The Taj Mahal- "A Teardrop on the Cheek of Time"

I recently made my first solo trip to Agra to see India's most famous monument- the Taj Mahal. It's an easy 3 hour train ride from Delhi and I could not pass up the opportunity to see one of the 7 Wonders of the World. I have never been much of an architecture buff- wilderness and the outdoors have always intrigued me more. India is changing me and its history has captured my attention.
The train pulled into Agra Cantonment Station and I could barely see anything- smog had blanketed the city in a thick, gray vapor. If you could set the sun on "dim", this is what the earth would look like. I knew immediately that this was not the best day for Taj viewing- I planned on doing either a sunrise or sunset and decided to wait for the early hours the following morning. So I jumped in an autorickshaw and headed off for the cheap part of town, the Taj Ganj. My hotel was 100 rupees a night (~$2.50) with a clean small room and a shared toilet and bath with hot bucket water- it's way cheaper with the same amenities that I found in Africa... I was stoked. Immediately, I make friends with the hotel owners- a pair of brothers that have way too much time to do way too little... extremely hospitable, very friendly and well connected to anything illicit. I enjoy their company for a while and then head off to see some sites. With the Taj reserved for tomorrow, I start wandering the streets of the Taj Ganj. I am always intrigued with the people who live and work in such a tourist hub- Agra has a rich, royal history but a pretty impoverished present. Everything seems to revolve around foreigners and it's always difficult to see what real life in these towns is like- away from the tourist traps.
I tend to get lost in these alleyway neighborhoods- small tight streets, no semblance of any "city planning", sharp turns, forks, dead ends... it's 100% entertaining. In some random square this stocky old man with half his teeth and a giant smiling face called me over- Ocktearay-ji, that's how I had to spell it phonetically, is a paan-wallah. He sits in this little kiosk with about 8 ingredients used to make a mild stimulant called paan. It looks pretty nasty, and I had to convince him that I had an allergy before he stopped asking me to eat one. It's a combination of betel nuts, 2 different dubious looking pastes slopped on with an ancient looking paintbrush, canned tobacoo leaves, some masala (spices) all wrapped up in leaves that have been soaking in water from a source only Mr. O knows... I think i'll pass. So he gets all excited and invites me into his shack, clearing a place on his only chair while he sits on the floor. Within minutes of bad Hindi, unintelligable English, and a lot of laughing- there's a crowd of at least 20 people gathered around. Everyone likes to spit out the few English phrases they know and I entertain with my answers, over and over again. "Hello friend. Where you from- French?" "What your name?" These people have a different vibe than the Africans I interacted with. Not that I haven't been annoyed here or hadn't met great Africans- but people here seem to be more genuine, more interested in having a conversation, and less likely to ask for something in return.
My local popularity attracted a school manager's attention, and I soon found myself in the office of a high school headmaster, meeting his family and leafing through his pride and joy- a photo album. His name is Sharma-ji and couldn't have been more thrilled with my interest in his school and the story behind his collection of 30 photos. Again, I was encircled by a crowd of the most excited and energetic people of all ages yelling out there one or two choice english phrases... I loved every minute of it, and would get a few claps and handshakes whenever I responded in broken Hindi. After promising a return to the school if my travels ever take me back to Agra, and giving my cell phone number and email to half the town, I turned to leave only to find Mr. O waiting to take me to lunch... I had made a friend for sure, and the quickest way to his heart is through his stomach. Mr. O took me on a 3 km bicycle rickshaw ride into the Kinari Bizarre, Agra's old town district in search for Dosa and Sambar- my two favorite gluten free options for breakfast and lunch... my only two gluten free options. Of course, I paid- for the rickshaw... and lunch! I expected it, and it only came out to be about $2- I appreciated the kindness and company, and I knew he loved getting away from the monotony of paan-making and into a big meal. It was a win-win, and he led me into the Old Town market and the Agra Fort which were two places I wanted to check out.
After lunch, we split up and I headed to Agra Fort, a World Heritage Site listed by UNESCO. I was hesitant to enter- it costs a absurdly $7.50... I have to remember sometimes that I'm not sure the next time i'll be back, and to stop being such a cheap bastard. So I forked over the money and couldn't have been more grateful I did. This fort is unbelievable in every way and it only added to my growing fascination with Indian history. It's a fort and royal palace that dates back over 1000 years, coming to its heigth around the 1500 and 1600's. It's made of a deep red sandstone and dominated by ornately carved battlements and multi-cusped archways. The physical remains are impressive, but the real experience is had when you ignore the other visitors, quiet their noise, and picture yourself walking the gardens in the time of sultans and kings.
Imagine: Crisp morning air, carries the fragrance of incense and clove- no noise but that of the passing egrets, bubbling fountains, and soft swoosh of robes on white marble. The floor is cold but firm- smooth and reassuring. You stand, confident and relaxed, in an open-aired gazeboo of pearl-white stone, staring over the Holy Jamuna River on which fresh sunlight dances. This is your home.
Now I might be completely exaggerating and romanticizing- but isn't that the joys of imagination? I have a hard time believing that this never took place. I hope it did.
The following morning I woke up early to head to the Taj Mahal, sunrise being a time not to miss. I hoped the smog had cleared and the view would be clear and unhindered. 5:15 am. The entrance fee is a ridiculous $17.50- but I learned my lesson from the Agra Fort and happily handed over my money. It was pitch black and completely empty- appropriate for a mausoleum- cool, solitary and solemn. As I was waiting for any light to illuminate the Taj, a neighboring mosque started it's daily call to prayer... such a scenario I found myself in- I relished in the foreigness of it. Sitting alone, in front of the greatest example of Moghul architecture, built for love, listening to the dirge-like song of Islam prayer. The Taj is said to change colors throughout the day, as the sun changes position in the sky and its rays reflect from different angles off the white marble surface. As the Taj came into view, I began to realize why this monument to life and beauty steals the heart of every pilgrim.
I have never been taken by building- metal and glass, rock and stone- shaped by human hands. The Taj is something altogether different. Like I said, India is changing me. If I was ever enchanted, it happened here- sitting on white marble benches, shared by rajs and dignitaries, sultans and poets over the centuries- I did not want to leave. I could have sat there forever and stared. It captures you completely, and you're not exactly sure why. Fountains, gardens, reflecting pools and walkways surround the enormous white tomb- four towers stand sentinel in all cardinal directions- flanked on either side by incredible mosques built of red sandstone, capable of standing on their own but adding to the already breath-taking scenary- cusped archways on all sides, ancient Persian script around every doorframe, pietra dura precious stone inlay of all colors- topped with the hallmark Moghul onion dome, full and perfectly built- the crescent moon pointing straight into the heavens. It's absolutely stunning- and I rarely use that word but it's so fitting. The onlooker is stunned- physically paralyzed by some unseen enchantment. The worst part, is pulling yourself away.