Agra

April 16, 2002- Oh What A Night!
(photos:Hoy cow-Agra,
Dropping trou at tailor,
At Taj Mahal)

We arrived in Agra to find it a dirtier & more congested place than Delhi. We’re staying at the Mughal Sheraton Hotel, clearly of the five-star persuasion. We figured out that since we left Akron on August 8, we’ve slept in forty-three different hotel rooms. That includes the seven months on Gold Coast counting as one bed. It’s a wonder we never get confused when trying to find the bathroom in the dark.

Our guide took us on a walk through the old quarter before dinner & we saw our first “bhang” shop. That’s what they call the balls of marijuana they chew. It’s legal here, but “hard” drugs aren’t. In the midst of all the traffic, wandering cattle, confusion, dust, & debris, a little girl was riding a bike with training wheels. Imagine what will happen when she’s ready to solo. David says that India can be described in one word: rubble. There’s always rubble as the result of something being built or torn down, but there’s always rubble. I noticed that despite all of the roaming animals, there were no animal droppings. Kumar told me that people gather the dung to make into patties used to heat their houses. Now I know what all of those strange looking brown piles are next to the houses, shacks, and lean-tos.

As we were walking back to the car, a passing bicycle brushed David. When he looked down, he noticed that his pocket had caught on the bike & his shorts had torn in a ragged line down the leg. There’s no place to buy shorts in Agra & he only took two pair to travel in. Indian men don’t wear shorts. I asked if one of the many tailors in the shops we passed could mend it. A man who knew our guide and was tagging along with us led us to just such a place. David climbed up a broken stone step and onto a platform over an open sewer to enter this doorless shack of a shop. They wrapped him in a piece of fabric as he “dropped trou” and the tailor set about fixing the tear using his trusty treadle sewing machine. He did a quick & marvelous job of concealing the tear and David was dressed and ready to go as the guide said, “In a New York minute.” The whole thing cost $0.60. As people wandered by, they couldn’t help but notice the two foreigners, but we kept assuring David he was lucky that no one he knew at home could see him like that. Not to worry. I took pictures.

Our evening would have been exciting enough even if we hadn’t stopped at a cyber-café to send you the email. We ended up getting a virus on the disk we use to copy what I write on the laptop then upload into AOL & send to you. We re-formatted that disk & I re-copied it to another disk. You should have gotten it by now.

Taj

We left for the Taj Mahal at 6 AM today. Security was strict & no food items, candy, or gum were permitted on the premises. They even had an electric bus to shuttle tourists from the distant parking lot. We hurriedly sprayed ourselves with mosquito repellant & jumped on the bus. They’re trying to preserve the site, but some things, like acid rain, are out of their control.

We blindly followed our guide as we walked through a red sandstone arch. Suddenly the Taj Mahal was in front of us. Seeing it has been a dream of David’s since he read Richard Halliburton’s Complete Book of Marvels when he was a child. We froze in our tracks. It was more wonderful than we could have imagined. It was not at all spoiled by our expectations or by all the pictures we’d seen. We both choked up as David reached for his camera to memorialize this moment on film. That’s when he realized that in our haste to catch the bus we’d left the camera in the car. Kumar was a real sport about it & took a rickshaw to the parking lot to retrieve it. Meanwhile, we were left to deal with the professional photographers who haunt the site. Kumar had explained the pricing to us & told us what to pay. As he left to get the camera he reminded us to negotiate “according to the rules we discussed.”

As we waited for him to return, we sat on a low wall & contemplated the wondrous structure. David said he’d never seen a more beautiful building. It was frothy like the lacey top of a wedding cake. As the sun played on the translucent white marble it glimmered as if frosted with spun sugar. The moving sunlight caused shadows to creep & rearrange themselves highlighting the curves and nuances of the absolute symmetry & perfection that is a signature of Mughal architecture. This mass of marble looked light enough to float. Since the Taj is a memorial of a husband to his wife, I asked David if he loved me that much? He evaded an answer & said he wasn’t into large gravestones. We made ourselves useful while we waited. Some tourists asked if we would take their picture & David complied. I recognized the accent of one couple as being Aussie and was proud of myself when I was right. An Indian group from Mumbai asked us to pose with them so they’d have a photo with “foreigners.” We could have charged them for the honor. Everyone here expects to be paid for everything.

Backstory

Shah Jahan’s wife asked him to promise to build her a monument the world would come to see and asked him to promise not to marry again. He kept both promises. Concubines don’t count. She died at age 39 delivering their 14th child. The Shah was so distressed his hair turned gray overnight. It took 20,000 workers until 1652 (22 years) to complete the Taj and it’s no wonder. Intense thought and planning was evident even in the way the minarets leaned slightly away from the tomb. This was a precaution so they’d fall away from the domed center in case of an earthquake. As we walked closer to the façade, intricate details began to emerge. The colors of inlaid gems began to take on the shapes of flowers & we could see the writing of the entire Koran inlaid in onyx on the arches and walls. As we moved around the outside of the building we saw that each side was identical to the other. A diamond-like shimmer seemed to follow us as the sun rose higher in the sky. The real tomb is in the basement and was kept private so only the family could enter. The king was buried beside his wife after his death and both of their publicly viewed “tombs” are under the dome. A latticework screen surrounds these with each huge section carved from a single piece of white marble. The tombs, screen, walls, and dome are covered with inlaid gems. It took seventy-five pieces of stone to create each flower. The shading and gradation of color in each petal and leaf is astounding. As we left, we couldn’t resist one more look. I think I fell in love with India at the Taj Mahal.

The Shah came to a sad end. He never got to complete a black version of the Taj Mahal to be his own tomb. One of his sons from his beloved wife imprisoned him in a palace tower overlooking the Taj Mahal. His eyesight was failing so he had diamonds set into three strategic spots on the tower walls. The reflection of the Taj in the diamonds was a great comfort to him until he died at age seventy-one. His son killed one hundred of his brothers, claimed the kingdom, and did away with all of the arts to save money.

Kumar told us that when Clinton was at the Taj Mahal they wanted him to see it from the Yamuna River that flows behind it. Unfortunately the river is polluted and sluggish. The Indian government emptied a barge filled with water into the river to clean things up. I asked if the people were angry about wasting their precious water that way. Kumar said they have to be aware before they can be angry. Most cannot read or afford newspapers or have time to listen to the news. They care about feeding their families and not about government vanity.

We went back to the hotel for breakfast and became acquainted with some new Indian dishes. We had fried potato balls called bonda served with sambal (lentil sauce). Udapan (pancakes with onions) and dosa (a crepe filled with savory potatoes) were also delicious.

Afternoon Delight

Agra was a city before 1000 BC and Hindus inhabited it until the 14th century when Akbar, a Moghul ruler, conquered them and built his red fort on top of theirs. He made Agra his capital. The Moghuls moved their capitals around to control trouble spots. Their present capital is in Lahore, Pakistan. This fort we saw this afternoon, like the one in Delhi, is still in use as a military base. Its wall measures 2.5 miles and the moat once was the domain of crocodiles. Built in 1573, it’s considered the most beautiful of the Moghul forts. It was built over three generations and reflects the tastes of each. The truth may be that the changes reflected the desire of each wife to redecorate. It served as the royal residence as well, and was where Shah Jahan was imprisoned. The original was made of the red sandstone so common in the area. Marble inlays augmented that and Shah Jahan added more of the white marble that he loved. There are mosaics and translucent walls through which light played on the colorful inlaid designs during sunrise. Niches for candles abound and the entire wall behind the throne is covered with them. The domes were once gold, but that was pillaged so brass is now used in its place.

There’s a special palace within the palace called the Glass Palace. It’s a series of small rooms and is decorated with thousands of tiny mirrors inlaid along with the gems. The man who showed us through lit several candles to illustrate the effect created by the flickering light. It was as if the rooms were filled with countless fireflies. It was used as a romantic retreat and each room had a bathing pool and fountain. The marble on the walls was of differing thickness and were played by palace drummers. The palace guide danced along as he played the tones and his flamboyant scarf billowed out behind him. I think we met our first gay Indian.

All Moghul rulers enjoyed harems run by eunuchs and there’s a joke that has arisen. Indians say that with such a large harem Viagra really means, “Ve are Agra.” Akbar may not have needed Viagra, but he certainly needed to be a diplomat. He was a free thinker for his time and had a Muslim wife, a Hindu wife, and a Christian wife (Miryam) all living in separate quarters on the same palace grounds. Each wife had her own place of worship and all the symbols are intermixed. Each wife also had her own kitchen.

As we were leaving the fort we saw a sight that was strikingly pathetic and unique at the same time. One of the young beggars had elephantits (sp). I’d never seen the disease that causes the feet and legs to swell so they’re as large as those of the animal for which it’s named. I don’t know the cause or if there’s a cure, but it’s awful.

Toby