In the Name of Love

Fortunately for men, when most women think of demonstrations of love, the seventh man made wonder of the world does not come to mind. While a dozen roses once a year seems a burdensome act to many, try constructing a mausoleum for your lovely bride. And not just any old final resting place, no, for this gift you would have to spend $60 million in today’s dollars, hire 20,000 laborers and spend 22 years building the Crown Palace, better known as the Taj Mahal.

If you want to know who set this high bar of love, look no further than Shah Jahan, emperor of the Moghul empire in the early 17th century. According to my local guide, the emperor built the Taj for his third wife, who had 14 children by him. The inspired emperor initially planned two Taj’s, the existing white marble Taj and a matching black marble Taj across the Yamuna river, however, the succeeding emperor, Shah Jahan’s son, had his father put in jail in the Agra Fort (must have had a bad childhood) believing his father was crazy spending all of that money. Shah Jahan did however get the benefit of visiting the Taj, for eternity, as that is where his tomb rests today next to his wife.

The Taj was my one actual planned sightseeing aspect of my multi-month journey. Never big on architecture or museums, certainly not mausoleums, the Taj Mahal held enough mystique to make the 200km drive involving innocent games of chicken with very large trucks from Delhi palatable. The town where the Taj is located, Agra, is primarily industrial and its economy ultimately thrives on tourism for the Taj. Some people even make the round trip to the Taj in one day from Delhi as the town has little else for the visitor.

My plan involved an overnight stay in Agra, which I was leery of, but I had the time and thought about seeing the Taj at both sunset and sunrise. I picked up my local guide, Tahir Khan, a 22 year old Muslim with a penchant for the ladies. Donned in his yellow polo shirt, trendy jeans with light faded back pockets and sunglasses branded as “Fresh”, Tahir was a slick man about town who seemed to be either related to everyone we came across. He strutted about Agra with confidence, mobile in hand.

Tahir hired a rikshaw from the parking lot to the eastern gate of the Taj. The rikshaw driver weighed about 110 lbs and suddenly found himself pulling at least 350 pounds of dead weight, Tahir and I He huffed, he puffed and hacked up a lung doing it, but he pedaled his way up a slight grade and then coasted the gentle slope toward the gate. Rikshaw driving was no different than riding in cars here as we whizzed by other rikshaws narrowly avoiding collision as I pulled my elbow in further from the outer edge in an effort to ensure it stayed attached.

Security at the gate was tighter than any airport search to which I have been subjected. It starts with a walk through a metal detector, followed by a search of every pocket of your bag/backpack and then a firm pat down of your whole person, no mobile phones permitted, even in the courtyard. Mobile phones checked, we proceeded to the first viewing of the Taj. Seeing it through the red archway at the end of a long Versaille like garden was breathtaking.

As Tahir began his Taj monologue, I snapped photos at points he designated along the way. I wasn’t alone as bus loads of tourists and locals also vied for the coveted picture taking locations. Just below the entrance to the grand tomb, visitors were required to either remove their shoes (option chosen by most locals) or place disposable covers over their shoes (option chosen by most tourists who had shoe covers). All of this really amounted to one thing as we walked up the enclosed steps to the monument of love, we had crossed the international BO line, proving the smell of feet knows no bounds. The stairway to the top would be one for olfactory record books of foot stench.

Once inside the Taj, the room open to the public was dimly lit with a single bulb. It was hard to grasp the full beauty of the room, but guides carried mini flashlights to show off the white marble with inlaid onyx and other semi-precious stones. Fully grasping the smart attention to every detail made it a wonder that construction was completed in 22 years. It was hard to leave the Taj having just finally made its acquaintance and entranced by its beauty. But this evening was not over, not with young Tahir at my side.

(Above from left: Boat pusher, me, boat rider, Tahir and another entrepreneurial youth selling postcards. Background: The Taj)

Lucky me, this was the last night of a ten day annual fair, Parsvnath, held each year in Agra. As we departed the Taj, we passed the fairgrounds which appeared to be filling with locals. Anxious not to miss the fesitivites, I asked Tahir if we could go to the festival. He assured me we would, but not before looking at the fine marble shop where descendants of the Taj builders had a craft shop with a demonstration. Tahir went on to add that Agra was the only place in the world that did such marble inlay work.

Marble shop and a short chow break behind us, Tahir told me to meet him at the front of my hotel five minutes after I was dropped off by our driver, Tirluk. I ran upstairs to my room, dropped my backpack and camera on the bed, and headed straight back down. Looking for Tahir in the parkling lot, I encountered Tirluk again. We exchanged what little English and Hindi we could muster to say good evening, when Tahir came strolling out of the hotel lobby. We shook hands and he informed me that he was not going to the fair as he squeezed my hand uncharacteristically tight for an Indian. I gleaned from this that he was tring to fool the driver, but I didn’t know why.

Tirluk and Tahir left the parking lot and I returned to the lobby grabbing a seat for a few minute in case I was right about Tahir. Five minutes later, slick Tahir came strutting up the steps. I asked him why he had misled the driver, and he said, “He is a bad man.” Something may have been lost in translation, but I believed that Tirluk was looking out for me, but I was also still curious about the Parsvnath local fair.

Hopping onto the back of his gold Honda “Ambition” motorcycle, a quick kilometer from the hotel and I began to question my judgment and think more deeply about from what Tirluk may have been trying to protect me. Wind howling at my ears and feet grasping for a place to rest as we leaned into turns and swerved around cars, there was little that could be done. Making our way to the front of the fair, the size of the crowd turned into a wall of bodies. Tahir sliced through the human mine field as he navigated his way through the pedestrians, rikshaws, cars and food carts.

Walking into the festival, I became acutely aware that I was the only Westerner in the crowd reaching tens of thousands. Eyes glared and heads turned as I followed Tahir deeper into the crowd. Maintaining a straight poker face, I felt uneasy as men dressed in traditional muslim garb tilted their heads toward my direction which prompted their friends to turn and look me over. While I could have been misreading their stone face stairs and whispers to each other, I also knew that dissatisfaction with the West was strong among the Muslim population.

What I had not realized earlier was that my driver, Tirluk was a Hindu, and that my local guide, Tahir, was a Muslim. Usually this distinction would be lost on me, but it took center stage for the moment as my appearance at the fair was not necessarily a welcome one. It turns out, Agra is a primarily Muslim city and Tirluk was looking out for my safety which is why Tahir told him we were not going to the fair. Thoughts were racing through my head, “Did Tahir bring me to the fair to turn me over to some fundamentalist group as a political statement? Was Tahir aware of the situation? Would other men at the fair make a phone call and arrange for my kidnapping on my way home? Or would they just use me as a human piñata for their anger toward the West?”

Keeping a perma smile on my face and envisioning the best, I stuck close to Tahir’s side as we searched the fair for a girl (to whom he was apparently related), but had taking a lustful interest. Standing near the rides at the fair, Tahir blurted, “I don’t like this crowd” which was my sentiment exactly, however that did not make my extraction any easier. The crowd was mostly young men and a few women wrapped from head to toe so only their faces or eyes appeared. While the rides were familiar, the absence of rules was crazy as people overpacked every ride and then proceeded to stand while the ride was almost upside down. This was a fair without rules.

We left the rides area and headed for the crafts and food section where we ultimately found Tahir’s Uncle, a shoemaker. I was happy Tahir found a friendly face and pretended to be involved in the conversation as still more heads were turning aware of my presence. His Uncle led us to his clan of relatives, which also happened to be the location of Tahir’s love interest, since she was related. Slick, confident Tahir grew shy instantly when he saw her.

She was 19 years old dressed in yellow traditional muslim garb without her head covered. The daughter of a shoemaker, Tahir explained, she was undeducated and like another boy, who was also uneducated. He could not figure out why she chose the other boy over him (I guess being related was not a barrier to entry for him). It may have been for her, but Tahir was convinced he was the better man for her. Afterall, as a shoemaker, her father only made 500 rupees per month and as a guide, Tahir made much more with tips. But apparently money cannot buy love in Agra either as Tahir tried the rest of the night to impress her, all the while never uttering a single word to her.

One benefit of his effort to impress, Tahir arranged for a doorman to let the entire clan in to the front row seating of an outdoor concert at the fair. Rahat Fateh Ali Khan bolted out some serious notes from the stage with his eight piece band and vocal back-up on cue. The performance was quite good, even through the blaring out of tune speakers. Tahir explained that Rahat was a famous singer in Pakistan visiting for the fair. This was my lucky day. I relaxed a bit more as the tunes enchanted the crowd and awareness of my presence subsided. Still I was happy to return safely to the hotel one open road motorcycle ride later.