I was sitting in front of Shah Jamal yesterday, sipping my Chai at 1 in the morning, watching the rush. A guy, 50 in age perhaps, with long dreadlocks reaching his behind, was crouching on a horse cart, looking slightly taken away by the Joints he was smoking. He was wearing a piece of cloth, not more. His follower, a young fair man who just wore a toga and heavy chains around his neck, was bustling between the horse and the Sufi, talking to each of them. His bare feet munched in the wet dirt road. Continue reading
