Waiting for a king

The empty space as seen through the “jali" window inside Zafar Mahal in Mehrauli was said to have been kept by last Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar for his own burial. Known more for his poetry and patronage of the arts rather then his martial prowess, the elderly king supported the 1857 rebellion, albeit reluctantly, and was tried for treason after the sepoys lost.

Exiled to Rangoon, he died there in 1862, and was buried by the British in an unmarked grave, which was rediscovered by some workers in 1991.

Several sources attribute this couplet to Zafar, who died a lonely death away from his homeland.
“Kitnā hai bad-nasīb 'zafar' dafn ke liye/Do gaz zamīn bhī na milī kū-e-yār meñ.” (How unlucky is Zafar, to not have even two yards for burial in the land of his beloved).

Remembered my visit to Zafar Mahal as I came across a recent news story on lndian Embassy in Yangon preparing to offer a chadar made in Ajmer Dargah at Zafar’s grave.

A Few Good Men

Against the backdrop of the horrific incidents that happened around us in the last few days, I, like many others, was thinking about the many, many moments when I felt unsafe on the streets.

For a change, I then tried to remember some instances when I was made to feel safe by random unknown people.

Like the bus conductor who was keeping an eye out for me and my friend as we, young trainees in PTI in 2001, went on an Agra-Mathura trip on a foggy winter day. Dropping us late at night, he brought the bus as close to our house as possible.

Like the rickshawala taking me home one day after I got my dinner packed from Nizamuddin. He pedalled fast and furious to veer off the main road to a side lane to avoid a group of loud bikers who seemed to be on an ethyl alcohol-induced frenzy.

Like the auto driver who turned 170 degrees from his seat at a signal and told me in an urgent whisper, "put your phone in your bag". I did, and saw that a guy in a two-wheeler has come too close to the auto, nearly ready to snatch my mobile.

Like the ATM guard who gave me "do hazar ka khulla" from his pocket as he heard me uttering to myself that I have no change to take an autorickshaw home.

Like the old light-man in erstwhile Regal cinema who would always offer me a special seat, not letting anyone to sit beside me, as I would go to watch movies alone in that ramshackle theatre.

Like the guy in the general compartment of a local train in Calcutta over 20 years ago, who silently pushed back a man who was making me uncomfortable and stood as a protective wall.

I am not trying to say that our world is not overflowing with fear. I know that I, despite being a nobody, have many privileges which most women, facing daily violence, cannot even afford to think about. But I think time has come to stop calling each other names in social media over our views on security for women, as these are mostly quick reactions (I now think I used too many "us" and "them" in my last post on this), and seek justice and safety for everyone, be it a woman or man, irrespective of class or community.

Yeah, that's a mirage. Still...