Monday, January 21, 2013

Qutub Minar
















"Dear old world', she murmured, 'you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you."

~ L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables


A mellow December day. The in-between balmy hours of late afternoon and early evening. Delhi, that mad, mad city, peopled to its brim. A bewitching mosaic of a myriad worlds. Two pairs of tired, yet eager feet hop on to an attractive, yellow-green CNG autorickshaw for a stroll around the Qutub Minar. Strange, how some places just refuse to grow old in your heart despite the number of visits. The road to the once ancient city of Mehrauli flanked by old peepal trees on both sides, chockablock with swanky cars. That's Delhi for you. A forever melting melange of the old and the new. The play of light and shade of the quaking leaves allow us intermittent glimpses of the towering Minar. Resplendent and majestic as ever. The fading winter sun baths the Qutub complex in a faint rosy light. A pleasing sandstone blush. The stage for the evening twilight is all set. The sleepy jasmines pout and preen for their nocturnal show. A flurry of pigeons and parrots search for their resting pads from the scores of nooks and corners. 

Amid all these enchantments, I try to find that lost world, when all this was true, when all this made sense. Perhaps it still does, to lost souls like me. Through its silent stone alleys and lattices, I try to unearth the magic of the bygones. I try to glue the fragments of a chipped history from the intricate carvings of the Quranic verses on the Minar's body. On the way out, I come across the bust of a half-baked dream, the abandoned Alai Minar - an ambitious imitation of the original, a dream that died with its dreamer. I remember being very moved by this story of unfulfilled aspirations when narrated by my father during my first visit to the Qutub Minar. I was fourteen then. Sixteen years later, nothing much has changed. I walk a little further and find a fallen tree, almost uprooted and spreadeagled on the ground in the most hopeless of manners, yet flourishing perfectly with the green vigor of life. May be we all need our stack of half-baked dreams to show us the path to that pot of green gold.
As the day finally calls it a day, whining about tiredness and the crowd, we walk out of the complex. And so do the birds.

16 comments:

  1. Hello Suman:
    This wonderfully evocative and atmospheric writing, together with these startlingly beautiful images, has left us with the feeling that we too have visited Qutub Minar, have stood in that 'faint rosy light', have watched the flurries of pigeons and parrots, and have smelt the sweet scent of jasmine. What an alluring, mystical and magical country yours is, Suman, and how we love to be with you there, at least in spirit, through your enticing use of words. Thank you for delighting us yet again.

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    Replies
    1. Dear Jane and lance, thank you for your very kind words. I am glad I can show you around some of my favorite places, albeit virtually, and every time you say you were with me in my journeys, I feel I have succeeded at some level - be it the traveler in me or the compulsive photographer or the moody writer...
      I sincerely hope you do make it to India someday - how exciting that would be!

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    2. It is all of these things, Suman, which capture our attention but possibly most of all your beautifully descriptive writing.

      Ah, to visit India......perhaps one day.

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    3. And my day is made! That is so very sweet and encouraging of you. Many, many thanks!

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  2. Hello Suman

    Such beauty and light and the colours of the birds delights my green heart. How beautiful to return to an image you first shared with your father when you were a tennager. This too adds to the passion you have devoted to the images.

    Helenxx

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, dear Helen. Yes, the light was particularly beautiful that day which certainly enhanced the richness of the red sandstone. Although many things seemed to have changed from my last visit, it is a place I see myself going back to, and not once.

      Have a great weekend.

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  3. The magic of words and pictures have transported me to a far away land, its smells, sounds ad sights.
    You have made sheer poetry out of your visit.

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    1. Sheer poetry! Wow, Friko, I love that! I am glad you got to escape the winter land, even though the flight was just for a few flickering moments.

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  4. Dear Suman. It's a lovely post and your pictures are wonderful!! I am dreaming and I am waiting.....

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    1. Thank you, dear Celine. I can imagine how excited you must be, and I am waiting too! :-)

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  5. What an extraordinary place, Suman! Your text and photos capture it so well.

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    1. Oh, it certainly is one of our most enchanting places. I am glad you loved the post, thank you.

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