Modern met ancient as digital security cameras scanned the
centuries old entrance to the Nizamuddin Dargah courtyard. Dozens
of foot-high stone burial vaults scattered the entrance area around
us. Rod hastily warned us that stepping over one of these
sarcophagi would bring great dishonor to the deceased and possible
eviction from the area. Shuffling behind Rod in my socks, I
noticed flies congregating in areas of the floor. I tried not to think
of what I was stepping in as we walked.
Outside the inner burial room, dozens of pilgrims sang and prayed in the shade under a cloth canopy. Women sat around the outside of the canopy, leaving the area near the front for the men. Rod led us to the inner tomb. Its doors were carved with a labyrinth of gold inlays in wild patterns. The two side walls were nothing more than carved stone lattices. The back wall was filled with intricate Arabic calligraphy. A boy helped his father lay
a sheer sheet over the bones of the saint while another man buried his
head in the layers of cloth, his prayers muffled in the fabric pile. The
procession of male pilgrims slowly circled the tomb clockwise. Some leaned over the sarcophagus to place flower petals, and the candy I had tasted earlier.
Others picked up these items as they made their way around the circle. Back in the corner of this room I noticed a man holding a small infant and a bottle of what looked like
medicine. The baby in his arms looked very ill. His eyes were glassed
over and his mouth was ajar. This man had come to the saint's tomb to
pray for his son's healing. It was a very sad sight.
Upon exiting the tomb, men with long beards and white clothes asked uncle Jay to
sign a paper. Jay told them that he was alright and passed them by. I
followed his lead. We found my cousins, and Rod led us back to the shoe
attendant.
 |
| From New Delhi |
As I walked back through the maze of shops and stands, I
wondered at the difference between the lives of the people here and
people living in other parts of the world. Would these people even
enjoy living in suburban United States?
 |
| From New Delhi |
Rod knew of a good restaurant in the neighborhood. At the time I did not know that Karim is part of a very well known chain of exclusive restaurants and hotels in the Delhi
area. A few months after returning home, I watched a television travel segment featuring Karim. As we waited outside the restaurant, the doorman
shooed away a particularly stubborn lady who repeatedly asked us for
money. Inside, Rod ordered the brains of a goat, and invited us all to join him in sampling this delicacy. It had a slight fish flavor.
pray for his son's healing. It was a very sad sight.
Upon exiting the tomb, men with long beards and white clothes asked uncle Jay to
sign a paper. Jay told them that he was alright and passed them by. I
followed his lead. We found my cousins, and Rod led us back to the shoe
attendant.
As I walked back through the maze of shops and stands, I
wondered at the difference between the lives of the people here and
people living in other parts of the world. Would these people even
enjoy living in suburban United States?
Rod knew of a good restaurant in the neighborhood. At the time I did not know that Karim is part of a very well known chain of exclusive restaurants and hotels in the Delhi
area. A few months after returning home, I watched a television travel segment featuring Karim. As we waited outside the restaurant, the doorman
shooed away a particularly stubborn lady who repeatedly asked us for
money. Inside, Rod ordered the brains of a goat, and invited us all to join him in sampling this delicacy. It had a slight fish flavor.
Leaving Karim's, we strolled through the neighborhood toward our taxi. Suddenly, about ten feet away from us, two bicyclists collided head on. The incident sent one cyclist straight to the ground while the other momentarily wobbled, and then continued. The cyclist who had fallen to the ground promptly picked up his bike and peddled furiously in an attempt to give the offending cyclist a piece of his mind. Sliding into the taxi, I could still hear his angry shouts as he wove through traffic in pursuit of his assailant.
Continued in Part 12
