Peace in Prayers

Why do I offer prayers at Jama? What makes it a special place for me? What pulls me towards her? Is it passion for photography or something more? For me, it’s a puzzle I tried to solve earlier too with little success. It all started one evening when I accidentally went inside and never came back. This photo was taken recently, when I happened to be at Jama during evening Namaz.

“Should I be taking snaps?” I asked myself. “Won’t they find uneasy?”, I was convinced not to do so.

I turned around and walked away. But then I looked back. And what you could see in photo, are the people offering prayers. There was pin drop silence. I felt closer to them. I felt the presence. I felt He was so close.
I wanted to see Him around. I wanted to realize Him. And I succeed in my attempt…till I go back again.

Careless Whisper

What characterizes me? Certainly, tough to answer but one thing I know, it’s not religion. Religion is personal to every one of us and if you look at his boy, thinking about his regilion is just another frivolous thought.

I was fortune enough. He was there with his father, I suppose. While father was busy with evening Namaz, he sat along. He was in cherry mood. I found his pose very emblematic. His eyes told me the innocence with lots of mischievousness in it. He was careless. He didn’t bother about me. Neither has he shied away. He was a perfect kid sitting in laps of God, telling the glory of being a child. I found this picture very personal.

It really doesn’t matter what you do unless you start bothering others. Whenever I go to Jama, I find peace in ambience. I find peace in prayers. I find peace in strangers and I find peace among people too. You have to just listen to it. It’s special. Like a Careless Whisper!

Pickpockets in action

They aren’t uncommon in Delhi’s Blue-line buses. They are omnipresent. They are among us. They are just like us. Are they? Can you identify them?

What does the photograph say to you? I encountered this interesting incident while traveling by blue-line bus recently. I noticed them when they sat beside a well dressed stout middle age man, who was half asleep while sitting by window side. This man was an obvious target, as he carried a briefcase with him and immediately caught pickpocket’s attention. I was really surprised to see the tactics they implore to rob the target. It all started when they together sat beside this stout guy (Of course they were lucky to get that seat). The one who was sitting on other’s lap was trying to lean on stout person to distract the attention and other one was trying to steal the money from his shirt’s pocket.

Initial tricks by Pickpockets- Really Dexter

They attempted well once or twice but failed to get hold of anything. This went on till, the stout guy got up to get off the bus. As he walked away towards front exit door, the team followed. Now, this fellow was standing surrounded by three pickpockets. The thieves were showing considerable dexterity to pick his either pockets. But luck didn’t favor them; someone with canny eyes noticed their dirty tricks and made stout fellow aware of them. What happened next? Pickpockets got off the bus, as soon as they came in limelight. The poor fellow survived the attempt, but hardly was he aware of anything.

Really interesting encounter!

The maid I didn't know

Meet Neeta- my cook, typical Bengali woman, coming from Bengali heartland. Her bindee, like a every archetypical Bengali woman always reminded me where she comes from. What so special about her to ponder? For me, since yesterday I was trying to co-relate her smile on face to the pain, she is carrying all along.

“It all started two days back”, she started,” While I was coming to your place, I saw bulldozers bulling out homes nearby”

She paused. What stopped her all of a sudden? I knew she wanted to talk but then will she tell me the pain behind her smile?

“They came to bully our homes. I don’t know why but they came. I thought they would never, but…”

She stopped again. It’s pain to bear the pain and keep mum. It’s burden. It’s tough to conceal it behind smile, sometimes. She is still good at that.

From her narration, I came to know that her home may be bulldoze in coming days to make way for impending Delhi Metro project nearby her area. There is cost to be paid for development, but when it reached my home, I got disturbed.

“Where will you stay then? Where is your husband?” I interrupted.

“Chali jaoongi ghar wapas! Muze yaha accha nahi lagta. Wo to meri maa hai isliye…”

“Ghar matlab?” I was curious to know. “Bengal”, she continued,” When I was five year old, my mother left me to her father’s custody. He became my custodian. I stayed with my grandpa away from my mother”

I realized the distance between Delhi and Kolkata now. I realized the separation. It’s just something not going to cover soon.

“And then?” I wanted her to continue.

“I stayed there till I got married to man of my choice. My mother brought both of us here. You know, I came to Delhi just three days after my marriage”

She was proud of her man. Her eyes told me.

“Within three days!!!” I exclaimed…”Yes, three days”, she replied.

“And where will you shift your home for timebeing?” I really didn’t know should I be asking such questions or not now.

“Kahi bhi, I got so many relatives out here. I can stay with them. I will follow my mother, as she brought me back here from Kolkata. I don’t fear anything, but I want to go back home. I don’t like Delhi” She wasn’t smiling. I realized it and the moment she realized she gazed away from me.

“Chalo muze kahana banana hai”, she wanted to pull away now.

“Do you want help?” I don’t know how am I going to help her, but wanted to tell her don’t worry. She didn’t reply. “Bas subji leke ana time pe..” She was smiling now. I looked at empty basket and realized there is lot many emotions involved in everyone. No one is empty. Every one has a story to tell, but no has time to listen.

Do You Feel the Silence?

Gone Are The Days

I really wonder, if could go back and listen the peace at my school again. It’s been long time I sat on benches in class. It’s been long I scribbled on board. I remember my first punishment, I remember her love sight and I also remember how I yelled after reading the mark sheet. How can I forget Nancy? Where is Rajat now? What Preeti is doing? Shilpa is no more…No one cares! It wasn’t just brick-stone building, it was the soul of my ambitions, once I day dream. No one knows me better than my teachers-meager paid but honest. When I walked down the memory lane, I still feel their absence. I owe it to my school; me life long learning. I remember that the fastest thing on planet isn’t wind but our mind. Once, I was populalry called as Murarbaji Deshpande after winning a melee with my bro in school compound. I remember when I was chosen as Class Secretary for first time and also the time, when I was running away from class and got caught. There’s no escape from nostalgia now. We are bonded for forever.  Its place I will continue to worship- my school!