Qawwali

Decided to go to a Dharga (gosh - I don't even know what it is - I think it's a Sufi shrine) to listen to qawwali music this evening. Apparently they meet every Thursday. It was far out, so I took a train at falf past nine. Delays. These two law students met me on the platform - I definitely didn't meet them. He put his arm around me the whole time and really wanted to listen and find out about me - but really. You know, with taking me under his protective wing. And his hair was oily and beautifully coiffeured. Shirt tucked into his Jeans (no belt), and leather shoes. How do I look he asked. You look great. Thank you - you too ... you look very good (eyeing me up and down). Where are you going (arm around me again). I managed to sidestep him a few times and position myself in front of him. You have sex he asked? What do you mean - sex as in man and woman? Yes. Yes I do. His eyes looked me up and down again, and there was a slight puckering of the lips. He wasn't gay - he was just imagining me having sex with a woman. We don't - it's part of our custom not to. You happy with this? Yes, I am.
I think his hormones must be in agony.

I stepped off the train in Hazra Nizamuddin (still in Delhi). It was like stepping into some sort of a medieval time zone. Everybody was dressed in white Khotas (?) and didn't look that friendly at me. I walked through the narrow bazaar paths with blossoms on sale, and food vouchers being thrust into my face, and music going, and beggars squating amongst the flies, and rows and rows of homeless trying to sleep on the road or next to it. And children running around. One child was being bullied by two smaller kids. He got slapped a few times by them - I felt so sorry for him.

Zigzagging through the streets I arrived at marble tiles and steps down crammed in between shops and food stalls. I had to take my shoes off here. I wanted to put them into my bag. I caused shock and outrage - there was no way I could even carry in conceiled shoes into this holy place.

It looked like these pillars coloured red and gold and inside was an inner sanctum and people walking around or standing and praying and touching their foreheads, and baskets of flower blossoms were replenished. We were still outside, and this 'courtyard' was encroached by several flats and buildings. On the corner of this pillared structure (with a large cloth stretched out as a roof), were a group of men dressed in traditional clothing and long grey beards and thick spectacles. One guy was singing qawwali. He then stopped. And another guy murmured from a book, and two others would repeat a chorus. On the side were basins to sit in and wash your feet and hands and head. I felt quite out of place and a bit uncomfortable, so I left again and headed back home.