Our architectural heritage is rich but we haven't always looking after it. Which is why some buildings, at least those that haven't crumbled into ruins often give off a melancholy air, an unshakeable feeling that they have witnessed better, far better, days.

The Sarai Alawardi masjid in the western part of Gurgaon, in the village of Sarai Alawardi (Google Maps has it located in the colony of the New Palam Vihar), is one such structure. It's not the easiest of finds, but the villagers are only too happy to show lost outsiders the way.

On an oppressive afternoon, it stood quiet and defiantly proud in the heavy air, having ridden the vicissitudes of passing time and the caprices of the weather over the course of eight centuries. Precise details of the mosque's story and timeline evade the elderly imam here, as they do the others.

The 'sarai' in the name hints at the presence of a rest house, which would have brought succor to the weary traveller. But, while its I origins are not contested, there seems to have been confusion over the mosque's name. Some thought that Alawardi alluded to All Vardi Khan but as far as we know, the writ of the penultimate Nowab of Bengal was limited to the eastern province.

According to the elders here, and confirmed by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI), the masjid was built during the rule of Juna Khan, better known by his title, Ala al-Din Khalji. We know him, of course, as Ala- ud-Din Khilji. Whether Khilji supervised the mosque's construction is debatable but its exterior is the same as it was when it came up—either at the end of the 13th century or beginning of the 14th.

Every now and then, a whitewash would be applied, the bruises of time patched up. Yet, not unsurprisingly, the masjid is showing its age, the brick in many places now exposed to the elements. And communal disturbances years ago inflicted a fair amount of damage to the building, the minarets bearing the major brunt of it.

The mosque earlier belonged to the Waqf Board before it was brought under the supervision of the ASI, which has plans of renovating it. However, a budget for the same has yet to be approved, par for the course for India's histories of stone.

Despite its derelict look, there is a certain dignity about the mosque, which remains very much in use. Friday prayers see some 500 flocking here, the faithful filling the marble-floored compound and spilling out into the area around. And on occasions such as Eid, claims a villager, the congregation can comfort ably exceed that number. This is when the masjid stirs to life, like a dowager reliving her glory days.

The Alawardi masjid is part of an area that seems to receive little love from the authorities. Yet, it is inseparable from the houses of Sarai Alawardi village and the railway tracks that run alongside. That the masjid has survived this long is a testament to the endurance of humankind, and offers a soupçon of hope that we too can all get along, whatever our differences.

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