The Taj
The one edifice that I absolutely required on my itinerary, despite a fair lack of enthusiasm, was a day at the Taj Mahal in Agra. A token tourist destination, the Taj is nonetheless one of the seven wonders of the world – and for good reason, I found.
In my history of India course, substantial buildings that arose out of particular times were mentioned – Fatehpur Sikri, the Red Fort, Buddhist stupas. But no mention of the Taj Mahal.
Built by Shah Jahan as a tomb for his beloved wife Mumtaz, the Taj is like a precious marble box inlaid with beautiful stones; something that would be passed down from a grandmother to a granddaughter. Precious, incredibly detailed, a treasure.
I had no adventure on the day I went to the Taj, just a lovely calm. Ida, the Japanese guy I met on the train, came with me for breakfast to Joney’s Cafe for their famous banana lassi, and we headed to the Western entrance of the Taj at 6 a.m. to watch the sunrise.
The entrance price is now 960 Rs. ($32 CAD, $20 US) and foreigners have been furious with the sharp increase in price compared to what Indian nationals pay ($0.50 US), but I was happy, deluding myself that the money would go to the upkeep and preservation of the Taj. Locals weren’t so hopeful. “Government corrupt,” said more than one.
After having our bags searched for items possibly harmful to the Taj, my flashlight and Ida’s chewing gum were sacrificed to the cloakroom.
The inner courtyard opens from an archway lined walkway into greenness. The sun was casting long shadows – the trees were alternating between light and dark on each branch. All was quiet and we walked through a second gateway shaped like an enormous four-poster bed. And there it was. Like any picture you’ve seen – beautiful in its complete symmetry of design, right down to the trees and water pools.
I hadn’t realized the beautiful detail taken on the Taj. Mughal floral patterns and Arabic writing adorn the arches, the flowers beautiful blues and reds of lapis lazuli, turquoise. I thought the Taj was all white but the subtlety of colour was the best surprise. As you walked, the semi-precious stones sparkle with the sideways sun.
Inside, the tombs were shielded by a carved marble wall surrounding them and the grated windows sieved light into the darkness.
A man was dusting the tombs – I wondered what he thought as he worked. I think I’d talk to Mumtaz, ask her about Mughal love, what it takes to get someone to build you the most beautiful tomb, arguably the most beautiful edifice, in the world.
Ida and I left, exhausted by the sun and the sure arrival of buses of tourists. I hadn’t been excited to go to Agra, not thrilled with the inevitable hassles, but where India has failed to surprise me, shock me, that morning I left believing at least in love in Mughal times.
Emily’s Laundry Adventure – Another toilet story?!
And now about laundry …
I was overjoyed when my new hotel in Varanasi, the Hotel Temple on the Ganges at Assi Ghat (a big plug for them) gave me toilet paper (I have a flush toilet!), a small bar of soap and two washing detergent bars when I arrived yesterday. In fact, overjoyed is an understatement.
I was exhausted after an eight hour train ride we almost missed due to my bad planning, followed by a long auto-rickshaw ride through the sometime unpaved rocky streets of Varanasi. I liked the city immediately – its narrow streets and passageways appealed to the labyrinth lover in me, the part that enjoys getting lost. I was looking forward, then, to a good night’s sleep before I began to explore this holy city.
The hotel room I picked felt quite hot so I had a shower and decided to wash my clothing.
I took the two small blue bars in silver wrappers that read “supermat” on them and after soaking my clothes in the bucket that is always provided in budget hotels, I tried to lather my underwear with the soap. It didn’t seem to work, staining my underwear blue. I abandoned that plan and used my trusty home-brought soap that neatly removed the blue stains once rinsed. I hung my clothing up to dry.
In a rickshaw today on my way back from Sarnath, I casually asked the British guy I had met this morning about the blue bars of soap. “Oh, you mean the toilet bowl cleaner bars?!”
I started to laugh, relating how I tried to wash my underwear with India’s version of 2000 Flushes Blue but he didn’t seem to find it funny. The last British guys I met found my frankness quaint and refreshing. This one, it seemed, felt it wasn’t proper to share my laundry error. Hmmm. If you can’t laugh at your mistakes, or those of other travellers, then India becomes more a difficult place than it already is.
