Q: What’s the difference between a hipster and a guy fasting during Ramadan?
A: The guy who’s fasting will eat the food after Instagramming it.
Browse through Instagram or Facebook or any popular photo sharing platform, and all you see these days is people putting up pictures of what they are having for Iftar: dining tables and dastarkhwaans loaded with deep fried goodies, sweetmeats, fruits and the essential dates. At least Ramadan has provided some respite from the bombardment experienced through the rest of the year with photos of honeymooning couples, new born babies and the vain-preening-in-the-mirror-camera-phone-clicked-self-portrait. Note to self: one more reason to be thankful.
A friend called up earlier today inquiring about my plans for breaking fast. Specifically if I was planning to go to Old Delhi. Having had Sehri there the same morning, it wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. But the fact that she had a friend visiting from Bombay who was keen on breaking her fast while experiencing Old Delhi’s atmosphere at the time of Iftar before returning on a flight the next day made a fairly compelling case for me to plan a trip to the lanes of Old Delhi again. Not that one needs a reason to go back there. A reason just makes moving a bum made lazy over the day a bit easier.
The catch was that my friend had another engagement because of which she couldn’t make it to Old Delhi. The usual apprehensions which occupy the mind before meeting a stranger kept flitting through my mind as I waited for the Bombay girl at the Chawri Bazar Metro Station. How comfortable would she be navigating through the lanes of Old Delhi? Would she be too shocked to react or would she take an obscene pleasure in seeing the squalor which has become such a stereotypical image of Muslims? Would she mind eating at the street side food vendors which make up the essence of real taste as I’ve grown to know it over the years? Will an air conditioned lounge have to be conjured out of nowhere to cater to her comfort?
I’ll admit shamefully, that I couldn’t have been farther from the truth of how the next couple of hours were about to unfold. From the moment she got off the Metro and met us, she proved me wrong on every single count of apprehension which had clouded my imagination till then. From the time we hitched a ride on a rickshaw to reach Jama Masjid just in time for Iftar to her keeping an eye on our belongings (cameras, laptops) as I went off to join the congregational Maghreb prayers to offering her prayers in the open courtyard to just digging with relish into every sight, sound and taste which the madness of the streets presented, she just kept proving me wrong. The sense of ease and warmth with which she worked her way was what would have been characteristic of any of the womenfolk in my extended family.
There was however, one count on which she acted just like anyone visiting from out of town would. And that was in the way she propped a camera in front of her at almost every possible sight which met her. I don’t mean that to sound as a reason for being judgmental. As someone who carries around a camera in front of himself at all times to capture whatever moments can be recorded for this blog, that would be the absurdest thought for me to judge a person for. More than anything else, it was endearing to see someone recording those moments to share with a loving family upon her return. A family with whom she hadn’t had the opportunity to share the experience of Ramadan yet, on account of being in Delhi for work related reasons over the past few days. The shared love for the camera, and its association which we’ve attached to food, became all the more evident as we sat down for dinner. As soon as the plates filled with Mutton Qorma and Stew were placed in front of us, a subconscious instinct made us pull out our cameras and phones. The humor in the spontaneity of this collectively similar action broke into smiles of an unspoken acknowledgment.
A few stops later on the Metro, it was time for us to bid farewell to a wonderful evening. We shook hands before I got off the train, and she summed up her appreciation with a polite JazakAllah.
If there was a moment I would’ve wanted to Instagram that evening, it was then. On second thoughts, that moment was one that silently said Bismillah too. For the addition of another friend into the family of many more friends whose love surrounds and protects me. I just felt lucky. And blessed.
To new friends and serendipitous encounters in the unknown.