The Taj Mahal's People

Politicians have always hankered after the Taj Mahal, and so it was not surprising that the man known more for his hate speeches than his politics now wants the Taj property to be handed over to the Waqf Board. Nobody will take this seriously, but the responses to Urban Development and Minority Affairs Minister of Uttar Pradesh Azam Khan reveal the desperate need for others to claim it too. It used to be a temple, they say. But, unlike the Babri Masjid, nobody will demolish it because it is a cash cow and the most recognisable monument of India and among those of the world.

The Imam of the Lucknow Eidgah said, “We should be allowed to offer prayers at the Taj Mahal five times a day. We have handed over a memorandum to the chief minister and he has taken it positively.”

Absolutely not. The Taj or any heritage sites suffer the worst due to human intervention. Also, there will be huge logistic and security problems. The one-off music festivals are a bad idea too, but at least they don’t happen everyday. (Here is an old piece on the auctioning of the Taj and other political ideas.)

I am not terribly enamoured of the Taj, but I do believe it makes for some great pictures (as well as some awful ones). The ones that use people are no less than a prayer:

We have all come across such moments and it would fall into the category of stereotype except that photographer Steve McCurry has saved it (obviously so designed) with cropping. The effect is amazing. Just the reflection and perspective can be upside-down, much as how the subject would view it. Meeting of man and monument.  

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The next three photographs are all by Raghu Rai, who creates interesting images. He also stages them. 

Above is an extension of the urban folklore – an everyday scene in the forefront instead of the tourist brochure. What’s particularly noteworthy is that the Taj does not stand out in brilliance against the seemingly ordinary but appears to become part of the tale.

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This one looks old Hindi cinema, probably of the 50’s and 60’s. It is obviously staged. I might even call it exploitative, and not for its physicality. The woman’s expression does not belie any torment or ecstasy. She is as stoic as the monument. The pot she carries has no meaning except cosmetic. It is a striking picture because it conveys the human as stone. (She could be a replication of a statue.)

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Superb. There are two ways to read this. Viewed from the crowded cityscape perspective, the Taj is not all that big…it appears here as though an army of protestors is marching towards the palace. Or it could be seen as the shining white light in the area of darkness, the diva sometimes, and the knight sometimes. Finally, it is the reality of the poet... 

“taj ik zinda tasavvur hai kisi shaayar ka

iska afsana haqeeqat ke siva kuchh bhi nahi

iske aaghosh mein aakar ye gumaan hota hai

zindagi jaise muhabbat ke siva kuchh bhi nahi”

Sajda and the Sadhu

How sorry are the attempts at communal harmony. This picture is an example. The Times of India used this caption:

"A sadhu prays while a group of Muslims perform namaz in Jodhpur on Eid"

Was the sadhu invited? Is he leading the prayer? He is a distance away, so where is the harmony here? Look at the expression of those praying. Their attention is diverted to this spectacle. Besides, I wonder how the devotees would be bowing before their footwear. Sajda to their chappals?

It's better not to project such images. Really. We can all live without variety.

Just a touch of faith...

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

Like a prayer...

With cucumber pads on my eyes, my head uncovered, nothing to indicate that I was doing ibaadat, I lay down to pray. I do not know many prayers. I depend on memory.

Yesterday was the 27th roza. Except for recollection of days when food was sent to the poor who observe the Ramzan fast, I have nothing to fall back on. It is also a practice to complete the reading of the Quran. For many years someone would read it and the finale would be the last few verses, followed by a fateha. Most of those who read were not supposed to demand money; they got it anyway. One day, I discussed about the purpose it served. The person would be reading by rote, trying to meet a deadline. Even as symbolism this seemed superficial.

It is believed that prayers offered on this day have the efficacy of a thousand prayers. I respect the sentiments of those who believe it because I believe in dreams and illusions.

So when I lay down, I knew it was the right time. Maghrib is special. Dusk comes everyday, but when dusk has a purpose the sun does not just disappear. It leaves a glow.

I had spoken earlier in the day with a friend. She is fasting. She is not religious. As conversation went on, she said, "You know, after a few days of roza you reach a dream-like state, something like sex."

What did I discover?

Cucumber pads on the eyes are soothing.

Lying down and just uttering certain words can produce a sense of numbness – some call it calm.

I smiled when I thought about the conversation with my friend. Did it interrupt the prayer or add to it? Isn’t smiling good?

Hundred was the number I set for myself. I am bad at math.

After completing it, I decided to become corrupt and bribe god. I started in English and then it just sounded better in Urdu/Hindi. I could not decide, so I stuck to the Bollywood ‘Jab We Met’ filmi style. And thought about Kareena Kapoor’s character, who says when you really, actually want something, then you get it.

There are some things I have that I never wanted. Since they had appeared, I tried to make the best of it and gave whatever I could to them. Holding back nothing – not my anger, not my affection, not my cyncism, not my idealism, not myself. After a while, these fossilised and ‘became’ mine. Some people call extra baggage a bonus.

There was a time when I would say to nothing in particular, “May everyone’s wishes come true.” This is stupid. One person’s wish may be to cut the thread and the other may want to sew something. Each removed from the other. So, should we wish for islands?

I don’t know. If there is the sea and a few trees, I suppose this is good enough. I shall write on sand and know that it is not meant to hold my words whether or not the waters lash against it and wash them away.

The clouds write out new scriptures in the skies everyday and every breath exhaled is a prayer…

A shrewd Ramzan welcome

From today, the 2011 Christian Prayer event is being organised. What is so significant about it?

Coinciding with Ramadan (1 - 30 August 2011) Christians from around the world will be praying in unity for the Muslim world.

Obviously, it is not about the ones praying, but those who need these prayers. Such poppycock. And they are using this month to tom=tom that “Muslims are our neighbours”. So? Do they pray for their immediate meigbours? The hoboes? The unemployed? The drug addicts? The rapists? The victims?

Not only is this typical, it is also a marketing tool. You can order DVDs and books and they have “prayer articles for all the major Mulsim countries and many unreached Muslim people groups”.

The Muslims, at least those who follow certain tenets, will be praying and have been praying. This is just studied kindness. Well, go ahead. And while you are at it, just drop a line or two to god about the weeds in your garden.