40 Days with God – Liberation through Forgiveness

What if Religion was thought as Ancient History? Would it then be more acceptable?

History has its share of conflicts but they are less vicious and dogmatic than religious ones. And you tend to believe in history more than religion because they are observable facts. During the pilgrimage the tour operator took us on a visit to all the historical places around Makkah and Medina – the place where Prophet Mohammed and few other known leaders were born, the cave in which Koranic verses were revealed, the mountain top where the prophet hid during his migration to Medina, the battlefields where some famous battles happened etc.

You had read or heard many tales of the Prophet but seeing all those places in reality makes religion seem like history and helps you visualize the world at that time with its cultural and political dimensions.

There is an interesting aspect of the government in Saudi. They have not preserved most of the historical structures (e.g. the birthplace of the Prophet, houses of other leaders) in their original form but converted them either into a mosque or a library. The objective we were told is to prevent people from worshipping these places but rather praying and seeking only from a single God.

The library on the roof top of Masjid-e-Nabwi, the central mosque in Medina is a veritable delight for readers and historians. There are books in all major national languages across the globe covering various facets of Islamic and Arabic civilization – the arts, sciences, culture, politics and history besides the religious doctrines. What I found romantic were the early photos of Makkah and Medina before modernization giving a glimpse of how our grandfathers would have seen it when they did their Haj. The one hour that I spent in the library every afternoon was valuable education in the history of Islam and the character of Prophet Mohammed.

We were returning from a guided tour of Medina and our guide was a Pakistani scholar from the North-West who spoke in a monotonous but endearing accent – isn’t it always charming to hear someone speak a language in their local dialect. His pain at being distanced from his homeland and of a rapidly commercializing culture that was distancing itself from old values was palpable in his commentary. On the last leg of the tour he reminded us of the sanctity of Masjid-e-Nabwi where the prophet lived, prayed and died and the great opportunity life had given us to pray at the same place, to touch with our forehead the same ground which the prophet must have touched one day in prostration.

Affected by that emotional speech I was determined that afternoon to offer namaaz in the original mosque that housed the prophet’s pulpit – the place from where he preached. Since this place is smaller than the huge, modern prayer hall created as an extension, you need to be early to get a place to pray inside. I skipped my afternoon nap that day to secure a place inside the mosque.

The Prophet’s pulpit was in front of me and on my left was Bibi Ayesha’s (the Prophet’s wife) house where the prophet died and lies buried. The fact that I was sharing the same space where 1400 years ago the prophet would have stood and addressed people sitting where I was sitting made me tremble with reverence and fear. Was I worth the place? Did my character come anywhere close to that of the prophet’s companions and the people of those times, about whom I had read in the library books? And I bowed my head and cried for forgiveness because that was the only thing I could do.

God reserves the right to forgive you for your wrongdoings of His edicts – and He is most merciful. However Islam insists that if you have hurt your fellow citizens, you need to be first forgiven by them before Allah forgives you for such transgressions. That probably is one reason why it is customary to seek explicit forgiveness from all your relatives and friends before one leaves for Haj.

I had by now complete faith in the mercy of the Lord, but what about people I may have deliberately or inadvertently hurt. I needed them to forgive me. But what could I do sitting from there but only pray that God put the thought of forgiveness in their hearts.

And then I realized that if I am expecting others to forgive me, shouldn’t I be forgiving others for any wrongdoing or hurt they had caused me? The Universe, I had learned in a training program earlier in the year, gives you back what you sow. So the only way those I have hurt may forgive me is if I forgive those who have hurt me – and it didn’t matter if the hurting and the ones causing hurt were not the same, for the Universe will take care of that; haven’t we heard about the Laws of Conservation in physics.

I tried to recall the incidents and people who had pained me and as I went back in memory to remember such moments I realized that they were rarely from casual acquaintances or one-off incidents; most memories that I had of pain and hurt were caused by close relationships and friends and that revelation suddenly stunned me.

Do we hurt our loved ones the most? And if we hurt them then that hurt has to come back to us in some form or other, as per the Universal Law of reap as you sow. So then, are our loved ones the reason for all the hurt that we get from the world and vice-versa?

A very close relative, who works near my house, had refused to help or even inquire when I was struggling with all the preparations before leaving for Haj. As I would sleep exhausted well after midnight and then wake up before dawn each day to wind-up remaining tasks I would feel pained by his indifference. And I had carried that pain with me to the pilgrimage.

I called him up from the mosque, knowing well that it was not courteous to make a phone call from that holy precinct. But it was important for me to forgive him then and there. He inquired cheerfully about my pilgrimage, told me how he had been praying in every namaaz five times a day about my well-being and safety. I felt cheerful and happy talking to him and all the hurt seemed to go away.

Did he feel he was doing his duty by praying to God for helping me out and taking care of me? Was his intent thus to help me, only his manner was different from what I was expecting? And thus was he wrong or only I was assuming he was wrong?

Only God knows the true intents of a person so does anyone other than God have a right to judge another person?

As I walked out of the mosque later that evening I felt strangely liberated, completely at peace with myself. What great freedom it is to have the burden of judgment taken away, to know that you can never truly judge anyone else and thus everyone may be right in their own way. And that makes forgiving others so easy.

How light and peaceful it feels on having truly forgiven everyone. I tried to recall again all those incidents of pain and hurt which had been stored inside me for years. They came back now only as incidents with no feeling of pain or hurt. Is this the test of true forgiveness?

I realized how simple it is to live a hurt-free life. All we need to develop is an ability to genuinely forgive the other for their seeming mistakes.

[Next week we will travel back to Makkah for the actual Haj rituals – the prime purpose of taking this pilgrimage.]

40 Days with God – Death and the Pleasures of Life

How far are we from our death?

We were on the highway to Medina, travelling at 120 KMPH on a scorching afternoon surrounded by arid desert and rocky mountains – the Arab countryside is a tough environment. The front tyre under the driver’s seat (Gulf has Left Hand Drive) had burst at noon, but the driver had managed to keep the hobbling bus in control. After a 2 hour break for tyre change we were back on the road again and passing through one of the numerous over bridges. Suddenly the tyre on the front right side of the bus burst with a huge blast. The steering slipped from the drivers hand and the bus veered rapidly towards the right. The strong Egyptian driver stood at his seat and leaned heavily on the steering using his full strength to turn the bus left. The bus brushed the railing on the right before turning left and coming to a halt. A few seconds delay and we would have plunged straight into the underpass 200 feet below.

It is amazing how we feel death will not happen to us, at least not in the foreseeable future when it is happening all around; accidents, bomb blasts, cardiac arrests etc. That afternoon we were only a few seconds away from imminent death. I can never forget the huge stunned eyes of the driver. It is so odd to see a strong, heavily built man completely mortified and in fear – the fear of what could have happened.

How much of our life we spend in regret or fear of what could have happened rather than experience fully what is happening?

The burst tyre

There were two predominant reactions in the bus; anger and fear. Travel brings out the true self, we had observed in our opening chapter and you could see how. The angry immediately went about blaming everyone from the driver for not having checked the vehicle properly, to the travel company which provided the bus, to the tour operator and even the Saudi Government for trying to commercialize the pilgrimage. The fearful began to cry and pray. Very soon though everyone realized they had a fascinating tale to recount so most of them got on their mobile, including myself, either narrating the incident to friends and family or clicking pictures of the burst tyre for posterity. Death, no matter how certain or close, is no match for life.

That is probably how it should be. But should we not in our life know that it is eventually going to end and that end may be sooner than we think. And everything thus is temporary – all success and failure, all sorrow and happiness, all defeat and hurt. There could not be a greater motivation to lead an egoless life of forgiveness and love.

I was, to be honest amused by the entire experience. This was an incident outside our control. If we had full faith in God – and that would be a minimum requirement for being on the pilgrimage – there was no reason to worry or get angry. God would do what was best for us and our loved ones. Yet, when put to test it was so difficult to be true to that faith.

We reached Medina at 11:30 PM in the night taking 13 hours for a 7 hour journey. The Masjid-e-Nabwi (The Mosque of the Prophet) was just 100 meters from our hotel, separated by a narrow lane lined on either side with street shops which where were closed for the night. Inside that mosque were the tombs of Prophet Muhammad and a few of his closes companions. To imagine that the prophet lay buried just a few hundred meters away from where we slept made the conscience alert with reverence, gratitude and fear.

From the hotel window we could see the huge open portico of the mosque largely empty due to the late hours. There was a sense of such peace and serenity that made the turmoil of the day seem so unreal and distant.

Medina is 400 kms away from Makkah, but in all other aspects it is poles apart. The temperature is 7 – 8 degrees cooler making it very pleasant, there is far more greenery than the stony mountainous landscape of Makkah and the people are far more hospitable and warm. A shopkeeper in Makkah would require three inquiries before he would respond with the price of a particular item, with the attitude of someone doing a favor. In Medina, the moment you paused in front of a shop, the shopkeeper would come around, shake your hand and take you inside to show his wares.

Just behind the central structure of Masjid-e-Nabwi which houses the prophet’s tomb, is the huge newly built prayer hall. On my third morning in Medina, which was a Sunday, I was sitting on the open roof top of that hall having just finished the namaz-e-fajr or the prayers before sunrise. There was an amazing sense of peace and quietude like an unhurried village morning. The sky was largely clear except for a few stray clouds near the horizon and in the slowly fading darkness one could the see a few pigeons flying in the backdrop of distant mountain slowly taking shape. It seemed as if there was no world beyond this place.

Sunrise at Masjid-e-Nabwi

As the sun started to rise I could see the grey clouds on the horizon slowly turn orange and then after ten minutes, as the sun came up their color changed back to grey. It was a fascinating experience to observe as nature changed color and hue. How fortunate are those who derive pleasure from the everyday joys that life offers – the peace of a morning, the smile of a child, the indescribable thrill of an orgasm, a great line from a book, a break from sleep in the night only to realize there are still a couple of hours for the morning alarm. They require no passport, no visa, no huge flats in high rise apartments with higher EMIs. Nature puts no price for its pleasures.

I walked back to my hotel room as the sun started to become strong. The shops had still not opened and at the corner of a narrow by-lane a small tea vendor was selling hot tea with biscuits and local bread. A mat lay spread on one side where the pilgrims who couldn’t afford private tour operators who provided food along with accommodation sat and enjoyed their morning tea.

I went to my hotel, picked up a cup of tea from the hot pot kept in the lobby and went up to my room where everyone was still asleep. It was like the Sunday mornings of my early youth and I felt if I switched on the TV there would be Rangoli playing on Door Darshan.

Medina is tranquil where Makkah was intense. Even the rituals at Medina are simple as compared to the physical, exhaustive circumambulations at Makkah. Was this part of the grand design? Does the calmness and peace after the toil and the intensity help you uncover another facet of your own self, help you probe even further within your own recess?

We will try and understand ‘how’ it impacted in the next chapter.

40 Days with God – Seeking Pardon

Can we imagine waiting for two decades to fulfill a cherished dream?

In today’s generation of instant gratification it sounds almost like a fable. One of the rituals at Haj is to greet as many people as you can, so after every namaaz (congregation prayers) as a practice most people greet pilgrims sitting on either side. It is then you realize what it is to become a ‘citizen of the world’ because your neighbor may be from any part of the world, any strata of society, any age group.

I met a Turkish tour guide, a Morocco businessman, an Afghani who wanted to know about T20 World Cup underway in India at that time, a Dutch IT contractor who was a former Tech Mahindra ITPian migrated a few years ago, a Pakistani from a village in Baluchistan where it was common practice to find letters on your front door seeking money for being ‘protected’ and an old Bangladeshi who had waited for 20 years to retire so that he could utilize the retirement money to make the pilgrimage.

How does one feel on achieving a purpose one has patiently waited more than two decades for? It was humbling to see the devotion in his eyes. Could we ever achieve that depth of feeling? Do the ‘haves’ realize what the ‘have not’s’ have?

It was also interesting to note that countries and regions have cultures and behaviors which make them distinct and identifiable. After a couple of weeks it became an interesting activity to look at a group and identify their country. And it went beyond dress and physical features. It extended to their demeanor, their public behavior. Not wanting to hurt any patriotic sentiments, it was clear how the Indonesians were so disciplined and organized, the Turks almost invariably wore the same light green color and when there would be time limit for certain rituals you could guess who would be the people rushing and jumping queues to get a glimpse.

A Pakistani lady was surprised to hear my wife talk about the comfortable and secure life we live in India. She thought, as did many Pakistani’s we met, that Muslims here were a harassed lot. It was obvious that they lived a life of strife there. When I asked a Pakistani which city he lived in, he instinctively replied “Bomb blast” before correcting himself to say Karachi. It was funny and tragic at the same time.

Do we value the things we have got, things we are so accustomed to that we take it for granted?

The first week at Makkah had been understandably more intense – the experience was new, the sights were new and there were a lot more tears and opening up as realizations started coming to the fore. The second week was more of reflection, of internalizing and knowing oneself better which led to a heightened sense of self-awareness and mindfulness.

This self-awareness though can be disturbing especially when the first thing it throws up is a lot of internal dirt which we had so conveniently camouflaged with our seemingly good intents. I like being a trainer and a writer, but I realized in those moments of self-awareness that it was primarily because it gave me an opportunity to be liked and praised. That my love for interaction was in fact my love for popularity and appreciation.

There is no doubt that all actions, to be pure, have to be performed with the sole intent of pleasing God. Could any of my ‘good’ deeds then stand up for scrutiny, because they were performed principally with the intent of making me look good. I do receive a lot of appreciation both for my training and my writing. Have I then already received my reward from the universe? How could I expect a higher reward from God? Why should I expect it?

As I sat in the mataaf (the open area encircling the Kaaba) one evening in our final week in Makkah these thoughts made me misty and fearful. I had come here seeking acquiescence from my God and the reward of becoming pure. But all I had to show were deeds done out of a unfailing desire to seek credit, when all the prophets and great people that I had been reading about lately were people who had led lives of hardship and sacrifice with no desire for acclaim. It left me completely hopeless and ashamed. For all the things I had, I was a pauper in deeds.

As I raised my hands for the dua (supplication) at the end of the last prayers for the night in this state of hollowness, a strange thought came to my mind. Why shouldn't I seek both from God? Why shouldn't he pardon my transgressions and still consider me amongst the pious? I felt like the stubborn child who knows he doesn't deserve a toy, yet is confident his parents will grant him one if only he persists.

The Quran says that Allah is many times more merciful than a mother. So shouldn't I expect to be shown mercy? Shouldn't I have a ‘right’ to be pardoned no matter how conceited my intents were? If my mother can then why can’t Allah?

And I demanded and pleaded in the same moment. There were no words because I didn't know what to say, how to express. Just a torrent of tears which flowed automatically as I stared besieged at the abode of God. I didn't want to leave the place, didn't want to go to the hotel or home or anywhere, just stand there and do whatever I could – beg, plead, threaten Allah to pardon and forgive me.

I don’t think I have ever cried that long in my life. Finally I turned around and left, slowly and unwillingly.

The street outside was largely empty as most pilgrims had returned to their hotels for the night and the temperature had turned slightly mild. It was as if I was returning from my Tawaaf-ul-vidat (the farewell circumambulation of the Kaaba) which was still a few weeks away. And it felt strangely liberating. I felt light and happy as I walked back to the hotel; the lightness of a person who knows not the result, but knows that he made a worthwhile attempt.

That night in the hotel room I indulged in some light banter, even cracked a joke with my roommate – the first time I had felt like that since I left Mumbai. We were soon to leave for our 2 week sojourn to Medina before we could return back to Makkah for the actual Haj rituals. Medina was the town where Prophet Muhammad had migrated to after the tribal warlords at Makkah had made it difficult for him to practice Islam.

The stage was set for the next phase of experience.

40 Days with God – Love and Fear

Ever since I posted the article about the experience of actually ‘being there’ at Kaaba many people have over emails or personally talked about how they had a similar experience of having a practiced list of things to seek from God, but once in the presence of the deity having forgotten everything and simply returned with a bowed head and a light heart. Interestingly they belonged to different religions and sects each with his/her own deity or pilgrimage.

How then is my religion different from anyone else’s if our experiences are same? Could there really be different religions? We will continue to understand religion as we go along.

To understand, one needs to explore, to have, as we said in an earlier chapter, the ‘talab’. And for those on a quest to learn there is no dearth of questions. By the end of the first week I was confronted with the question of what is right behavior? To leave my wife and go to offer prayers or to accompany her but miss some part of it? To cry in private or allow the tears to flow publicly, because that would be tantamount to putting ones faith on display which is forbidden.

Is it the burden of the conscientious to be forever in doubt about right and wrong?

I don’t know.

And that was the overwhelming feeling towards the end of the first week. That I didn’t know the answers to so many questions; that I didn’t know whether I was taking the right decision or not and I didn’t know, with all due respect to our scholarly guide, whether he or anyone else would be able to understand my dilemmas and guide me. It was then that I understood what one truly needs to seek from the Lord when one is in His presence – Hidayat (guidance), Hikmat (wisdom), Ilm (knowledge) and Imaan (faith).

If we have this in true measure life would be so simple to live.

The first week at Makkah, as I have narrated earlier was a continuous process of gratitude and forgiveness and the natural tears that flowed from the realization of God’s graciousness and your own wrongdoings. After every such bout of crying, which was frequent in the first week, there would be a feeling of deep relaxation, of having shed a small burden. By the end of the week though, I began to worry about the intensity becoming diluted and the tears drying up. After all how long can one continue to be impacted by the same experience?

There was no need to worry. I should have rather, as one of my trainers at a coaching workshop long ago emphasized, trusted the process.

Sometime during the second week I suddenly realized that I loved the word of Allah on my lips. I have to admit that while I knew that jikr or chanting the name of God is a preferred act any time, I would do it either mechanically or due to the religious decree. There was a lack of feeling or belief in it. I couldn't see how it helped. Suddenly now I realized I loved taking that name – there was no logic or reasoning – just simple, plain liking.

I don’t know how or why that happened but when I think on hindsight I feel that when one is filled with penitence and gratitude it is only natural to eventually feel love. And what pleasure it is when you do something not for reward or fear of punishment but from a feeling of pure love?

I realized that day what the Sufi’s mean by ‘rab da ishq’ – the love of the Lord. When all you want is your beloved’s name on your lips and her sight in your eyes. When you raise your hands to the ears at the beginning of the namaaz saying ‘muh mera taraf kaaba sharief key’ (I start my prayer facing the kaaba) and raise your eyes to see the Kaaba actually in front of you – nothing can match that start. And then when you bow down in sijdaah (prostration) you do not want to rise up again, wanting the forehead to stay in contact with that holy land and the heart in total subjugation to God. That feeling is like no other.

And I questioned myself whether I had ever loved my wife, my parents with the same intense love that I now felt. Or was I only expecting such love in return? How happy would life be if one were to bring such love in all the relationships?

That evening though a new doubt awaited me. In his routine discourse after dinner our guide said that a true Muslim lived his life between the Love and Fear of Allah.

How can Love co-exist with Fear? They appear such contrasting emotions. When you love someone so completely where was the need to fear? How could the Prophet and his followers who were already blessed spend nights in contrition and fear?

The answer wasn't difficult to discover. If your boss told you at the beginning of the year that he was so impressed by the way you work that he had already marked you as ‘outstanding’ in the appraisal system, you would fear that nothing you did that year should make him change his impression. The higher the reward, the greater would be the sense of responsibility and the fear of wrongdoing. And thus the blessed would in fact be more afraid and contrite than anyone else.

The fear was not about losing the reward – that had been already marked in the ‘system’. The fear would be about losing the trust which your boss had reposed by taking that decision. And that is a much heavy but enabling fear which helps you take the difficult but right decisions when the wrong is so easy and desirable.

And this love and fear only can lighten the burden of the conscientious.

The gratitude and remorse of the first week had led to love and fear in the second. As the third and final week in Makkah arrived it started to turn into panic.

Had I done enough to achieve the objective with which I had set out – rab ko raazi karna – to seek Gods consensus. In one week I would be leaving the house of God. There was not much time to seek an answer to that critical question.

40 Days with God – Getting under the surface

We started this series with the intention of trying to understand the process, the ‘how’ of how a pilgrimage has the power to transform, to make you as pure as a newborn. It has taken us four chapters to just reach the physical destination of the pilgrimage, but that was because preparation and planning are so essential to achieving any goal.

The Quran says (in Sura-al-Fatir) that ‘those who plan badly have to bear its consequences.’ Now how much of that relates to Project Management practices? And we thought that religious texts only prescribe to religion and God. One of the interesting realizations during this journey was comprehension of the term ‘religion’. We will come to that during the course of our journey.

I had taken along with me an 800 page volume of the transliteration of the Holy Quran thinking that without any personal and professional obligations I would have enough time on my hands to read a few chapters every day. I was wrong. Inside the Haram (as the grand mosque is normally referred to) you don’t have to do anything to spend time.

Circumambulating the Kaaba (called tawaaf), or walking the seven rounds between the Mountains of Safa and Marwah (called saee) or simply sitting in front of the Kaaba with all the time to yourself, your life starts playing itself in your memory. And it always begins with a single thought; what was the good you did that God bestowed on you this great privilege of being at the place where so much history has been created by such revered people.

And you struggle to identify one honest good deed. What instead come to mind easily are the various wrongdoings; the times when you were angry with your spouse or parents, or envious of a friend’s success or hurt someone because you were upset, often due to your own lacking. There are enough times you realize where you behaved in a manner that your conscious knew, at that time or a little later, wasn’t exactly the right behavior.

Every action of the body first begins as a thought in the mind. If the root (or intent) of that thought is pure the action is likely to be good. We had a scholar as our tour guide – a PhD in Islamic Studies from the University of Madina. He told us that every amal (deed / action) had to be performed with the sole intent of pleasing God. Was there a single deed I had done which could strictly satisfy that criteria – because every success, every good deed, every charity I could think of was somewhere deep down rooted in self-pride, fame or fear.

Whether it is the great sanctity of the place or the unfettered time you get to yourself, it becomes easy to get under the veneer of your own self and you begin to discover your true intent which neither your boss nor your friends or family may have ever come to know about. There is no one in that loneliness to try and impress but you and God and how many lies can you tell your own self?

You realize that in that hitherto unaccessed recess of your heart and mind lay a lot of garbage which you would never have been able to reach otherwise. And your hands automatically rise in repentance and forgiveness that is genuine to the core. It is only such forgiveness which can clean some of that internal garbage and start making you pure.

The sanctity of the place demands reverence. Every good deed done in Makkah, the Holy book says, fetches you a hundred thousand times more in reward. At the same time, every wrong deed or even wrong intent fetches you a similarly high punishment. Leaving the arithmetic apart what it means is that one has to be constantly aware and conscious of one’s intent and not just the deed. It reinforces mindfulness and taqwa and helps in the journey of self-discovery.

And you realize being good also is not as simple especially when the conflict is between two goods.

It is the first Friday in Makkah and I am conscious of going to Haram early to get a vantage place for the afternoon congregation prayers from where I can see the Head Priest reciting the sermon. But my wife who has had a long night doesn’t share my eagerness and is taking her own time getting ready in our hotel room. We get only 3 Friday’s in Makkah and I am getting fidgety and anxious as she takes time with the morning chores. I am not able to decide whether I should leave for the mosque alone letting her come on her own whenever she is ready or stay back and accompany her. Whether my duty as a muhrim (i.e. one accompanying a female relative) means I have to wait for her even if it means having to forego a lifetime opportunity? Which is a greater duty to adopt since both are prescribed by religion and which one needs to be sacrificed?

For the conscientious there could be so many questions. Is it the burden of the conscientious to be continuously in doubt about one’s choices? Is being continuously aware and mindful of one’s choices a more stressful way of living?

We will talk about more such questions in our chapter next week.

40 Days with God – Being There

How does it feel to reach a destination, to finally experience the thing one has been intensely waiting for all along?

Wonder, Fear and Gratitude.

We reached our hotel in Makkah at 5 am in the morning. What a feeling of wonder it is to be present in a new city, in a new world that is outside your daily world of existence; a place you have only read about but never been. The bus dropped us in front of our hotel and all along that street we could make out neon lights of more hotels. In front of each hotel on the pavement were piled up loads of luggage emptied by busses ferrying the pilgrims from Jeddah. Ours we were told will reach our room. There was the natural tendency to worry that something may get lost, that someone on the street will run away with our bag. Our tour manager reassured us that the hotel staff will take care.

I recalled what our trainer at a Transformation workshop I had attended earlier that year had said, “When you have 100% faith, you have 0% worry,” and realized how difficult that is in practice, especially when your possessions are at stake.

The Masjid-al-Haram inside which the Kaaba is situated is only 200 meters down the road we are told. You are in your hotel room with only a rocky mountain and some dilapidated buildings visible from the lone window, but to realize you are so near to your object of reverence puts the entire being into a sense of high alert. The test of patience and endurance continues – there are only 3 lifts to ferry 220 tired people over 13 floors, but you are automatically mindful of your every action. God somehow is more nearer than ever.

We did not want to do our first ever darshan (one call always write ‘sighting’ in English, but certain words in certain languages imply a connotation, express a feeling so close to the experience that no other word in any other language describes it better) of Kaaba in the exhausted state we were in so we decided to have some sleep, refresh ourselves and then visit the holiest of all mosques in Islam.

At 10:00 in the morning we are ready. How does a groom feel on the wedding day? A deep desire that nothing goes wrong for this only ever event of his life. There are great blessings to be derived from the first ever sighting of the Kaaba and thus in every training program before embarking on the pilgrimage we were given detailed instructions on how to enter the mosque, how to look at Kaaba for the first time, which duas (prayers) to recite etc. I picked up the book where I had written down all these things and did one more revision. It was time to fulfill the cherished dream.

The Masjid-al-Haram (haram in Arabic means ‘sanctuary’ or ‘holy site’) covers an area of 356,000 sq meters and can accommodate around 900,000 worshippers at any given time. Currently it has 96 gates (expansion work is in progress.) At the centre of this mosque, in an open courtyard (called the ‘mataf’) is the Kaaba – the cuboid shaped structure which all Muslims – irrespective of their sects, creeds and other beliefs turn towards when offering namaaz. Built by Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham) and his son Ismail (Ishmael) in 2130 BC and later consecrated by Prophet Muhammed in 630 AD the Kaaba is the most revered structure in Islam not just because of its religious and historical significance but also in its message of unifying all Muslims in the worship of a single God.

The risk in following process very diligently is that you can miss out on the feeling. We entered Masjid-al-Haram from Gate No 1. The process said that as you enter the mosque you should keep your eyes lowered in respect till you come to the center from where you can see the Kaaba. Then slowly you should raise your eyes reciting your most cherished prayers because it is ordained that whatever you wish from the moment you lay your eyes the Kaaba for the first time till the time you blink again will be fulfilled.

The huge mosque is half empty at that time in the morning. As we enter with our eyes lowered we do not know how far the centre is. After walking about 100 meters we look up with a natural curiosity, see the Kaaba partially then look down again quickly because we are still some distance away from the centre which we now see is to be approached through a flight of stairs leading down.

Have I messed up my first ever sighting of this holy structure? Have I missed this rare opportunity in my life to fulfill all my cherished wishes?

The fear almost leads to panic. We finally reach the stairs, take the few steps down and right in front of us, in all its silent splendor is the magnificent stone structure draped in a dark black cloth (called the kiswa) with verses from the Holy Quran inscribed in gold letterings near the top.

I try to remember my choicest wishes, all the prescribed duas which I had repeated so many times and learnt by rote, but in that moment of infinite reverence I can’t recall any of them. I just stand there inundated with a huge sense of gratitude, of unlimited thankfulness to the Almighty for having brought me here, for showing me what I was seeing.

And then the tears flow effortlessly and naturally. And you don’t pray for anything else except for forgiveness. Because you realize that there is nothing you have ever done in life, nothing you could have ever done in life that would have ‘earned’ you this great fortune of being at this place. That you are here not on your merit but because of the sheer benevolence of someone who has the great mercy to forgive you and grant you this ultimate privilege.

And despite the harsh afternoon sun on your uncovered head, despite the heat and the exhaustion you just sit there sobbing your heart in your open palms oblivious of anything around you.

There is no greater relief than crying to your heart’s content.

[Next week we will try to understand ‘how’ a cycle of gratitude and forgiveness can lead to purification and lightness of being]

40 Days with God – Getting Away from it all

Advancement in communications technology means one can always stay connected from anywhere. It also means one can never get away.

A pilgrimage is about getting away – getting away from family, work, everything worldly and spending time in communion with self and God.

It is vital to plan that. Almost all my time before embarking on the trip was spent trying to bring my work to a logical end and hand over, visit my children’s school, ensure provisions are stocked at home for the period, pay credit card bills for the month and next etc. anything that was likely to come up in the next 6 weeks. The idea was 0 phones from office during the trip and the odd weekly call with family.

When I sat at Mumbai airport waiting for the flight to Jeddah the predominant emotion was not of awe or excitement but fatigue and a sense of fear – fear of whether I had prepared enough. Because the one thing one didn’t want to come back with after undertaking a journey like this was regret; the regret of having not given it your best.

For a person entering Makkah with the intent of performing Haj (or Umrah) it is essential to get into a state of ihram (consecration) at the defined meeqat or boundary. The boundary when you are flying in from India comes before Jeddah i.e. you fly over it and hence one normally gets into the state of ihram at the airport itself.

It is critical to understand the significance and purpose of ihram because it is amongst the three compulsory conditions for Haj. Ihram is derived from the Arabic harama (to prohibit) and in English means consecration or sanctification for a special purpose or service, usually religious. Consecration has the same root as the word ‘sacred’ and literally means to get sacred, to dedicate oneself to the service of God.

Hence before entering the state of ihram a person has to take a bath, clip the nails and remove the hair from the armpit and pubes. Then the male needs to discard his clothes and adorn two sheets of plain white, unstitched clothing, one to be wrapped around the loins, another to be worn over the shoulder.  The purpose of this is twofold:

First is universal brotherhood. Our clothes form the last vestige of our social status. By discarding our clothes we also discard our social status and thus when every Haji presents himself in only these two pieces of unstitched white all appear equal with no distinction of caste, creed, nationality or social or financial status.

The second and more spiritual significance implies the giving up of the world. The white clothes resemble the shroud or the kafan, the clothes in which we will be wrapped after death. We have already left behind our family, our work and our properties and wealth to undertake this journey. By wearing the ihram we get into a state of ‘virtual death’ and this state of the mind makes it conducive to distance ourselves from worldly matters and look at life for the temporary endeavor that it is. This mindset helps in recalling our sins and seeking genuine forgiveness when we pray at Kaaba.

There are thus restrictions in a state of ihram; you are prohibited to kill animals including insects, pluck leaves, remove body hair or apply fragrance, engage in intimate dialogue with your spouse etc.

There are also two virtues which are essential not only in the state of ihram but during the entire trip for the Haj to be deemed acceptable by God; patience and service. You are thus not supposed to engage in arguments and wrangling, be tolerant of any hardships and provide assistance to your fellow travelers.

The ideals seem desirous and the heart longs to follow them, but you realize what a challenge it can be the moment you land at Jeddah airport; it is midnight (2:30 am IST,) you are exhausted and desperately longing for your hotel bed, but there are numerous procedures to clear. And there are thousands of pilgrims from all parts of the world, each with a different temperament – quite, obstinate, short-tempered, over-smart, and each as tired and desperate for sleep as you are.

And the young men at the counter are college students drafted especially for the Haj season who have to stay at the airport barracks and report for 16 hours of duty. They are generally courteous and respectful of the Haji, but need their breaks and have their frustrations with people who have never flown before and understand neither English nor Arabic.

In this conundrum of people, process and paucity lies the true test of your character; how tolerant are you of the officer who walks out for a break just when your turn came after half an hour of waiting? How willing are you to give up your seat for a family and wait for the next bus to Makkah?

And then you realize that in such circumstances, which will be often during the journey, it is only taqwa – the continuous consciousness of what is right – and mindfulness – an awareness of your own state of mind – that will help you stay in control of your emotions and guide you to act in the desired manner.

And you realize how 40 days of such deliberate consciousness can help you imbibe some of these principles for your life hereafter; of how a pilgrimage has the potential to transform if done as prescribed.

[Next week we will realize one of the most cherished objectives of our journey; to see the Kaaba right in front of our eyes.]