThe graphic is a part of the Poster designed by Rajinder Arora for a play directed by Mk Raina . Background photo ©H.Cartier Bresson/Magnum Photos
Ankahi. Unsaid. 
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