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| Never seen the Taj Mahal like this. Pic Hindustan Times |
Of the first time I am supposed to have heard the azaan, there is no recollection. It was whispered in my ear as a newborn. My memory isn’t that great. The complete azaan is a full-throated call, every syllable enunciated with as much power as preventing an echo from falling off a cliff. You do not need to understand the language, and you must suspend the ‘yours and mine’ to be able to just listen to the sound. Think of it as thunder, of waves lashing, of a cry, of laughter. Of thoughts unspoken.
I know so little about religion that once when I was at the health club while travelling, and I needed to get to one of the machine, a man on his knees was in the way. I went up to the reception and asked, “When will this guy finish his yoga?”
“He is praying, ma’am.”
I had failed to notice the prayer mat or his hands on his ear. When he turned to the left and then the right, I thought it was an asana. Was I entirely wrong? If prayer is meditation, then it does not matter what you call it. I hasten to add that I know what a namaaz is. It was just the thought of seeing someone there, in my space, so to speak, that confused me.
This year during the month of Ramzan, I heard no azaan. It wasn’t something I was aching to hear. Just the thought of having heard it in days past made me wonder – crowded areas, traffic might well have drowned the sounds. Back in the early days, when one of my relatives fasted, along with the azaan call to prayer, I used to rush to look for the light bulb in a building across. It was an indication that it was time to break the fast. I felt no guilt that I had not been on an empty stomach, but did feel elated as I watched those who had stayed hungry bite into a date and eat slowly, waiting for tongues to form liquid to swallow.
Ignorant as I am, nostalgia is my shelter. Each morsel of life I take is celebration, each morsel I have denied or been denied is a lesson about vacuums, emptiness.
Here is a poem by Gulzar that conveys my thoughts:
Sparsh
“Quran haathon mein leke naabeena ek namaazi
laboun pe rakhataa tha
donon aankhon se choomtaa tha
jhukaake peshaani yoon aqeedat se chhoo rahaa tha
jo aayaten padh nahin sakaa
un ke lams mehsoos kar raha ho
main hairaan-hairaan guzar gayaa tha
main hairaan-hairaan thahar gayaa hoon
tumhaare haathon ko choom kar
chhoo ke apni aankhon se aaj main ne
jo aayaten padh nahin sakaa
un ke lams mehsoos kar liye hain”
My rough translation:
Touch
The blind namaazi brushed the Quran with lips
Kissed it with both eyes
Touched his forehead to the ground
With such faith
As though the verses he could not read
He could feel with a mere touch
Confused I left
Confused I pause
By kissing your hands
Touching you with my eyes
The verses I cannot read
I can still feel them
Eid Mubarak…
For those who came in late, for more of my memories More than a moon
