Ajmer Farewell

Upon returning to the facility, my presence was greeted with smiles.

They were all curious as to whether I made it to the Dargah or not, how it was, what it was like. Many of them hadn't been there themselves and it made for an interesting story.

I was educated on the importance of the place by Rajendraji over dinner; that it's actually a very significant location for Christian, Hindu, and Muslim visitors, that I didn't need to change my name. Some people laughed at my story loudly, others, not at all. It turns out that it's actually a shrine built atop the tomb of Moinuddin Chishti, founder of a Sufi sect called the Chishti order, known as 'Benefactor of the Poor'.

I was reminded of intrepid religious figures who bridged the gap between Hindu and Muslim. About how Guru Nanak could have felt when he donned his blue clothes and entered Mecca as a Muslim (being a Hindu by birth), and how Shirdi Sai Baba projected both so close to equally that it is still difficult to decipher the details of his early life, or even extract a subtle preference. Nanak founded a new religion. Shirdi inspired a following. But at some point in time they must have had the same feeling. To be alien and to be self-aware of it. It's a feeling of innate foreignness I've never felt before. And yet a sense of self-confidence in the intrinsic unity of it-- whilst debilitated by the absence of my most powerful tool--knowledge.

It's a subtle blend of curiosity, respect, nervousness, confusion, courage, timidity, and hunger--cycling through your body periodically expressing themselves at different strengths. And at that tense moment, I could've said my name, and somewhere deep inside I knew. But what the consideration really was, the thought really crossing my mind...what I desired... was that I wanted to see and experience that shrine--like everbody else.

I wanted to be considered one of them. I was hungry for the full-blooded experience, The no-holds barred, sweaty, messy, overwhelming version. I was driven by a powerful force--curiosity. Not fear.

I was ultimately like any momentarily culturally confused individual: limited by my personal biases and perceptions. And don't get me wrong, the story is relayed with a bit of spin. I'm not going to be journalistic here, after all. And it could've been spun in an opposite direction, "ooo oo check out my cool pix from my fun visit to some mosque in ajmer!! woot woot!!". But I'll avoid trivialities and present some of these stories for entertainment value. What I learned, what it tasted like, and how I learned it. What it feels like to be caught in the engulfing one-way tidal wave of culture and to be rattling in your head that you belong. What it feels like to be a pilgrim in a mosque for the first time, instead of coddled-- because if I'm not perceived as a tourist, we're equally fighting, scraping, clamoring, searching for the precious blessings from this holy place, in a way the indifferent visitor wouldn't understand. To forget Soham for a moment and become Salaudin. Anthropologists call this participant observation.

Shakespeare poses, "What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet". And to a certain extent, I agree, names and classifications can be methods by which we systematize differentiating factors.

Yet witnessing the similarities of the two religions first hand, in the sea of modest Indian diversity, was admittedly like many temple experiences. This was not much different than the Srinathji temple of Nathdwara, the Siddhivinayak temple in Mumbai, etc. In the end, it's my failure as a writer to express what I thought was the inherent humor of the situation.

Typical, right? The ABCD is so lost in such a significant place that he changes his name?

But I'll save this kind of talk for in person and keep the narrative flowing. I still had another day in Ajmer. And this time, I was sent to a Jain Temple on the outskirts of town at Nareli. A quick bus ride--after a long wait, and we were there. 10AM and staring at a temple complex which was new, clean, and completely empty. As if it was built yesterday, the white marble glowed an incandescent white light in the still rising sun. Solitary and peaceful, I walked around snapping pictures and exploring the backrooms of the temple. The labyrinth behind the shrine was composed of short hallways and tiny rooms. I had to bow almost completely in some of these hallways seemingly made for children. The architecture was fitting for the ancient Jains--not flamboyant, modest, yet gorgeous.





Finally I found an open door to the shrine and sat in the middle of the giant hall. Hearing the infinite echoes of birds in an ocean of silence, I sat under an enormous stone statue of Mahavir sitting like Buddha in the lotus position. After enjoying this rare moment of stillness, I went outside, attempted solo pictures with the timer to decent effect, noticed the looming Aravalli hills behind me and the stepwise path to the individual red sand-stone shrines dotting the hills. That was where I needed to go.



After a few talks with the guys sweeping around the complex, I walked the 1km, circular route to the road that led up. Equipped with my soaked handkerchief, I began the climb. This is the 4th time I've had to climb up to a Jain Temple on some sort of mountain, and I'm starting to notice the trend. Finally reaching, I see the dilapidated structures. The place is a relic, destroyed by people, weather, unwanted visitors. The stone is falling apart, and I'm jumping between breaks in the staircase up the mountainside. But the spectacular views, the lined up red turrets, the feeling of history-- it's a place of beauty. On all sides we're surrounded by the Aravalli Hills. And I'm calm.


(Cliched picture of me on top of a mountain, Aravalli Hills, Nareli, 11AM)
(Hero pose)


(Jain Temples on the Mountain, Nareli, 10AM)



Later, As we're heading back in the bus, pummeling through the rain, the group is tired. We're with a different set, mostly senior coordinators-- each dressing to express their level of professionalism. Some in full traditional khadi suits, dhoti, white shirt, glimmering marwari earrings. Others in Western business casual.

We notice a few bunks open on the sleeper bus and one of the older guys snags a bunk for a nap. We're all awoken by the shouting of the conductor yelling at him, "नीचे उतरओ!!"(get down!). Perked up to see what happens, the conductor continues his tirade about how those seats cost more and that we hadn't booked them. Finally, he stops his lecturing, demands once more for him to get down.

Our guy in the bunk, looks at him, waves his hand in the air, and hilariously says, "कोई बात नहीं भाई" (no problem, brother)!!-- smiles, shifts position in the bunk, and closes the curtain. We laugh about it the entire ride back.