“How come you are not taking any pictures
today?”, he observed. I did not reply. Instead took out my phone to click a picture
of the floral jali of the Sarkhej Roza.
“These type of floral motifs are not
commonly used in Muslim art and architecture.” Does the mosque have a story
like the Taj Mahal and the mosque in Mandu? I wondered. Was this too originally
made by someone else that we are not aware of? Maybe. Maybe not.
I saw burkha clad women all around. The
black of the burka covering everything except the face. Unifying them or should
I say ‘uniforming’ them? Robbing them of their uniqueness. Hiding them. Maybe confining
them? Restricting them? Or did they feel differently. Safe, covered inside the
burkha? Guarding themselves from prying eyes. Some of them looked at me.
Noticing that I clearly didn’t fit in. Even in a pair of jeans, short kurti and
a dupatta to cover my head that I borrowed at the entrance (women must cover
their head while entering) I felt exposed.
The place is beautiful and a must visit for
tourists and lovers of history and architecture. It no doubt adds to the
history of the city and justifies why Ahmedabad earned the Heritage City label.
But, somehow, I couldn’t completely soak in the history and beauty of the architecture.
The thought of taking pictures wasn’t on the surface of my mind. My mind was preoccupied
with some other thoughts.
At a large courtyard surrounded by pillars
all around, a young lad in jeans and a T-shirt, sporting the latest undercut
hair coloured blonde at the front told me “You are not allowed here”. When I
asked him “Why? Where is it written?”, he went and checked on the board at the
entrance which read something on the lines of “women with uncovered head and uncovered
legs not allowed”. He left without saying anything else.
Moments before that, as I was about to
enter the dargah, I was told, “Ladies not allowed!” I had backed off and busied
myself looking at the multi domed ceiling while the men of my house disappeared
inside the dargah.
There was a woman selling flowers for those
who wanted to make an offering. I asked her, “Aapka ek photo le sakti hu?” She was surprised. Waving her hand,
she told me to take pictures of the structure. She wasn’t sure why I wanted to
take a picture of her and not the monument we were inside. When I did not move
and pointed the camera at her, she gently smiled for the photograph. Her
flowers can enter the sacred room and the flowers she touched can touch the mazhar but she cannot enter. Clearly, I
found that more beautiful.
Man enters the world through the womb
of a woman and then bans the entry of women to a place of
worship. What an irony.
On the way back home, while swiping through
the pictures of the Sarkhej Roza a few questions came into my mind. There
are so many rules for women. Restrictions. Boundaries. Dictats. Unsaid
expectations.
“You are not allowed here!”
“Don’t go out at this time of the night!”
“Come home before dark!”
“Don’t wear that short/tight dress!”
“When will you get married?”
“Your biological clock is ticking. Don’t you
want to become a mother?”
The list goes on.
It’s not just the cloth burka that stifles,
some burkhas are invisible but heavier still. They are not seen, they can only be
felt. Its weight on a woman’s shoulders. Restricting her and stifling her
nonetheless.
