Of Jummah Sights
Lahore is beautiful. Every Friday I see three people pass by my house to go to the local mosque for Jummah prayers. I can see them from my terrace where - every Friday - I do the laundry before the azaan and set the clothes on the line under the bright sun. The first two people I see: A father probably in his mid-30’s with his little son (he could be 4, he could be 5) - both wearing clean white shalwar kameez with black sandals on. Their hair combed back neatly, sleeves folded back. The father holds his little boy’s hand gently while walking toward the masjid. The little boy takes quick, adorable steps to keep up with his father. Sometimes he skips. He giggles when his abbu swoops him up and places him on his strong shoulders. They disappear happily into the bustling crowd of men before the masjid.
The third person I see is a young, handsome man who often wears a sky blue shalwar kameez with mahogany colored chappals on. His face is one of the most peaceful ones I’ve chanced upon. In one hand he holds a tasbeeh (rosary) and in the other a small, old book with verses in it, I think. He walks with his calm gaze focused on the ground below him. Sometimes he picks up little pieces of brick from the street so others aren’t harmed by it. Sometimes he looks up at the terrace and squints with the sun in his eyes.
They all stand together. The child between the tall men. The young man between the old men. They all pray together.