Jama Masjid

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Breakfast of banana pancake and coffee and then an autorickshaw to New Delhi train station to secure a ticket on the famed Radjhani Express (Paul Theroux’s “Great Railway Bazaar”) to Mumbai. The rest of the afternoon was taken up with walking through a bazaar and going to Jama Masjid - India’s largest mosque. Bicycle rickshaw expertly guided through the narrow winding streets of the Muslim quarter - everything for sale: produce, live and dead animals, clothes, beauty supplies, medicines, movies, books, and all sorts of foods and drinks from street vendors. Outside, the mosque was ringed by an enormous car parts bazaar. As if in an updated Arabic version of The Bicycle Thief, here one could find anything from a door handle to a rear axle before proceeding up the sandstone stairs to the mosque - a one stop shop for both your automotive and spiritual journey. Fortunately or unfortunately, I arrived just before afternoon prayers and, owing to my heathen complexion, was barred from entry for half an hour. This delay allowed me to witness a steady stream of the faithful coming and going for what would be the third or fourth time that day that the details of their daily dramas were interrupted with the call to prayer. And what a call - the most beautiful male voice ringing and singing across the Muslim quarter over loudspeakers. Who could not follow such a siren call? Well, in this case, two young boys at the base of the stairs who were following an impulse altogether different - every Indian boys’ dream lived out with a tennis ball, a flat piece of wood, and the certainty that cricket’s wickets were his ticket to eternal happiness.

After prayers, it was time to leave my sandals with the shoe-minder and enter my first mosque. Everywhere was red sandstone and marble walls and sandstone-red Arabic script delicately and forcefully written across the walls. A square pool with a low stone walls occupied the center of the mosque. Faint outlines on the ground guided the placement of prayer mats for any of the 25,000 faithful that may at any one time be kneeling in prayer. Two tall towers and recessed prayer rooms occupied the southern portion of the mosque, and covered walkways ringed the open grounds on all other sides.

With no plans but to sit and enjoy the peace and quiet of a centuries-old house of worship for the rest of the afternoon, I sat down along one of the covered walkways, only to be summoned over in no less than five minutes by two men in traditional Muslim attire who were sitting in the open courtyard. One was a large bear of a man, with a dark complexion, dark hair and beard, standing perhaps 6’4” and weighing nearly 250 pounds. The other was fairer, with light brown hair and a sparser beard, and smaller, perhaps 5’10” and 170 pounds. Both wore light gray linen pants and long matching long-sleeved shirts that extended down to just above the knees. Each also had a traditional Muslim caps and audacious counterfeit watches. In our attempts to converse (they each spoke Arabic, Hindi, Farsi, and Pashto, as well as minimal English) it became apparent that each was Afghani, although I was not able to determine why they were in India. Probably it was travelling of some sort, as neither seemed in a hurry to go anywhere. The larger man was very determined and serious in his attempts to converse, while the other was more intent to watch and laugh at the many linguistic false starts and missteps. We learned of each other our names, nationalities, ages, and so forth, but unfortunately a more sustained conversation was not possible given my meager language skills. I am fairly positive, however, that at some point in the conversation I was invited back to Afghanistan with them. Shortly before sundown all non-believers were kicked out, and I was the last to leave. Looking left at the entrance, I did not see my sandals. Quickly double-checking, I asked the shoe-minder, whose disappointing gestures indicated that my sandals were no longer on the premises. The barely stifled laughter of his friends gave it away, though, and after a good laugh was had by all my shoes reappeared and I descended back into the car parts bazaar and an autorickshaw ride back to the hotel for some satisfying phing sha (minced meat, veggies, and noodles) and sleep.

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