A country that is India

With unwilling hands, I bolted the door and slumped down on my bed. It had been a yet another exhausting day. And no, this time neither project work nor practicals was involved.

 

I just lay there on my bed hoping not to fall asleep, reminiscing what I had seen, no experienced just over an hour ago. Fiasco and serenity, together. In one place.

 

In my mind, with great effort, I jump back five hours, when I am in college. It is about 1:00 PM on a Thursday. With no practicals slated for the day the afternoon and the evening is as good as "off" for me. What a chance! Call it co-incidence or name it destiny, I finally have a chance to visit the "Peer Baba Dargha"without any of my classes getting in the way.

 

The Peer Baba, for the benefit of those who do not know is a "Dargah" which, by virtue of the limited knowledge of  Islam, I believe is a Muslim place worship. Akin to a mosque but not quite.

 

What lends more charm to this beautiful place is the fact that it is located inside the Delhi airport. Which, I suspect, is the prime reason for the large crowd that it draws every Thursday. I guess it is more the chance to see airplanes of different kinds from up close that attracts people to it than the chance to pray.

 

Having only heard of the place from my friends and this being my first visit, I was unsure of the path to take as I disembarked from the bus at the Indira Gandhi International's cargo terminal. A quick query and I'm on track.

 

Women selling marigold garlands and incense sticks line the street and serve as waypoints to the destination. Some way along the terminal boundary, a left turn and, I am stunned…..

 

A gate, into the airport premises, is manned by CISF personnel. But between myself and the gate is a sea of people. Okay, I agree that I have been caught in larger crowds but I did not expect to see so many people line up to visit the not-so-significant place. With no other option on hand, I join them like a drop into the ocean. Making my own minuscule contribution to the strength of the crowd.

 

It is 2:30 PM now, and having skipped lunch for this excursion, the pleasant sunshine starts feeling a bit too warm.  Just as I start wondering if I'm getting symptoms of a sunstroke, it is my turn to be frisked. I'm relieved that I am at the gate… finally! A walkie-talkie crackles to life somewhere close by and the creaking voice that comes through it, asks the personnel to let everyone in at once! Great…. After having waited patiently for my turn in the hot sun for over an hour, everyone behind me goes in with me! Grr… But wait; why is everyone scampering?

 

It is a stampede, and for some reason that I cannot fathom. Just as a Virgin Atlantic A-340 taxies out of my I ear somebody say about boarding the bus. Before I get the time to think, I realize that I am an integral part of the stampeded. Another gate slowly fills up my field of view. Another queue, and this time around, from being the first one in, I now have 70 people ahead of me.

 

Another 25 minutes drag along before I walk through a metal detector, get frisked and board an Airport Authority of India bus that would take me to my destination. The bus starts and creeps along a narrow stretch before turning right and an endless expanse of the airport fills my vision. Numerous aircraft dot the horizon, and as the bus turn right a seemingly endless expanse of the airport engulfs my field of view.

 

A five minute ride and the bus, bursting at the seams, packed with people jolts to a halt. Remove the hustle-bustle of so many people and the location would resemble a narrow strip of road in through a desert with endless open areas on either side.

 

Green bamboo fence encircle the perimeter and under a tin shed on a marble platform are two "tombstone" like structure (I really wish I knew what they call it in English…. Do let me know if possible!) The enclosure, situated right beside a taxiway, has a couple of "peepal" trees with red threads wrapped around them - the physical manifestation of peoples' desires and the acts they promised God should their wishes be granted.

 

Since I don't have a thread, I make-do by tying the wrapper of the incense stick I have to one of the threads. I notice that I'm not the only one to have employed this stop gap measure. My wrapper is one among many. And I'm sure God would understand.

 

Over the cacophony of crying babies and jets taxiing by, I see something that makes my heart swell with emotion. As I hand over my offerings to the cleric I realize, for the first time, this is the true fabric of India. A place where people with different backgrounds mingle freely. As I watch Hindus, Muslims and Siekhs  offer their prayers, their children playing among themselves, I simply can't believe that this is that very country where so much blood has been shed in the name of religion. It is a paradox.

 

I just wish that the emotions of the people, the feelings that they have for each other in that confined place swell a million times over and overwhelm the country. Only then would our country take off like the numerous airplanes behind me. A country, that is India.