Falling off a Mosque

A Statue at Mahakuta sacred pool (seventh century)

Ibrahim mosque

Woman sweeping inside Gol Gumbaz mosque

Gol Gumbaz stands like an obese giant among a village of dwarfs. It's a 14^th century mosque in Bijapur that towers seven tall stories and is wider than any other temple we’ve visited. The structure consists of a giant dome surrounded by four pillars on either corner.

Thanks to Dr. Rao’s privileged position as former head director of the archeological survey of Indian,we get private access to the mosque at sunset and early the next morning before sightseeing crowds arrive.

The guards unlock the doors and one by one, we snake through the frighteningly dark and narrow stairs, stopping at each level to observe the views. The last door empties into the top interior of the primary dome structure. Nearly no light to see our neighbors. The most sublime thing about the entire structure is the way it echoes. Even a whisper reverberates seven distinct times so that it’s impossible to know where someone is standing.

After listening to echoes for some time, I walk out one of the doorways and the sky’s almost fully lit. I take a seat on the top of one of the holiest religious places for Muslims in South India with a few others, immersed in the sky’s reds and blues, the protruding silhouette of ancient columns. A deep silence is cracked by echoing voices from people yelping inside the giant dome.

While others leave to explore, I sit for a little while longer, snapping photos and just observing it all. Suddenly, the inevitable question of the journey pops in to my head: “what am I getting out of all this?” All the temples, the land, the people, the food. Am I supposed to go home changed? A better or more understanding person? What exactly am I here for?

Before I left, everyone wanted to know why India. I’d rattle off a list that would satisfy: I want to learn the language my Muslim cousins speak, I want to go somewhere I might never get a chance to see, not to mention it’s a significantly cheaper study abroad program than any other my college offers. One relative asked me if I’m going to find myself. She said people always seem to go to India to find themselves. I replied that I’m not going there to find myself; I never really explored the idea. But I guess If I find myself, it would just be an added bonus.

All my responses were pretty much true, but my real reason was, “Why not?” I generally hate the idea of being obligated to “get something” out of experiences. I go in with limited expectations, and if I come out unphased, that’s OK with me.

When I was in Israel, the same thing happened. Mike from Texas asked me, as we shared a hookah, if I felt like the trip changed me. And I said, “Changed me? No, not really. If anything it made me more confident in who I am.” Then I asked him the same question.

He answered, “Well, when it’s over, I’ll probably get home, take a shower, eat a bowl of cereal, then it’ll be like this never happened.”

Sitting up on the top of this mosque alone, nothing’s really changed. I’ve seen true poverty better, but I don’t think I will alter how I will use the privilege of having been born white American too, too much (at least not right off the bat.) I know a little more about what it’s like to be a racial minority, and what it’s like to feel uncomfortable. But nothing’s really changed. I see there’s a way of life apart from materialism, and I’ve witnessed the importance of closeness to family. I’ve been around people that sleep outside on the rocky ground, enclosed by a mosquito net, because they have no home or bed. Nothing’s really changed though.

I’ve been sitting on this artifact long enough - It’s time to get off. But I’m up higher than I thought, and when I take my step down, there’s no ground below me. I’m falling – luckily, with enough time to make and execute a plan B, throwing my hands out in front of me and catching myself by the palms. No problem.

I look around to see if anyone saw, and thankfully I’m alone. That could have been embarrassing. There’s just a little knick on the upper palm of my left hand. For the rest of the day my arms ache a little, but I don’t tell anyone. It’s not too bad. I just need to see before I act.

The next day, I take another digger - sliding on a slope of dirt, while wandering through the ruins of Ramachandra temple in Hubli. I catch myself in much the same way as I did before, but this time I’m surrounded by people. I get a few, “are you OKs?” but it’s not embarrassing.

Again, I’m just fine, save for a little knick on the palm of my right hand. Hey, at least my hands match. But I guess I didn’t learn from my first mistake. Nothing really changes. No matter how majestic or exotic the scenery, you still fall the same way. It’s hard to teach yourself to see when you’re used to just looking.

Woman at work at river in Virupaksha

Stone carriage at Virupaksha temple

Sacred pool at Mahakuta

Tiny disc boats at the deadly whirlpool