Image reads: Curse on idol worship
Image reads: Ya Ali Madad! Funeral bier rental: 2000 rupees.
Ferry fee per passenger: 100 rupees. For contact, call this number: 0347 2979773.
I spotted a pristine white shikhara against the blue sky during a regular drive. Reaffirmed by Google Maps, I decided to return.
I navigated past busy auto shops and a tall boundary wall marked with a curse, until I reached a locked maroon doorway with a tiny doorbell. A young woman, the temple’s resident, answered the bell, halfway through her meal. Draping a dupatta over my head, I greeted her with a respectful namaste. She kindly reminded me I had arrived outside visitation hours, but still, allowed me to step into a vibrant world of pinks, oranges, and greens.
The temple court was smaller than I had expected to see; I continue to wonder what happened to the other half of the site that the boundary wall strongly delineated on the outside.
The Careem driver asked if we wanted to go to the temple at Port Grand, but we insisted there was another nearby and asked him to follow the map. With a knowing smile, he said he was familiar with the route.
As we drove, the dome-like gold shikhara, decorated with snake illustrations, stood out. But the visibility ended there. Concrete blocks and bamboo stakes marked the boundaries of a locked building. In the front court, clay bird feeders sat quietly, amid a few dogs and crows wandering around. Nearby, a tuck shop, auto shop, and tea stall bustled with usual activity.
We managed to enter the building on only one of our four visits.
This one has been my favorite through the years. There was a time where I would come to this temple every Monday night for that delicious daal palak. This is the temple where I have snuck in so many friends for a secret viewing or for school projects. I also recall a time when Shiv bhagwan was apparently drinking milk from his devotees hands - the cave was drenched in milk that day.
I love the series of staircases in this temple, really exaggerating the disconnect from the ground as you descend into the cave. Sadly, I have also seen security layers at ground level go up, and the temple giving way to plaster, tile, steel and glass over time.
I first discovered the temple in Jodia Bazaar in a research report. Nestled in the bustling marketplace—surrounded by apartments, banks, cafes, and vendors—the temple’s yellowstone colonial facade stood out as a relic of the city’s past. A tree peeked through from behind, while cement blocks obscured the facade’s openings.
The arched entryway featured a sculptural engraving at its keystone, and was painted a cobalt blue giving it a clerical look of a police station. As I pushed the door open, a man greeted me sitting by the diya on the tree. With three companions, I led the introductions in Sindhi, bridging our connection.
Inside, the space lacked colonial features but had a familiar marble floor. Sunlight reflected off the decorations in the central courtyard. If you looked up from here, you could catch a glimpse of the sky between the towering neighboring buildings.
We’re all familiar with Aram Bagh and Ram Bagh. I never quite realized how small this temple had been. Dwarfed by the mosque across from it, I could have easily missed it entirely. But its chalky blue exterior, freshly sealed arched apertures, and an old neem tree invited closer exploration. A caretaker shared stories of the many small temples that used to surround the park. For now, this one was under renovation.
On a second visit a few months later, the temple was plastered in pale yellow, a bolted metal gate, and had grown by a floor. Every surface on the inside was a shiny marble, and the tree was gone.
