flagpole

I’m watching dusk fall on Hyderabad. I’m watching it from a rooftop in Banjara hills. I can see the massive valley of urbanization through the settling haze of dusk and smog, and the city’s dusty moonscape is broken only by the man-made lake in the centre, the Hussain Sagar. It’s balmy and breezy. “All-llah ak-baaar”. There’s a beauty in the call to prayer at dusk. There’s a beauty in those words alone- Call to Prayer. Feels like a gentle reminder; an Invitation to Peace. Or something. For some reason it makes me think of Flagpole at summer camp. Whatever you may be doing, at dusk you report to Flagpole. To see all your friends. To salute the day. To take a moment to think. I miss the flagpole in my life. I can understand people taking comfort in structured days- it makes sense.
They’re starting in now- three different Invitations warbling and waving like flags of song, like beckoning fingers. Intermittently they form an accidental harmony with one another. An unintentional choir. What could be more beautiful than an unintentional choir?
The first tiny bat appears in the dying light. Every other winged creature seems to be heading for home, but bats take the night-shift. At the Charminar today we hired a guide- I see no reason not to spend $2.50 on learning at least one thing you didn’t already know. I wouldn’t have known that one side of the four-pillared structure has no stairs so that the King’s chariot could pull up alongside it 400 years ago. I wouldn’t have known that one of the carved symbols inside the minaret was a cat; a cat because cats eat rats, rats cause plague and the Charminar was built as a monument to those who lost the battle with the rat disease.
We also visited the Mecca Masjid today, second-biggest mosque in the country. They had a bomb blast here three months ago, killed seven. Broke a stone altar in half. In the market outside, the bustling, busy, Ramzan-shopping-preparing crazy market, it’s beautiful to see a Hindu woman in a colourful saree haggling for bangles beside a burqa-shrouded Muslim woman. Katya tried on a burqa in the market, but just bought the mask. We still got lots of stares. I think the boys thought I was running off with one of their own.
The pray-ers are marching up the hill to mosque now. Just like we marched up the dust trail from campfire. I wonder if they feel as warm as I always did after campfire. Longsleeves over summer skin almost feel superfluous. Perfectly superfluous.
Can’t see anymore…