Travel Writing Scholarship 2013

They gather upon their knees, bowing amidst the haunting sound of wailing men and Islamic poems distress through an overhead loudhailer, saddling upon the stuffy, sallow air. Hundreds of men wipe tears from their cheeks, their sons protrude only a head taller, but their big kajal eyes pierce curiously through the black sea of sorrow.
The distant street light encroaches upon my wheat complexion, I consciously move my dupatta to prevent my curious eyes possibly colliding with another's which would ultimately result in an uncomfortable staring battle, impossible to win. Between the brush of material and a fleeting blink, the calm monotone atmosphere was suddenly filled with knives clutched by fisted hands, glistening in that moody distant street light. My pupils dilate. My body benumbed.

The crowd erupts into a sudden fit of madness. Men jump almost meters off the ground; a mosh pit of self mutilation lay before me, as they lash at their foreheads with blades they had proudly selected and grinded at the street side wallah only nights before. I run between the adrenaline fuelled zombie like men, their eyes dull, faces blank, staggering. Their head rags and white cotton shirts red with ritual.
I click away.
My name echoes in the distance and I quickly catch up; remaining close as I struggle to distinguish one black shalwar kameez from the next. Concealed by nightfall, we walk through the dim lit haze of Bombay central.
Dotted gatherings of zanjir take place along the infinite road; swinging chains with several bladed edges to lash their backs, some boys only hip high. Rosewater showers the crowd; the fragrance filters through my nostrils and will forever be deep-rooted in my reminiscence. A momentary time lapse of diluted blood meanders through every crevice of the tar and into the creases of my bare skinned feet.

My heart dies a compassionate death as I lay eyes upon his crimson face. Desperately wanting to grab his hand, I am forbidden. I rush him to the illuminated back doors of a nearby ambulance. My hand slowly wiping down his beautiful bone structured face, staring into the sad, distant eyes I had fallen in love with almost a year before.

For ten consecutive days I found myself immersed in the re-enactment of an age old battle to save their deep seeded religion and whilst I am not religious at all, I gave them respect and in turn, they respected me.