Location: Offshore, opposite Mahalaxmi racecourse
A palatial monument sitting beautifully in the middle of the Arabian sea. If I were a tourist in another city, my trip would have feel incomplete without visiting Haji Ali. Driving down Mahalaxmi, this distant visual allowed me brief moments to break away from city life and soak in a sense of calmness. While that would result in a longing to pay her a visit, the feeling would disappear as soon as the traffic signal turned green. I felt happy when I finally ventured out to get a closer view.
A gentle slope forms the entrance to the causeway, that which connects this shrine in the sea with land. Due to a foggy vision caused by a late afternoon sun, I was greeted first with the smell of fried food and then the smell of roses, entwined in garlands. Bright squared cloth being sold by the dozen, which one may lay on Haji Ali’s tomb, reflected the sun rays in all directions. In some stalls, a glowing yellow bulb provided for brighter visuals. There were vendors selling earrings, necklaces, and bangles. Hymns and chants blaring from a loudspeaker nearby. Beggars – men, women, little children, handicapped persons – lined the stretch. Closer to the monument, the intensity of the food stalls quadrupled. Little jut outs packed with tables served as sunset points. For a brief moment I forgot that I was on my way to a place of worship.
Within the confines of the main monument however, the colourful and noisy air of the causeway made way for a gentler feeling, one which was routed in deep prayer. I saw several women sitting around on the cool flooring, men tying headscarves, and young boys, keepers of your chappals, waving out to me. Inside the central dome, I stood mesmerized. The walls were decorated heavily with colourful glasswork – blues, pinks, yellows, and greens – and a big chandelier alighted upon Haji Ali’s tomb. Bold black calligraphy writings were splashed across the walls and in softer corners, women sat and read from the holy Quran. Outside, in separate quarters for men and women, evening namaz was being offered in the direction of Mecca. To the right of the dome, in a large open square, a crowd had gathered around a group of Quawwali singers. Their music did not penetrate the surrounding calmness. Renovation of the structure, bathed over the years in surrounding saline was ongoing. The minaret hidden behind scaffoldings provided for a first image of what Haji Ali will look like when all its concrete is replaced with Makrana marble.
I sat on a stone ledge behind the monument and played with crashing waves which ticked the underside of my feet. While I did not expect a mela like environment at the causeway, the sense of revered worship inside the mosque, lent my experience a feel of satisfaction. The next time I drive past Haji Ali, it will be with a familiar longing, but this time to see it adorned in white marble under a black sky.
Foot Loose in India 