Fridays. That day of the week which everyone starts looking forward to even before it is over, and keeps looking forward to the till next Friday hits them, and before they know, it’s gone too. In my newly ‘evolved’ post corporate junkie avatar, admittedly, I’ve forgotten that feeling. I can make every day a Friday (yes, I’m rubbing the feeling in for those of you still chained to your cubicles), but then even a Friday can give me the worst Monday blues possible.
Fridays. In another sense, they still retain their meaning for me in the manner they always have, and will hopefully continue to do so too. The day when you wake up with the knowledge that you have to dress up in your Friday best, and make it in time for the Khutbah to the mosque for the afternoon prayers, make your way through the rows of the faithful to find a place for yourself, possibly in a spot which has some likelihood of a shade if it’s the Delhi summers to avoid scalding the soles of your feet (specially important if you manage to make it to the mosque just in time for the Khutbah), and then being jostled out of the mosque after the prayers get over, in peak rush hour Delhi Metro style.
Which specially make Friday an extremely busy day. And I have nothing else to blame other than my own self for not being able to go out and spend time to explore a mosque like I’ve been doing till now. But then just when I was thinking I might have to give things a miss, and go to one of my regular mosques which I may have already covered, I found out where I’d be breaking my fast.
I was crossing Hauz Khas, Gulmohar Park to be precise when I was reminded by a close friend about this mosque in there. Abandoned mosque, and not much of a mosque either – it’s just a wall mosque. Very small structure in the middle of a lush green park, which finds an assortment of South Delhi walking around the pathways in pricey sporting gear. The last time I was there, I hadn’t ‘graduated’ to digital, and had shot a few frames of the mosque on B/W film. Then the mosque was in really bad shape – vines climbing all over, thick shrubbery undergrowth, and walls covered with moss. Which is why it was nice to see it being restored by the ASI. The markings around it said it was called Darwesh Shah ki Masjid. Legend has it that the founder of the Lodi dynasty, Bahlol Lodi paid a fakir named Darwesh Shah who asked him if he would be interested in buying the kingdom of Delhi for a certain amount of money. For all we know, the Lodi dynasty may just owe their name in history to this mosque alone.
As the sun went down, I picked up a spot on one of the many park benches under a tree, and broke my fast watching boys playing football in the lawns. Wonder what kingdom was up on stake as prize money for the boys.