Maula mere, maula mere...

Sunday, the 19th July 09, 4 00 pm

It was 5 30am this Sunday and we wanted to be in Haji Ali at the break of dawn.
We parked ourselves in the car, FM playing the remix of certain soothing numbers..
Outside it was still dark, when we took to the Bandra Worli Sea link..
We hit Haji Ali just a little after break of dawn..
Often times while passing Tardeo, I had seen that distant Dargah situated in the sea. The beautiful white marble building shimmering under the sunlight with
many hundreds of people in the silhouette streaming into it.
I don’t know why it’s so famous. I don’t even know what specifically is its religious significance. Does the strategic location make it that way? Or it is something else? The legend has it that it was built on the islet where the coffin of a famous peer Haji Ali Bukhari finally rested.
Whatever it was, here we were at Haji Ali, just as the sun was coming up.
We waded through the narrow gullies towards the bridge, the aroma of mutton curry wafting strongly in the air.
From closer quarters, Haji Ali looked like any other Dargah that I had seen. A white building, not so well maintained , one could have missed it for an ordinary mosque ,had it not been for its location in the middle of the sea . However, the coloured pieces of clothes hanging from the dome, with Urdu inscriptions on it, lent it the sacred feel.
I was just a little discomforted to see the ‘women only section’ as I am not a strong advocate of any kind of discrimination or isolation and I told them I will be out in exactly five minutes and that they meet me outside.

I went in to see the Dargah. The priest standing along side, who would touch the offerings and flowers to the sacred bed and give it to the worshippers. It was quiet and relatively less crowded and I did not miss the opportunity to observe the followers. The man wearing the kufie (religious cap), who raised his arms in prayer and touched the bed with a practiced ease like I know how to automatically join my hands when I see a temple. The lady who had her hands open and raised towards the sky, mumbling to herself ‘pareshaani door kardo’, largely oblivious to the fact that anyone else could overhear of her troubles as well. Looking at her I could not help but think that faith, above question, doubt and cynicism is the only common element across religions, which makes any of the sacred places what they are.
I most automatically clasped my hands to pay my respects to that power above us.
Lo! Why would I do that?! I opened my hands slowly and raised them pointing upwards like I had seen the lady do. Isn’t that the best way to pray? With your arms open, in respect to and in connection with, that all encompassing power up there. Why should I close my self to his/ her glory. I smiled softly to myself, received the blessings from the priest and retreated.
For whatever religion and faith does to others, I distinctly know what it does to me. I smile more and my heart feels more at rest and this happens each time I visit any religious place. The last I remembered was the Dukh Nivaran Guru Dwara at Chandigarh. You cannot miss the unquestioning faith of people reverberate through every nook.
As ever, I was happy and chirpy on the way back, taking pictures of people and the sea, as the waves lashed at us and drenched us completely and our lips tasted salty.

An early morning sumptuous breakfast of bread, eggs, sausages and a piping hot cup of coffee at my favorite joint Café Mondegar followed by a walk to the Gateway of India in wet clothes, made the Sunday special for me. I slept cosily in the back seat of the car entirely through the way back. It was 9 am then. I knew that even if the rest of the day goes haywire, my Sunday was made!
Or, may be, I just wouldn’t bother planning for the rest!:)

On a rushed saturday..

- 11th July , 9 30 am.
I want to catch the sun come up..
I want to be able to know there is nothing to do that I don’t want to…
I want to be able to make my early morning cuppa at my pace…
And I want to sit out there in my small balcony, looking out, into no where,
my spell, broken, only by the chirp of that little bird on the tree
or by the whistle of the pressure cooker making breakfast next door…

Scars

10th July '09, 7 32 PM

I see those scars on some houses in Mumbai.. the marked, random, erratic streaks of lines across the dimensions of the apartments..
They are all new houses… Someone has designed it like that..
I wonder if the apartments have been scarred forever so that no one ever looks fondly at them.. no one ever casts an evil eye?

Let me be..

I have been craving for some time alone, all to myself.

The more I want it, the more it evades me.

This has also led me to think how alien the concept of snapping out is to most of us.

Why is it such an ill understood concept? Most people do not understand that just because you want to spend time with yourself doesn’t mean you want to cut away from them or that you do not like their company. Unfortunately, there is some sense of insecurity or a feeling of rejection associated with those who you want to get away from.

What needs to be understood better is the desire to be alone and spend time all by oneself has less to do with getting away from your close ones and more to do with going towards yourself.

When the days and weeks have been rushed and the personal and professional demands start taking a toll, it’s as if you are divided into a hundred thousand shreds scattered in all directions. Each shred having a life, an emotion, a context of its own.

That’s the time when one needs to snap out, look in and sit still. And all those hundred thousand shreds of you travel back slowly and stick to your core. It’s like rewinding the scene of an underwater explosion.

Let me be.

Perfectionism sucks!

It’s a pity! Think I have become a stickler for cleanliness or something. To my sheer disbelief, found myself cleaning up the mess that my little sister had created at 1 30 am at night on my birth day!

I cannot help but feel bad for perfectionists. Imagine the kind of stress it causes you when you see a pencil that’s fallen out of the stand or that crease that you spot on the bed sheet when it’s not supposed to be there…

Freak! There was a time, not very long time back, when I would take pride in sleeping amidst a mound of clothes. The ideal single’s life. Alone, independent, dirty house that I would clean once in two weeks, clothes that could remain unwashed till I exhausted all of them once and there was nothing fresh left to wear and utensils that remained in the sink at the mercy of my mood to wash them.

Yuck?! I know. But the objective to tell all this is not to highlight how disgustingly unkempt I was but to recall how happy I was. How much at ease I was with myself and the world around me!!

And now!! Just see what has become of me. I tend to get acidic at the thought of entering a house which has not been cleaned. Once upon a time I could never understand why women freaked out if there maids did not come on time. Today, my mind whirrs at the speed of lightning, a million heart attacks a moment, biting my nails in anticipation every morning whether my maid will ring the bell at 6 am this morning!

To this day, my only sense of solace remains that my perfectionism has only remained restricted to cleanliness at home and has some how not trickled down to my professional life!

Thank God for small mercies! :)