“I’m thinking…I’ll get a cap made for myself too. I Am Me.”
A sly naughty smile from a friend. Who hasn’t had anything to do with politics or movements, not that he cares much either. Yet, the presence of fellow human beings, and countrymen, all around him, wearing caps proclaiming their identity in a bid to support a moniker that has assumed a proportion more than being just that – a name – evoked a reaction from him. Quite a major achievement at that.
I am Anna.
That’s what was written on all of those caps, in case you still haven’t figured. And if you thought that referred to a blonde bombshell who briefly courted the racket and caused more news waves for her intimacies with a wailing Latin crooner, I’d be damned trying to understand how you might have landed up on this page in the first place.
Connaught Place has a spattering of mosques across the Inner Circle area. Most of them dating back to a time at least relevant enough to have made Lutyens weave them as part of the Delhi he created behind the lattice of those white columns. I’ve spent my time in most, probably all of them, at varying points in time. But the one to which I’ve paid the most visits, and which I could term as my ‘regular’ mosque is situated right across that haven of delectable baked goods, the mention of whose name evokes memories in the mind of any Dilliwallah who’d know that Danish doesn’t just refer to someone who’s a descendant of the Nordic Vikings. Yup, Wengers. That and the fact that I prefer walking, just walking, around the Inner Circle having nothing better to do but breathe in the spirit of the air, as opposed to dragging my feet in the controlled environment of all the shopping malls which have jutted their presence in this city. As with most things that you get familiar with, that mosque developed a sweet spot for fond memories of times spent walking around the Circle, and stopping at the call for prayer while making your way through life. Life!
Moti Masjid – the board outside says that it dates back from 1941 – doesn’t really speak much in the manner most of the other mosques I’ve been to this month spoke through their walls. It spoke through the manner of the people who frequented the mosque, giving it the air of a working class mosque, with men (and on occasion, women too), coming in with a hurried pace while taking a break from their jobs to remember the Creator and get back to earning their livelihood again. Such was the case over Iftar too. Everybody present there had the bearing of one who is on the move, away from the warmth of family, and yet working hard to keep the family warm.
As I got out after Maghreb prayers, my eyes caught those Gandhian caps again.
I started toying with the idea of getting caps made which said – I am Imam. After all, I could be one for myself, only for myself, couldn’t I? A brief thought of contemplation, and my mind told me yet again that it wasn’t time enough.
Complete set of Ramadan images here.