Delhi

So we stayed at the Imperial. We were met by an assistant manager at the airport and brought to our driver who took us to the door of the hotel in great comfort. The staff were very gracious and we spent the first afternoon in the hotel, enjoying the swimming pool. We went out to dinner in Connaught place. Based on this introduction to Delhi we had the impression it was a quiet place, at least in comparison to Bangalore.
The next day was a day of two halves. The first, lulled into a false sense of security by a month in Bengaluru and the previous day in Delhi, was very frustratingly. It started well. We took the Delhi metro to a part of Old Delhi near the Red Fort, planning to walk to the entry gate. Just near the Fort we saw a Jain Temple, which we were allowed to enter and found to be very welcoming. Crossing the road to the Red Fort we found it was closed leading up to Independence day on the 15th. An unfortunate discovery as trying make new plans in an exposed location leads to rickshaw drivers giving their opinion based on where they would like to take you. Stopping to decide wasn’t an option, so we went to the Jumma Masjid where we had planned to go after the fort if we had the time. We found we could hide in the shade of its giant arches amongst the many keeping the Fast, but it was mid-day and too hot. Leaving the mosque I realised some money had been pinched from my wallet.
After the little one’s nap in the hotel we decided to go to Humayan’s tomb and see if we could find the shrine of the Sufi Saint Nizam-ud-Din. Humayan’s tomb predates the Taj Mahal, but is one of the first times the moghul and local Indian architecture had been married, setting a kind of template for the Taj. Unlike the Taj it is very quiet and we were able to wander around with only a few other people. We crossed the road and passed by a Mosque as the light faded and the allies got smaller and smaller. There was a smokey haze as burners were lit and food was cooked for the many Muslims who had just completed another day’s fast. I joined them getting some freshly cooked mutton kebab and roti.
We wandered on, not really knowing where we were going. It was still very hot, but bearable now the sun had gone down. We found our way to an exit onto a main road but turned away from it to explore further. We didn’t know where we had gone and had by now given up on finding the shrine when we were suddenly told by someone we needed to take our shoes off to enter. Looking up there was an arch with fairy lights on it.
I acquired a cap, we left our shoes with a boy and bought an offering of flowers for the saint. Entering through the arch we found ourselves on a winding path. Sometimes covered and even enclosed, othertimes open, the path led around a pool, past shops and pilgrims. Staircases led steeply off the path, into the pitch black. Eventually we found ourselves in a court with what looked like a mosque to our right. At first I didn’t realise that the small building in the middle of the square, with more fairy lights and elaborate decoration, was the shrine. We were mobbed almost immediately by people wanting to look at Iris, but just when this might have become too much it stopped. Children were discouraged from mobbing us and I was invited to enter the shrine. Male pilgrims walk around the tomb clockwise, stopping to kiss the four marble pillars holding up the canopy and to pray hands held in the orrant position. On the tomb are many layers of rich fabric and hundreds, even thousands of flowers like the ones which I now threw onto the tomb.
Exiting the thick haze of the inner sanctum a group of pilgrims in a semi-circle were listening as two men sang to the saint, playing drums and the harmonium. I was invited to sign a guest book and once signed I was also invited, very much ‘if I wanted to’, to donate money, allocating it to the up-keep up the shrine, the support of the school and the feeding of the poor (this was called the Langer meal in the book). I gave a small amount and divided it in the book between the three. It is fascinating that the Sikh Langer meal was adopted here by a Muslim Sufi community, until I read more about Nizam-ud-Din, who preached that there were different ways to reconciliation for different people and ate little, unable to eat when so many near his monastery were too poor to feed themselves. We pulled ourselves away to go find dinner rather late. Children ran after us, showing us the way back to our shoes and the main road. There was something magical about that evening, certainly the shrine was one of those thin places, we were very lucky we found it.