Twin towers tourism.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

In the hot months, the hottest place in Delhi may well be the top of the Jama Masjid minarets. These twin towers of red sandstone soar above a city whose beleaguered bechare citizens spend much of May and June searching for shade. The towers stand fully exposed to the blazing summer sun, slowly baking in the heat.

Yet people keep climbing the towers. They come to the monument, cross the vast courtyard, and buy a ticket to ascend one of the two minarets.

In practice, foreign tourists are directed to the northern tower, while Indian visitors climb the southern one. The ascent itself is an adventure. The staircase is narrow and steep. It coils endlessly upward. You keep turning, body stressfully following the curve of the tower, expecting the climb to end at the next bend. It doesn’t. Just as you give up any hope of ever reaching the top, you reach the top.

The twin towers have long teased the people who live around them. Visible across Old Delhi, they play hide-and-seek with citizens walking the streets. Rising above rooftops and narrow alleys, the towers disappear and reappear as you move through the winding lanes. Now, at last, you are standing atop one of them.

From this lofty perch, Delhi reveals its grandeur and disorder in a cinematic panorama. The ramparts of the nearby Red Fort shimmer through a veil of smog. Modern buildings, including the towers along Barakhamba Road, stretch across the horizon. Closer at hand, the contrasts are starker. On one side lies the neat geometry of the mosque courtyard; on the other, the chaotic zigzag of Urdu Bazar. History confronts daily life. Old Delhi spreads outward in a densely packed expanse of rooftops, pockmarked by thousands of water tanks.

This afternoon, atop the northern tower, the wind is strong. The people in the courtyard below seem small and preoccupied with worldly concerns. At such a height, the illusion of detachment from the ordinary cares of life is difficult to resist.

Most fascinating to the visitor standing atop one tower is the view of the other—see photo. Its viewing platform is presently crowded with visitors peering through the jaali screen that encloses the open arches for safety. From a distance, these people appear confined within a giant birdcage suspended above the city. The sight recalls old accounts from Afghanistan, where prisoners were sometimes displayed in iron cages mounted on poles, beyond the reach of anyone bearing food, drink, or the means of escape.

By the time you step back into the courtyard, it feels as though you have returned from a far greater journey than a simple climb up a tower. That’s understandable. After all, you are descending from a minar that has exhausted four centuries watching over the city.