It was night time when I first encountered her. My first glance at St.Philomina Basilica, in Mysore, only drew one word from my lips. Beautiful. The twin spires stood magnificent against the night skies. I heard a distant voice from a mosque nearby. Immediately, as if waiting for the cue, the church bells that were hung inside the spires, rang. Democracy at its best. There was a mass going on inside the church. The choir rang out to fill in the empty spaces of the Quran. This was how I fell in love. This colossal church was built in the early 20th century to revere St.Philomina (alias St.Philomena - a 3rd century saint from Greece, who was beheaded by the rulers). The first foundation stone was laid by the Mysore Maharaja. They started construction in 1933 and took eight long years to complete this neo-gothic architectural stone-walled wonder. And it was worth it. Though I asked a lot of people, I could not find the name of the Architect. Then found through the net. Reverend Rene Feuge. The architecture 
is supposed to have drawn inspiration from Germany’s Cologne Cathedral. The cathedral has a catacomb, which houses the statue of St.Philomina, brought from France. The interior was such a dissapointment because of the walls which has been whitewashed and decorated with plastic flowers. I hurried out, as crowds disturb me. Not just in churches. But I feel, any place of worship is best when experienced in silence.
As I neared the rear of the church, realisation hit me that the aerial view of this cathedral would resemble a cross. And because the church was lit inside for the congregation, the five stained glass windows looked even more beautiful each depicting the birth of
christ, the last supper, the crucification. The other two, were the resurrection and ascension of christ, which I could not make out that clearly. Owing to lack of light, I was not able to study more details. So I made the trip again, to her, today, the first thing in the morning. 
This time, it turned out to be more personal than just bricks and stones bound together. I gathered my drawing materials and reached the church. The bright gulmohar tree at the entrance caught my eye. Night time had hid it. Now it commanded a glance, by withering few of its red petals to the ground. Found a place to settle and got all ready to start my sketch. I sat down and looked up at her. And I was lost. The church was 165ft in height, with the cross on the twin-spires adding another 12ft to it. I am not aware of the common proportion of the churches(made a mental reminder to go visit Santhome). And this one was 165ft in length too, which made it even more
attractive to me. I have always been madly attracted towards squares, circles, cubes, stars. As they depict perfection. Harmony. Equanimity. Composure. And uniqueness. And the proportion here only brought to my mind, the divine proportion of Pi, mentioned in Da Vinci Code. I am getting diverted..
As I said, I was lost. I did not know where to start from. Usually I start with a rough structure sketched out very lightly and then darken it with details. But this time, I could not even do an outline. After an hour of erasing and sketching and more erasing, my white paper, now soiled held few scratches of pencils that no way neared a description of a Cathedral.
I closed my book. And looked again. This time just to look. The magnanimity hits you everytime. The red engraved doors against grey walls. Such a striking combination. The cornices, the long windows and niches here and there..
Got up and walked towards the entrance. It was 12 noon outside. So my eyes immediately wrinkled to adjust to the dim-lit interior. One thing that I love in churches are the wooden pews. Especially when churches are empty. Neatly laid, one after the other, with bibles in front of them. The empty pews merge with the silence and brings calmness to the body and mind. I took the side corridor to study the paintings of the life of Jesus and finally landed in front of the altar. I suddenly panicked because I was wearing my slippers. Then realised I was inside the Church. But still felt uneasy. So again went out and left my slippers and came back in. My feet felt wonderful on the marble flooring.
I took a corner seat and settled. And studied the stained glass windows one after the other. The noon light was filtered through the orange glasses. 
The roofs were octaved, i think, to bounce back sound. Then saw the marble aisles next to the altar. The designs reminded me of Mughal. (If you notice, the archs of the mughals are the same as the christian entrances. They have parellel lines which suddenly converge to a point forming a curve). My eyes finally settled upon Jesus on the cross. Few people were kneeling in front of the altar, praying. Their beliefs, faith and prayers interlinking with the silence, bringing an aura of bliss. The candles, that were lit in front of me, the black wafts from the white candles forming mirages and was distorting the people and the statue, making it seem so alive. Linking all of us for just that one moment and making us aware of a superior prescence? The bright gulmohar tree at the entrance suddenly came to my mind. Of the withering of the red petals. Of shedding of the drops of blood of Christ. As it came, the wind blew out a candle. I got up and lighted it and mouthed a silent amen. And went on my way.
