Given my lacklustre rapport with current events, I find myself bound for Agra on July 7, 2007 completely oblivious to my good timing. On the early morning flight to Delhi, I skim through the Deccan Chronicle (a thoroughly laughable publication, I've been warned - a fact quickly confirmed by the first page, which is devoted in its ENTIRETY to a blatant advertisement for Lanco Hills, a brand new high rise development in Hyderabad). Promptly making my way to the metro section, I am delighted to read that 07.07.07 is a particularly auspicious day, even more so than 08.08.08 and 09.09.09. Apparently, there's something about the lucky number 7 even in South East Asia.
Hindu weddings, great big lavish affairs, can only occur on days that are deemed auspicious (by whom I do not know - I assume the Hindu holy men; although I'm not quite sure how they all get together, decide and agree?). There are only about 3 auspicious days a month, so there's a lot of matrimonial overlap, and I assume 07.07.07's going to bring in record revenue, but there's more than just good fortune for the wedding industry in store.
I have heard that Stonehenge disappoints, that the Egyptian pyramids of Giza are much smaller than we are led to believe -- not so with the Taj Mahal. I am positively brimming with excitement when I catch a glimpse of the white domes peeping over the red sandstone walls of the outer courtyard. And I cannot contain a genuine squeal of delight (not to mention a little hop-skip!) when I am face to face with its breathtaking majesty.
It's magical, so magical that even the crowds do not detract from its awe-inspiring serenity. History snippet: Moghul emperor Shah Jahan built the monument in the 17th century to house the body of his beloved 2nd wife Mumtaz, who died giving birth to their 14th child. On her deathbed, she instructs her virile husband to build her a monument so grand that no one will ever forget her. Damn right - 14 children later; she deserves every single semi-precious stone!
Our tour guide is included in the entry fee (a whopping 750 rupees for foreigners [just under 10 pounds] vs. 20 rupees for the locals [25p]), but I am in two minds about whether I want him talking away the magic. I just want to gaze, internalise and savour the sensation of perfectly sublime marble symmetry. I do not want to hear that all the minarets lean outward and that an optical illusion is created by this zig zag design and that the Taj Mahal is slowly turning the colour of unbrushed teeth. But I feel it cannot be avoided. The guide moves a lot faster than I would like, and I, in turn, move a lot slower than he would like, and so we achieve some sort of begrudging balance. The distance between us allows me to hear less of what he says. I can always fill in the knowledge gaps later - I am here first and foremost for visual indulgence, more likely to suffer from Stendhal's Syndrome than an undying urge to know if Shah Jahan's hair really did turn white overnight when his wife died! (as the story goes)
I am really reluctanct to leave the Taj Mahal and linger at the exit, my eyes not yet satiated. One woman stops to look back as well, and then glances my way: "It's beautiful, isn't it? You don't want to leave."
"No, I don't," I shake my head, smiling.
There is a stark contrast between the quiet dignity of the Taj Mahal and the chaotic, labyrinthine streets of the Taj Ganj area (just south of the mausoleum). Everything is dirty, faded, crumbling and flea-ridden. Monkeys play amidst the rubble, camels trot past, cows block passage, flys buzz mercilessly around food stalls and bedraggled children are no longer waving and smiling shyly as they did in Pondicherry. My travelmate Eimer is quite taken by a self-assured 12 yr old boy with a dashing smile. I too am impressed, least of all with his easy English; he proceeds to introduce himself and query after our well-being in French AND Spanish. As sweet as he seems, a chaperoned dinner and a couple of overpriced rings later, I am ready to head back to hotel haven.
I do not want to leave the Taj Mahal, but the same cannot be said for Agra. We meet a few smiley folk but everyone has something to sell. Smiles turn to frowns without fail - no matter how much we give, it never seems to be enough - although in retrospect we are quite generous. We get a little disoriented wondering through the streets of the Taj Ganj area after dark (it is only about 8pm but seems as black as midnight), as well as hassled by a variety of bicycle- and auto-rickshawallas. No one can believe that we just want to walk back to our hotel - they warn us of the great and arduous distance ahead (1.5 km max). I am told off when I protest that I enjoy walking: "No madam, it is not nice to walk. There is a lot of very poor man in Agra." He doesn't mean that it isn't nice to walk amidst the poverty, but rather that it isn't nice to deprive him of the 20 rupees he would charge us for the ride back to the hotel.
Lots of fanfare that evening: lights and kites, painted elephants and fireworks that I didn't get to see on the 4th. I assume it's all due to the weddings. Saturday night we lounge maharaja-style in the protected comfort of the hotel terrace. We are on edge from getting a little lost and having to fend off all the pushy salespeople, but Eimer's cosmopolitan and my strong tea soon have us back in high spirits.
Sunday, we take an autorickshaw across the Yamuna river to a mausoleum known as the Baby Taj, pre-dates and in many ways foreshadows the Taj Mahal. Then on to Agra Fort, where Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son Aurangzeb. It's really quite a lovely prison, as prisons go, and offers stunning views of the Taj Mahal.
On the way to lunch we stop to walk through a little bazaar. A potter decides to show us his trade, and I, of course, am elated. It's amazing how this wizened old man wedges and centres his clay in seconds; his wheel powered by nothing more than a wooden stick and momentum. He makes cup after cup, throwing off the hump, and I motion to have a go. Crouched on the other side of the plaster wheel, I begin to handle the clay and immediately throw it off centre. I'm a little nervous - this is actually something I used to be able to do just three years ago; of course an electric wheel does make a fair amount of difference. And yet I think he is impressed; he speaks no English, but as his hands guide mine, I think he knows I am not a complete novice. When I look up - break from utter concentration - I laugh with surprise at the sizable crowd of locals that has gathered around us.
It is all over in under 10 minutes, and the crowd watches eagerly as I reach into my wallet. They may not know any English, but they certainly know their numbers. Several commentators announce "one hundred!" for the benefit of the audience. The potter is clearly unhappy with this sum, and the crowd agrees: "Three hundred! three hundred!" they urge. So I compromise, handing over another hundred and hastily exiting the milieu.
The drive back to the Delhi airport is similarly eventful. Halfway there, the driver asks for 85% of his fare to pay a highway 'police tax.' We call his bluff - he clearly wants to get his money and leave us stranded between Agra and Delhi. He acts visibly upset and concerned about the police tax but of course we get stopped for no such levy. Fearful that he has forsaken all hope of a tip, he starts to tell us of his children, the long drive back to Agra, the fact that taxi driving is his only source of income.
I am indescribably relieved when he drops us off at the Delhi airport. He leaves happy, as we have no change and over-tip out of necessity. At least he didn't hold the fact that we opted for a non-AC journey against us. Our Delhi-Agra driver was most displeased with our ascetic taste, and ploughed through monsoon rains and flooding roads with open windows and decided zest. I had arrived in Agra the day before with jeans well and truly soaked! Moving forward, it's trains, trains, trains.
On Monday morning, I find out that on Saturday, the Taj Mahal was voted one of the new seven wonders of the world. Over 100 million SMS and e-mail votes from all over the world determined its position in the top 7 of 14 shortlisted monuments. Of course, the seven new wonders were announced on 07.07.07 - cause for all those celebrations, fireworks, elephants and processions.
Although the poll's official website notes that the seven wonders are not ranked in any order, word on the street in Hyderabad is that the Taj Mahal is number one, followed by the Great Wall of China. Wonder if it has to do with skewed reporting or simple common sense - it was, after all, a democratic vote. Either way, there's something to be said for having perchance selected to visit the Taj Mahal on 07.07.07, the day it was announced to be one of the new 7 wonders of the world. Perhaps I now have a better reason for having been propelled to Pondicherry two weekends ago when really I had planned to go to Agra...
Very auspicious indeed!
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